getting old and NOT liking it

Amidst a flashy, flamboyant Miss India speech delivery and an even weirder, unstable ramp walking session in front of an impressive, big mirror a few days before (I am sorry if you imagined me doing that), I saw the first strand of gray hair on my head (Oh Ducking No!).

“Woah! So, this is THAT time of my life, huh?”, I thought, pulling breaks on that useless speech in between for the entire humanity’s good. Uninspiringly enough, I have always felt a little older than my actual age. You see that’s why I have rarely whole-heartedly celebrated birthdays and anniversaries ever, mine and anyone else’s.

But the problem this time was much more severe and gruesome. I was unusually convinced I was old. That time had slipped by and no damages to the skin texture, body, hair, etc. could be repaired. I have lived my life, chasing dramatic reality checks even on dull, ordinary days. Too bad, there was almost no scope of living in denial now, since I caught hold of such noticeable, concrete evidence with me.

After weeping and smudging my kohl for some good ten-fifteen minutes, I decided to do what good old people do. I decided to accept my agedness. Because the sooner you accept the easier, right? Plus, what did I get fighting with my age and believing in my youth in all these years, anyway? I got more aged. I ducking got gray hair also.

So, as the day passed, I tried to cough naturally and loudly at regular intervals, then walked a little slower than usual, taking support of whatever laid in my vicinity. I felt very tired and sleepy throughout, ate karela and khichdi for lunch, came back home early that day and watched a Sanskaari bhakti channel in the evening. While a few people looked at me with offhand disbelief, I was only dwelling deeper into some next level peace stations and eternal happiness.  

As I poured some cream on my wrinkled hands and sat on a recliner chair, I started thinking about the amazingly colorful life I had lived. I also took time to ponder over karma and life after death theories. That one day felt like a year, which technically (and unsatisfactorily) meant I was a year older already in a few hours. My conjectures had substance, you see. The time was very limited, perhaps more than I had presumed. Also, there arose a strong, niggling desire to do more than I had planned by now.

I was about to get settled in that zone forever, but just before that right moment, my husband came back home and saw me dressed up like a granny. “What happened to you?”, he asked, sounding a bit concerned”.

“Look at me. Do you not see any change?”, I defended myself. And, well, as always, when he innocuously insisted he couldn’t see anything at all, I finally, with unsurmountable courage in my heart, pointed a finger towards the (hair) root of all problems.

He got even more concerned now. With tears in his swollen eyes, he told me he had realized his mistake. He kissed my forehead and told me he will be by myside in this tough time. He hugged me, then carefully looked at my hair, softly touched that one particular string, grabbed it towards the end and PLUCKED it! Ouchieeeeee Ouch Ouch!

Ehmn…By the way, now that thing was nowhere to be found.

The getting-old-and-not-liking-it drama is rather old and will continue to create havoc in my life. The thing is, you see, like most of the other problems of my life, I carefully learnt, this one too, actually was, just in my head (or on it! what’s in a preposition really?). If you know what I mean!

The duckings were intentionally ducked by the penner because her post aims at reaching a wider, older audience.