O is for Old

I am one of those who believe that age is just a number. (Well, I’m over the hill now, so that’s what I will advocate right? J )

I was in my late twenties when the first strand of grey sprung up. That definitely has to do with genetics. I also humour myself by thinking they were early signs of wisdom. I’ve had dark circles under my eyes ever since I remember. Apparently, I never used to sleep as a child. I think I am not too old to start learning tennis, an instrument or a new language. I tell myself, if I had the time, I would have made it to the national swimming Olympics team. (Yeah, I like to flatter myself at times) When I talk to friends, I realise it will soon be a decade since I graduated from college. When kids in my apartment call me “aunty”, more often than not, I do not respond, because it doesn’t even strike that it is me they are referring to!

But there was one day, when I really did feel old. It was at a coffee shop in upmarket Mumbai. A group of young girls, barely in their teens walked into the store. Most of them were outrageously dressed and wore heavy make up for an age that tender. They flipped out thousand rupee notes, placed their orders, had conversations peppered with words that sounded rather disgusting coming from them. What bothered me was that this whole thing was rather casual, it seemed to come to them naturally.

I don’t remember living a life like that at that age. That’s when it hit me - I belong to a different generation.