Twenty Nine

The last few weeks have been quite conflicting. Diwali was at home. Amidst a delicious potluck party, gorgeous cotton sarees, tons of chai, and long UNO sessions coupled with soulful conversations, I felt welcome and truly at peace. I realise the value of family every time I go back there – even if it’s a dysfunctional one. It’s your own. It has people who have stood by you when you’ve been at your worst. Every time I go home I get reminded of how everyone is just trying to figure things out and live a peaceful and happy life, no matter how old they are or what their political or religious inclinations might be.

Of course, when we got back, the smog had skyrocketed overnight. Because some idiots thought it was cool to burst firecrackers on Diwali since the ‘real problem isn’t firecrackers’. The stubble burning in Punjab made it worse. The week that followed was hell. I was resolved not to spend my 29th birthday gasping for air. V was falling sick too. The morning it crossed 1000 on the AQI, we decided to take a week off and flew to Bangalore for some respite. It felt a bit silly doing that. It was so unplanned. So scary that we were literally running away from the toxicity. But I was glad we both respected ourselves and our health enough to take a step like that.

We had a stopover at Chennai. We took auto rickshaw rides around the city at midnight, went to a spooky and deserted Marina beach, left our suitcases on the sand and galloped towards the ocean, only to realise it was way too far off into the distance and we couldn’t leave our luggage behind. So we ran back, giggling and telling each other, “No one has to know this, ok? We’ll just tell everyone we saw the beach and it was awesome.” We’re silly like that.

Bangalore took us into its open, reassuring arms, like always. We stuffed the bottomless pits that we call our stomachs with a questionable amount of south Indian food. I met a friend and we went to a terrace restaurant called Sly Granny. The place felt alive. I loved the twinkling lights, the breeze, the music, the décor, the service, and the food. We had refreshing cocktails and kulchas stuffed with mushrooms. We talked about life, growing old, relationships, mental health, love. It felt surreal because we couldn’t imagine doing it in Delhi. I also visited one of my favourite haunts for some beer with two of my college friends. I’ve spent many a momentous occasion there. Office farewells, first dates, spontaneous meetings, birthdays. We had real conversations about issues we’re all facing – the struggle to find a meaningful job, feeling adequate and relevant in today’s society, our love lives or lack thereof. Even though I barely ate, I felt warm and full.

A day before my birthday we went to an idyllic little hill station called Yercaud four hours away from Bangalore. It was everything I needed. I love long drives with V. We have always bonded over shared playlists, the sound of rain pounding over the roof of the car, and pit stops for chai and buns. We went back to a resort we have been to before. It had old school, colonial style cottages in the middle of a wooded area. It was perfect. On my birthday, we walked around the misty resort, and had dinner next to burning firewood as soft, acoustic music wafted in the air. The drive back to Bangalore was so green and beautiful. I’ve never been more excited about taking huge, long, gulps of clean air before.

We got back to Delhi with a head full of questions. Here’s something I’ve observed: when you’re 24-25, you still feel you’re 22-23. When you’re 26-27, you can pretend to be 24-25. But when you turn 29, you feel it. I feel it now. I feel it in my bones. And in my lower back. And in the whites of my hair. I don’t feel as energetic as I used to be. More khichdi and quiet nights? Yes, please! Spending more on bedsheets and blankets than on overpriced drinks at a club? Yaaaas! I look at my life and I feel happy to be domesticated. I love the promise of familiar books on my nightstand, potted plants on my window sill, a laundry bag pregnant with clothes, a fridge filled with veggies and milk. I remember what it felt like to turn twenty. It felt like a huge milestone. I was so damn excited. Now I’m almost done with my 20s. Wow. Quickly moving on.

Right now I’m listening to a ghazal because I’m getting in the mood for an Urdu festival next month. It’s making me feel a tingle of excitement about the next few months. Life can still take any sudden turn. There’s something else I’m looking forward to. I’ll talk about it in my next post. I have to sleep now. Because, Monday.

P.S. I use an app called Journey to write about my most personal thoughts in the oddest hours of the day. Here’s something I wrote in it recently:

I’m listening to ‘No Woman’ by Whitney. I heard it first in Life is Strange 2. It’s funny how you can like a video game for the way it makes you feel. Music is a huge part of it. I like most songs I’ve heard in both Life is Strange 1 and 2. I’m on my way to work. I feel nice, and peaceful.

I also love ‘Obstacles’ by Syd Matters. (LIS, again). How am I capable of feeling so much? I guess that’s the only way I feel completely human and life seems worth it. I don’t mean unnecessary drama and exaggerating my emotions. I mean feeling every emotion fully and consciously and if that means listening to some melancholic music, that’s ok. I feel life must be felt completely and open-heartedly. I keep telling myself. You’re human. You’re alive. If it’s joy, hold on to that thing! Cry if you feel like it, damn it. Out of happiness. Out of boredom. Out of disillusionment. Own your tears. Own your broken heart and bandage the hell out of it. Get out there again. Find what it is you’re seeking. GO!

P.P.S. The sun is shining again. I can see the blue skies dotted with tufts of clouds. I feel hopeful. Now, come on. Let’s make the last year of my twenties count.