Sunday, 17 January 2016

Older. Greyer. Fartier. Being.


Some thoughts accompanied me to the toilet when I got out of bed and walked towards it for my Birthday morning (hence probably special) dump of the day. As I sat my one-year-older behind on a Parryware commode which had clearly out-lived its pristine white life, philosophy slowly trickled out my mind. 

I am exactly a year older today. Just a teensy-weensy year, no more! What happens when we turn a year older? Inside, outside, upside, South side, all sides. What really happens? What changes? Or petulantly refuses to change? Or dithers between changing and maintaining status quo of the previous donkey years? Have you too wondered? 

There wasn’t much to make conversation with in the loo, though the shampoo bottle waved with eager ears like never before, so the monologue necessarily turned inwards. I dug the grey matter deep and thought … 

If we were to see our naked body in extremely super(duper)-subsonic slow motion over the years of our lifetime, what would we see? We should be able to watch strands of hair gradually turning grey and dropping off with the speed of feathers on a windless day. The wrinkles becoming prominent – deeper, longer, permanent. The eyes becoming puffier and lashes flying away, one tiny strand at a time. The hair on the chin getting coiled. Lips going thinner, arms floppy and a general loosening of the body taking over the face, the neck, the stomach, the bums, the … everything that can surrender to gravity. In slow motion we would see a hunch developing, the knees bending outwards and the white of the teeth, toe nails and eyes changing colour. And some parts just going poof! The ultimate vanishing act – naturally or on hospital beds. Both internal and external. 

And as we’ll see the Life of Our Physicality unfold before our eyes we’ll realize how we all, all, are permanently moving closer to an irreversibility of ... um … what should we call it … an irreversibility of unBeing? Physical unBeing, I mean…

An itch on the red glitter-star on my hand, the one my child drew at 12am last night, and a burp that was midnight's Chocolate truffle cake all the way brought me back to my present location. I looked at the shampoo bottle. It wasn’t waving anymore. All was quiet and I was alone again. So I decided to hang around longer. Clear the system properly, which, strangely, made a mission of itself today. So I continued thinking … 

How much of all of the above changes would we be able to see on our Birthday morning? Like this 13th morning of January for me. Surely some changes come about, loitering irreversibly towards unBeing, one nano-step at a time? See, Evolution seems like an intelligent woman. She must have a way of ticking things in her chart. And to keep her court in order and organized, she would use our dates of birth to draw away from us some keratin, or adipose, or sphincter muscle, or a pinch of enamel in order to make sure we’re right on track to being, well, older, greyer, fartier. 

'Happy Birth Day', the shampoo bottle cried!

I shook my thoughts away and instinctively stared myself down and up and down in the bathroom mirror, not married to the commode at the right angle. I smiled-unsmiled. Cheeeeesed-uncheesed. Nope. The crows at the eyes still have the same feet. Arms up-arms down. Arms up-arms down. Nope. The buddies didn't look any different either (not that they have in many, many years). I ruffled my hair, head hanging in anticipation, and pore deep into the crop. I am sure I didn't see any extra greys. Then I breathed in-breathed out, rubbed my hands, slapped my thighs and felt gleefully young.

I’m still exactly me from exactly the day before. Phew!

Oh sweet Gratitude, fly away both Skywards and Downwards for irreversibility being invisible to the naked eye (which has yet to behold a picture of herself from 5 years back!). And forget bras, just burn that Life of Our Physicality slo-mo movie reel if ever it catches you unawares on your shit pots. Think more celebratory thoughts. Revel. Yes. Yes! I should! I am 33 today and it's no joke! The only time when 3 and 3 doesn’t make a six. 33. Called 'all the 3s' in Tambola. 33. Like two strapless bras standing ready to embrace you. 33. Or a pair of pouty lips naughtily kissing another pair from behind. 33. And when you press the back arrow and shift the cursor to both, they become blinking Bs. B. B. 

Yeah, of course! BE. Just be you. There we go. There's the moral of the story. Now that’s better!

Which reminds me, dear reader. It is a rumour universally acknowledged that just Being (especially biological) starts coming naturally as you grow older. Say, being on a pot waiting for it all to clear up. (There will be time, my friend!) Burping with an embedded ‘om’ just before everyone else has finished their last bite, and smiling the smile of satisfaction right back at their stares. Adjusting the undies to not get them in a bunch in front of the video cameras at the entrance of a party hall. Farting with gay abandon in the Pensioner’s Queue without a challan from the Politeness Brigade. Clearing the phlegm in matchless crescendo. Why, I've even heard that talking to inanimate things like tea cups and shampoo bottles and spectacles and dentures begins unawares. Thus you go about your daily business, all the time getting older, greyer, fartier but then that much closer to just unBeing, more and more. Not to forget getting wiser as you get older (Trump is an alien!). 

Slowly over the years the lightness of Being replaces all clouds of the heaviness of unBeing, like Pudin Hara vapours calming three helpings of Thai Red Curry. And that epiphany can happen anywhere, just anywhere!

The shampoo bottle agreed. It showed me a thumbs up and winked. I whispered a 'thank you' and got up like a Queen from her throne (only one knee groaned an arthritic groan).

Relieved. Relieved of all congestion. How strangely satisfying! 

Time to flush. 



25 comments:

  1. Wow! What an epiphany :)
    Loved reading this beautiful post first thing in the morning that resonates with my love for 'being' as life moves on.
    Happy Belated Birthday Sakshi :)

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    Replies
    1. :) Thank you very much for reading and for your wishes. Good to have 'connected' over this!

      Delete
  2. Reading my first post of the day and trying to recall the time I, too, began noticing those subtle changes in myself. At times, when the back moans in fatigue and the knees groan with pain, I realise I have aged...and at other times, when I look at my curvy figure in the mirror and feel super sexy (yeah, women in their 40s own 'sexy'!) I feel on top of the world; happy that 'Time' has done a good job on me! Isn't it really good that life goes on, time moves on, shaping us, chiselling our rough edges and making us better, richer images of ourselves? Life should go on...It only makes us wiser, prettier and grateful for all that we have had!
    Er..was that a bit too much?!πŸ˜€

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    Replies
    1. Oh I would quote you when I need to - 'happy that 'Time' has done a good job on me!' Excellent!
      That was not in the least bit too much. I loved your reaction to my post. You speak from the heart and you speak my sentiments. Thanks a lot, Shilpa!

      Delete
  3. Common, that arthritic groan at 33 is perhaps a writer's liberty! You look eighteen, ask the shampoo bottle.
    Such fun reading this one. It was different.

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    Replies
    1. No, no. That groan (arthritic or not) does happen, in fact on both my knees, when I try to sit up or down. The shampoo bottle disagrees. Why else has it been 'evolving' towards 'anti hair fall' labels? :P
      When I wrote it I realised it's different. Almost what they call 'weird/off-beat'. But that you have enjoyed it makes me happy! :)

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  4. Belated Happy birthday sakshi...it was a fun read,which leaves you with a lot to contemplate. I actually imagined the slo-mo movie of ageing and truth be told , it's fascinating.

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    Replies
    1. It is fascinating, isn't it? I really did have that stream of consciousness whoosh past my head. Pot, or not on pot.
      Thanks for reading and for your wishes!

      Delete
  5. If this is how you feel at 33 wait till you are 53

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    Replies
    1. Like I said already, 18 till I die.
      You?

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  6. Replies
    1. Thanks a lot, Rohit.
      Good to connect. God bless D. :D

      Delete
  7. 33 is no age at all. And you don't look anything more than 18. What a conversation to have with yourself perched on the commode. Enjoyed. :-)

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    1. No age is no age at all, or so I would like to believe each passing year, Rekha. Wait. You read wrong. I was almost conversing with the shampoo bottle. ;) Thanks for being here!

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  8. Age is just a number that makes its presence once a year. The next day, life becomes back to where it was. Wish you a belated happy birthday! Lovely post!

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    1. I SO agree!
      Thanks for your wisdom and your wishes, Shaivi!

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  9. Belated Happy wala budday, Sakshi. What an amazing post you make a comeback on your blog and you surpassed all expectations. There was a time when I was dreading growing one year older and thinking that the hair streak becoming grey, body muscles wearing out but now I am used to it as long as the mind is & feels young. Age should be discarded at some point:)

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    1. Hey, how can I 'make a comeback' on my blog? I live Between Write and Wrong, remember? :P You said it, Vishal, when you said 'as long as the mind feels young'. :)

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    2. My bad!! Mean to say, I made a comeback on your blog. Error regretted!

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  10. Hmm.... ok! Some of my best ideas do not come when I'm sitting on the pot. Most of my best ideas come when... wait.. hmm... ahh. ok - I don't have a specific time. And In hindsight, some of those brainwaves are best left unuttered, for uttering them would be utter folly. Best just to flush and get on with the next in line.

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    Replies
    1. 'best left unuttered, for uttering them would be utter folly' - Good to know someone has that sorted!
      What's next in line, for you?

      Delete
  11. well, yeah, its time to flush. Superb Sakshi. :)

    ReplyDelete

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