Marriages Are Made In heaven!

Bhavna was studying at a prestigious Delhi University collage. She had dreams and aspirations like any other 20 year old, raised at Delhi’s NCR. She met a young and dashing senior at the campus. They fell in love and decided they wanted to spend the future together. Her family found out about the affair. They tried to convince Bhavna to change her mind.Told her the boy's caste was different. They tried their best to persuade her to forget her love. When nothing worked they strangulated her till life left her young body.

 A few years ago Nitish kataria, a dynamic young businessman dared to love a girl of another caste.He was beaten and  burnt alive. Such  events shock the intelligentsia of any country.

Urban India’s children fed on American soaps, burgers, pizzas, western dress and mall culture are mostly unaware of the social milieu of India. Indian caste ethos is not fully comprehended by them. Their source of information on Indian culture and society comes from Bollywood and rudimentary school text books. How are they suppose to understand the regressive and conservative mind set of their family elders?

Killing or harming your own child is the work of a pathological mind! No healthy parent can take such an action. No discussions warranted on this.

 Parents who oppose their children’s choice of future life partner on grounds of caste, religion and even gender, need to understand the basic mechanisms of how marriage works.

Marriage is one of the oldest social institutions that is in existence today. People marry for various reasons but to stay married compatibility is important. Compatibility can transcend all barriers and differences.

 I met my husband in Delhi University’s north campus 26 years ago. We belong to different castes and came from different regions of India. I couldn't  speak fluent Hindi and was quite ignorant of Bihar's social stratification . In spite of many  storms and turbulence we survived. Our marriage survived.

 My parents belong to different religious sects. They celebrated their Golden Wedding Anniversary (50 yrs) few years ago.

 Empathy,trust and giving each other space is some of the basic requirements for the smooth functioning of this remarkable institution. Religion, I believe is a private matter and caste  has no role to play in a marriage. Differences in culture, food and such other issues can  be worked on.

  

Whether by their own choice or by their parent’s choice couples marry and mostly remain so. Married couples live, work, raise children to the best of their ability and give companionship to each other especially in old age.  How does caste, religion, society or anyone else figure in the private lives of two individuals who have decided they want to live together?

    

Nostalgic November

November dawns! I start to feel very special. As if this month is a celestial month of magical things about to happen. I have no clue why I  love this month. I think it’s the best month of the year. I  feel connected to people who share their birthdays in November. Maybe I  have a hang-over from reading too much of Linda Goodman in college. My birthday falls on Children’s day, that’s another reason why the day feels unique! Now I use it as an excuse to explain my infantile behavior.

When I turned 12, I once invited the whole neighborhood to my house for cake. My mother had said I could invite who ever I wished and I took advantage of it. It felt so great walking around with a beaming smile announcing to all and sundry that it was my birthday.

Although we are four years apart my sister and I have just a day in between our birthdays. For both economic and reasons of convenience my parents preferred to keep our birthday party on 15^th November. (Mine being on 14^th and her’s on 16^th).

 14th November started with festivities. On waking up I would discover goodies kept under my pillow the previous night.

 A vanilla scented eraser, a chocolate, a tin pencil box or a comic would send my young heart soaring in glee. My mum being a doctor and always hard pressed for time still managed to make my favorite dishes on this day. At school a treat awaited me since all schools distribute sweets on this day. The next day, on 15^th, there would be further gaiety to look forward to.Cousins and friends would come over with gifts to wish me Happy Birthday! Who was I to disagree? I was happy on this day too, regardless of me being born a day before!  Everyone pampered me, said nice things to make me happy and I would  be walking on sunshine these two days of the year!

Cut to the present.The day begins with cheerful wishes from family and close friends.  I get an fb page full of birthday wishes. My daughter paints me a beautiful card with loving words.  I go to work as usual. Its children's day and the children have an excuse today to behave rowdily. We have to be extra polite to them. It’s their day they keep reminding you.It’s a tiring day for teachers. The dim and indiscipline often gives me a headache. I come home tired from work and invariably decline my husband's proposal for a dine out. I prefer to curl up with t.v dinner and some peace.This is how I prefer to celebrate my birthday now.

 It feels foolish these days telling others that it’s my birthday. (Naively doing this right now on a public portal though!!) I shrink at the thought of someone asking me my age! Whoever said age is just a number is in denial and needs serious counseling.

That remarkably unique feeling on my birthday diminished with time. More pressing things need attention now. That magical day when I walked about with a grinning happy face and childishly announcing to all “It’s my happy birthday today” is long gone. The starry eyed adolescent grew up after all.Although she did take a long time doing so.

 I guess all good things must come to an end!

Pink and Orange

Clean wide streets greeted me with a smile. I looked at the lush greenery around me with amazement. It’s been almost a year since we had shifted to Nagpur but today is the first time that I appreciate all its beauty and attributes. Let me elaborate.

A year ago I lived in Mumbai. Well settled in a government flat on the posh Altamont Road. I worked at a reputed school and was on the verge of completing five years of teaching there. I had made some good friends. Weekends were filled with cycling and discovering this myriad city of dreams. But my dream was rudely interrupted by my husband’s transfer to Nagpur.

I cribbed and sulked for a long time. Saw this city as a small insignificant place. Angry at my sudden uprootment, I didn't appreciate anything about this town or its inhabitants. The people were of little importance. I saw nothing of interest here. I pined for Mumbai and rushed into her arms whenever I could. You could say I lived in the past; longing for what was my yesterdays!

This Diwali vacations we decided to go to Jaipur. Although I have visited the pink city several times before, but its forts and palaces always intrigue me. Jaipur turned out to be a horror story. The traffic was a nightmare. The city was one big garbage dump. Everywhere there was dust and plastic. Even the beautiful Jal Mahal in the middle of the lake had floating debris and scum on it.

Our stop over at Delhi too was a disappointment. Although swanky and posh, the new malls, flyovers and the Metro failed to impress me as the air quality was so pathetic and the dust almost chocking.

As we drove home from the airport I looked around me. Nagpur must be one of the cleanest and greenest cities of India. Something stirred within my heart. I think I missed this place. The clean wide roads were so impressive. The lush green Seminary Hill lay like a virgin bride welcoming me back. I missed the regal grandeur of Civil Lines, the high court and Vidhan Bhavan, the hustle and bustle of Sadar. Today I appreciate the slow pace of life here. The patience with which the very polite citizens tackle their routine actually pleases me.

It took one city’s mess to appreciate the other’s order and cleanliness; one badly managed civic body to acknowledge another efficient one. The soft sweet water, the comfortable mild winters, the almost zero traffic snags and the list of positives go on. I think I am in love again! This time it is this orange city! Hold on actually I think I am in love with my present, with TODAY!

This autumn break I learnt a difficult life’s lesson. It’s better to move out of the past and appreciate the present. Today I decided to chuck out Shelley, Faiz and Galib out of the window. Their love sick poems always yearning for the past. (“We look before and after, and pine for what is not”). Today I decided I am going to live in my present and appreciate what I have. And Cheers to that!  

Where Is The Party Tonight?

Once a really long time ago when I was around 7 years old, my sister and I had been invited to a birthday party. Unfortunately we didn't know anybody at the party. Our parents (busy as they always were, had dropped us at the venue and left).For the next hour or so we both sat in a corner, shyly surveying the noisy bunch.Immaturity and lack of confidence made us hesitate in joining in the games. When the food was served I badly wanted to take a second helping of cake. My sister felt this would be impolite. So being the wiser of the two, she stopped me.

My Sister and Me.

That day I came back home low-spirited and full of remorse at having lost out on an evening of fun, food and games. It was my shyness and reluctance that was to be blamed that day.

Every time I walk into a gathering of strangers, I recollect that birthday party.What fun all the children appeared to be having, how badly I had wanted to join in and how much I wanted that second slice of cake!

 So I decided that ambivalence was not going to be a part of my dictionary as far as interactions in  social gathering is concerned.

 It’s a strange paradox actually that I am quite a social recluse and yet, when thrown into a party scene I end up fully enjoying myself!

 When the option of going to a party or bunking it is put before me I prefer to relax at home over a TV dinner. But sometimes unavoidable and forced to go, I pin a smile, wear my most civil face, move up to the group that seems most amenable and say a cheerful hello. It may seem a little brazen, but I never hesitate to introduce myself and start the conversation.

 The one big advantage with growing old is you gain in confidence (although you continue to think of yourself as in your twenties!)

Hope you have read my earlier post on growing old. Here is its link:-http://nimadas.blogspot.in/2014/07/the-middle-ages.html

 I find it interesting chatting up with strangers. I never run out of conversation. You could call me a chatter box! I enjoy my drink, love to move a leg, stuff myself unembarrassed on the hors d’oeuvres and end up feeling very content with myself.

I won’t call myself a party person nor the live wire of any party, yet I am not one to hesitate from opening up to people I have just met.

 I broach the topic of my roots. It’s a sure shot winner! ”I am from Assam and you?” This statement never fails to open the floodgates of genuine curiosity and sometimes some really bizarre queries as well. Once a certain high society lady wanted to know if Gauhati was situated somewhere between Ludhiana and Varanasi!

The topic of my marriage is a show stopper of sorts! And my infinite mischievous self forces me to transform our tad boring intercaste marriage into a masala Bollywood melodrama! I get  buried alive in the avalanche of killer looks from hubby dear. But I bask in all that attention and bloom in those glorious minutes when I hog the limelight with interesting twists and tales.

 I can accelerate from one topic to another at formula one speed without a shred of inhibition! I stumble, fall flat on my face, put my foot in my mouth and yet who is to stop my chattering! I wonder if people can guess when they see me in this public performance that I was initially reluctant to come to the party!

They don’t know that I have taken a resolution some 40 years ago-

 Never sit in a corner alone at any party.Move around and interact with everyone with a beaming happy smile and to definitely eat the second helping of cake!

The Learner!

I started my teaching career in’91 and have taught in quite a few schools during this course of time. What I have learnt is that children are mostly the same everywhere.They usually fall into certain personality types. There are the bullies, the attention seekers, the wall-flowers, KTPs, the athletes, the monitors, the funny ones and the out for fun ones. There may be more types but it’s almost uncanny how similar children can be in personality no matter where they belong. In every place that I worked in, whether in Guwahati, Delhi, Ludhiana, Mumbai  or here in Nagpur, the school managements differ, the teachers are diverse in personality, but the children they were always the same. Here are some classic examples.

The ones which all teachers dread is the bully of the class. The bullies in the class have massive attitudes. They rarely pay attention to the teacher’s teaching. They never have their books and stationery. They will argue and test the teacher’s patience. They have an air of "I don’t give a damn, what can you do about it" Most of the time they go about rubbing people the wrong way. Children fear them and keep their distances. Some silently look up to them, hence their fan following.

Then there is the attention seekers.They flock around you. They want your love and attention. They will volunteer to help you, raise their hands to speak every time (even when they may not know the answer!) they border on hero-worshiping you. They want to know about you and want you to know about their lives. They may lack in confidence but not in their sweet smiles.

The wallflowers are the shy introverts of the class. They never speak, volunteer or have anything to contribute to any discussion. They keep to themselves and mostly mind their own business. They will sit silently during your class and avoid looking at you. In fact most days you may not even notice they are there. They usually have very few friends. Any attempt to draw them into a conversation and you get mono-syllables as reply!

KTP a term I coin to club the keen Type Performers of every class. They are excellent in academics.  They are the Toppers of the class. Their general knowledge on current affairs is outstanding. They will usually be monitors and prefects. They participate in all the extra-curricular activities. Teachers dole out praises for their talents and skills. Sometimes however, the praises get into their heads; they develop an air of superiority that borderline in rude behavior. Yet most of them are modest, well behaved, disciplined and very hard working. Teachers love them and every teacher-parent wishes for this perfect KTP child.

And the fun-loving children of the class. They are always looking for some ‘masti’! They will do anything for some light moments of humor. They get brilliant, innovative ideas of doing mischief. Very prompt at saying sorry but rarely learning lessons from their mistakes. They always find the class room a dull and boring place and they love the recess period. They have a pack of friends always hanging on to their every word.

These are just a few types of children I come across in every school that I have taught in. Children are all good at heart. Though they lack in the years of experience they are basically smart and aware of things. Adults just need to talk to them, show them what’s right and wrong. Discipline them by example, because they hate to be condemned. Leave them alone to find their own path. Today on Teacher’s Day I salute all my colleagues for guiding the children to be good humans.

The school is a miniature world. There are all sorts of personalities here that add color to life and make it the perfect place of learning. And I am a learner here.

Two Nations!

 One day after dinner Tomoko and I both went to put the trash out. Tomoko Hasegawa and I were neighbors in Durham University’s hostel apartments in the U.K. She was from Japan, living with her husband and son and we were good friends.

The covered trash cans were kept outside the apartment block in a fenced area. Somebody had left their garbage bags outside the bins. It had been a very windy day and the thrash was strewn all over the place. Tomoko looked very disturbed at this sight. She immediately got down to picking up the garbage and collecting them in a black polythene bag. I just stood there transfixed at this sight! Picking up someone else’s refuse was unthinkable for me!

   Kiyomi, another Japanese friend of mine always sorts out her garbage, rinsing out empty bottles and cans before throwing them into the recycle bin.

  Japanese children are always courteous and respectful.

Today when I watch the news of our Prime-minister visiting Japan, I remember these incidents with my Japanese friends.

Japan is JAPAN because of its people, their hard work and commitment towards their nation. A country totally destroyed and ruined at the end of Second World War again found place within the top economic and technological powers of the world.

Japanese people are disciplined and hard working. They have created the third largest economy in the world. Their Infrastructure is designed to support the people living there. The modern Japan is a product of the  commitment of the people to their duties. 

They are ready to sacrifice their rights to fulfill their duties towards the society and the country. People are taught to be responsible for their own actions. They are taught to value time.

  

 We Indians have a lot to learn from the Japanese. For one, we definitely need to be more disciplined. Our “ chalta hai”attitude about everything, our total lack of civic sense and our almost nonexistent sense of responsibility specially towards public property is evident in the red pan stains on the roads and public buildings.

                                 

                                      

     Converting every street corner into a garbage dump or a public urinal!           

    People jaywalking where ever they fancy!

 No amount of Infrastructure can remedy a nation. It’s the mindset that needs to be changed. We need a revolution, a radical movement to educate Indians. We need to be more aware of our duties and obligations towards our country.

To convert India into Japan, Indians have to be  more responsible towards their civic duties .You may clean the Ganges but if mindsets are not changed it won’t remain clean. You create infrastructure it will be misused. 

 

 Last year I read this shocking news in a Mumbai paper. Here is the link-

http://www.mumbaimirror.com/mumbai/crime/Passengers-get-dorms-they-dont-deserve-so-strip-them/articleshow/19721739.cms

 The Indian Railways had built A.C dormitories for overnight passengers at their CST station.The railways took due care to provide expensive lighting, taps and mattresses. Within a week vandals had slashed the mattresses, stolen the taps, shower heads and bulbs! A furious Railway officer is quoted to have said,” Those who complain that the railways abroad provide much better facilities should also note that people there take care of public property ”.

How true! We get the country we deserve! To create a city like Kyoto in India we need to be disciplined, responsible and hardworking. But Most of all we need to perform our civic duties just like the Japanese.

The Magic Of Weekends!

I had had enough. I was feeling completely drained. July had been a long month. A teacher's workshop programme thrown in, making all Saturdays working, and I was ready to collapse. I told my husband that I needed a break. He surprised me when I returned from work on Friday by saying, “Pack your bags, we are leaving right now!"

We drove to Chikaldhara, a small hill station about 230 kms from Nagpur, leaving all work and worries behind.

A full moon played hide and seek with the clouds along the way, bathing the plains of Vidarbha with its silver hues. The drive was lovely; we were amazed at the well maintained highway.

It was dark by the time we drove up the Satpura ranges into Chikaldahra. The sound of insects greeted us at the forest guest house; an old colonial structure that looked like it would collapse at any moment. A family of badgers living on the roof kept us company all night.

The morning started with a good breakfast of idlis and off we went trampling into the thick forest of Sal and Teak, discovered by a certain Captain Robinson in the early 19^th century. This Englishman found it particularly attractive because the lush green reminded him of England- As it reminded me of Shillong!

There were ruins of a deserted fort that was filled with romance and history. A scenic valley with little waterfalls everywhere. Streams and brooks tearing off in a hurry at every corner. Lots of green flora, some naughty monkeys and lots of birds and butterflies.

We took long leisurely walks, avoiding the usual tourist spots. (Scandal Point, Sunset Point, museums and gardens). Just chatting and basking in the pure air. The best part was there were fewer tourists here than at other hill stations.

The locals kept to themselves, not hounding us with their wares and tall stories. The only disappointment was the rain clouds were sulking and we never got to capture those lovely images of cloud drenched hill tops.

This was no "wow holiday"! These photos will never hit a thousand likes on status updates at social networking working sites. Yet this little trip did a mighty task of rejuvenating me.

Sometimes that’s all we need to kickstart our life back into action. A short trip, a nice movie, even close friends over for dinner can do the trick.

Weekends are like lovers. They take you into their arms, caress and calm you. You wake up feeling fresh like a dandy, ready to start on Monday without the blues! Have a good week!

Talcum Powder!

I read this article in a leading fortnightly magazine about how some things are going to disappear from our lives.Some of the things they had listed were Talcum powder, Alarm Clocks, Single-blade razors and so on. This list sends me on a sweet trip of heart-warming memories.

When I was very young, my elder sister would sometimes get into a mothering mode. She would bathe me till I was squeaky clean and then liberally powdered me with lots of talcum powder. Later on she would make me a yummy snack and allow me to play with her prized possessions; her books, comics and her trinkets. Wow! that was a real treat considering that she rarely allowed anyone to touch her stuff. So there I was,sitting on the bed, covered with white powder and blissfully playing  like an angel. Sight for sore eyes!

Being the youngest member in the family, I was used to a lot of molly coddling. I was quite a pampered brat actually.

On Sundays my mother usually took a leisurely bath and wore her soft cotton mekhela chadar and applied some nice smelling talcum powder. I would stick by her side whole day and breathe into her lovely fragrance. In the afternoon siesta time, I would lie next to her and put my head on her bare stomach, listen to her soft breathing and ask her if I had once actually lived inside her? Was I the better daughter would be my next question? She would always reply that being her last born child I was indeed the special one. That would make me feel very content and serene. Even today the sweet fragrance of lavender or sandal wood makes me feel fresh, snug and very happy, always reminding me of those times when my world was a small and carefree place!

 Then I became a mother myself. Bath-time was fun time! The shampoo foam and body gel was shaped into weird hairdos for my frisky little one.Long hours were spend playing and splashing around in the bathroom. All her toys got a bath too and were scrubbed clean! Then wrapped snugly on a towel I would carry her to her bed where she would run around in circles deliriously happy!Her favorite game was ghost-ghost!She would apply all the powder on her face and try to scare us by being a “bhoot”!

When things disappear from our lives, like some things do, don’t we all long for them to come back? Those days of my childhood and those of my daughter’s are long gone. There are only memories now. Sweet and full of emotions. Memories they come at unexpected moments and catch you unawares. Like the whiff of a smell or the sight of something familiar.Then you are awestruck at how time has flown. Wasn't it just yesterday that it was all a part of your life?Now all you have are some photographs and some memories? Just like talcum powder, in the end only sweet fragrance remains of those bygone days.

Rains!

What’s with rains and me? I love rains and that’s an understatement.

I was sent to a boarding school at the age of five or so. My parents, both working professionals thought it better that I should be raised in a boarding rather than be left on my own among the house help .The school was called Pine Mount and true to its name it was on top of a quaint hill surrounded by pine trees in the picturesque capital of Meghalaya, Shillong.

Meghalaya as the name aptly defines, is the abode of clouds. Most days of the academic year we would wake up to cloudy grey skies or a light drizzle. Even at that young age I loved wearing my rubber gum boots and raincoat and running off to play hide and seek in the light drizzle. What fun it was when low clouds suddenly made everything within a few meters disappear and then suddenly reappear again like magic. Aaahaa! Planting the first seeds of a romantic in me!

During my teenage and growing up years in Guwahati I have some nostalgic memories of rain. The rains would start as early as April and continue till late September.

The flooding of streets, returning home drenched from college, the sight of the turbulent  Brahmaputra spilling into its embankments, the lush green foliage on the Navagraha hill. And of course I slowly blossomed into a poet! Who wouldn’t? When the rain fell on the tin roof of my Assam type house, I discovered rhyme and rhythm in that cacophony. What else can I say I think I had fallen in love with the monsoons!

Delhi and rain is a misnomer! Yet in my first home on the fourth floor of a DDA flat in Vasant Kunj,I witnessed lovely short spells of rain. My little daughter’s enthusiasm to use her new umbrella didn’t get dampened.

And finally Mumbai! I re-discovered my love for the monsoons!

Sudden down pours during walks on Marine Drive, the sight of approaching grey clouds over the Arabian Sea, roast corn on hot coal, high tide on chowpatty beach, reaching work in wet shoes, drenched seats of the yellow and black cabs, cycling in the rain! I can go on and on describing the many shades and sounds of my love!

I wonder why I love the summer showers so much? Is it the soothing sound of rain falling? Is it the sight of everything washed, cleaned and sparkling? Is it the cool breeze that brings summer temperatures down? Why do I feel so happy when it rains? Anyway how does it matter? I am in love and as long as the raindrops keep falling on my head I am happy!

 Listen to this lovely song to go with the mood.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OT1HCQcSHW0

The Great Indian Dress Code!

No bikinis on Goa beaches': After short dresses, minister calls for ban on skimpy swimwear 'to prevent sex attacks'.

 ‘Union minister of state for tourism  wants to end ‘pub culture’.

 13/7/2014 headlines on TOI.

Dear Minister

 I applaud your wisdom and mature observation regarding crime and its prevention in your beautiful state of Goa. Your esteemed self has rightly, in the manner of a fine, cultured and highly educated person, given this conclusion that  pubs ,short dresses and bikinis (hope I got the order correct, saar?) lead to crimes. Your duty to uphold our Great Indian Culture is truly an honorable decision.

 May I as a humble citizen of this nation make a very small suggestion in this regard? (Of course with your permission, saar!)

Firstly, why not introduce a dress code saar? This dress should cover from head to toe. Nothing except the eyes should be exposed (the female species are known to seduce even with bewitching eyes) so the eyes too should only be seen through a net.

The Dress-Code!

 The implementation of such an extra-ordinary dress code will not only boost tourism but also earn you laurels from party high command. You will be upholding the GREAT INDIAN CULTURE!!(Thundering applause: background score)People will visit your state from every corner of the planet to witness such a unique place which has such a beautiful dress-code. The Taliban will be dammed (we will beat them on this score)

   

Secondly, brigades of Goa Moral police (these can be party supporters and happy volunteers) should move around the whole state (in similar dress code) and catch the violators. A public lashing (minimum 5 lashes) should be accorded to such indecent public who dare to wear short western outfits or the equally scandalous outfit called the BIKINI!

 Such dresses tantalize the vulnerable Indian male, transforms him into a violent criminal! The strong grounding he received in his morally righteous Indian upbringing  just melts away like butter at the sight of such alluring clothing. The Great Indian value system crumbles when he witnesses such indecently clad persons especially in the pristine beaches of Goa. And when he is forced (much against his will) to visit bars and pubs and down a few drinks, the helpless and powerless male loses his mind and is tormented to break his ties with his pure desi-bred culture and values. He becomes an animal who is compelled to rape. He is absolutely innocent and cannot be held responsible or guilty in any score for his sex crimes! He is after all The Great Indian Male (hail to thee!)

 Dear Minister, I am awed at your innate judgment and insight. I salute you. It is only leaders like you who can lead our nation to earn new laurels in today’s progressive world. We shall give excellent competition and sleepless nights to the likes of the Taliban and Boku-Haram. They will have to come up with more innovative ways to deal with those vultures of western society and cultivators of immoral women who visit pubs in bikinis and go to beaches in short dresses. (Deliberate mix up) They are all the same these scum bags, these dirty women. They are all evil, evil westernized women and they should all burn in hell or wear the new dress
code. After all what you want is just to protect them.

 Uphold the  Indian naari of this Great Indian nation and uphold our culture, isn’t it Saar?!

   

The Middle Ages!

Why didn't anyone warn me that growing old was going to be so tough?

40s should come with a warning! Sharp decline ahead!

 First the kid leaves home to look for greener pastures .And the house falls silent. Deal with that, its heavy!
 Now it’s just the two of us, me and my spouse and long evenings of discovering unique ways to eat each other’s brains for dessert!

 The most dreadful thing of the 40s-the reflection on the mirror!
 It’s a horror show most mornings. I look scary, bags under eyes, over- exhausted look, and hair oily and stuck to the scalp or dry and frizzy! There is either no color on my face or I look terribly tanned. Then there is the excess baggage pouring out from everywhere, the arms, the chin, the butts, the middles (why are they called love handles? Beats me, you can go figure, I am too disgusted by the stretch marks on it, eeewww!)

Then there are days when I can just about tolerate my looks. Layering on the cream, compact, rouge and all the works, I slowly start to transform into an extra-terrestrial. (These are my feeble attempts at what my daughter one day forcibly made me buy, it’s called make-up.) Make up for the loss of   youth is what they actually mean, mean guys. You need make-up now ma, never step out of the house without it she said!

 I will need a lot more then make up, more like amours of steel, that I tell you, but who is listening!

The thing I am most upset about is I can’t even speak the way I always used to. Society expects me to be polite, refined and sensible and if not then it isn't classy or you are a cookoo head!
 Who ever made these rules? Why can’t I continue to make silly mistakes, say ridiculous things, wave my arms about when excited or irritated, be impulsive, do a sudden gig, make  faces at obnoxious people and use all those cuss words like the young ones do all the time? Why do I need to act like an adult, speak only knowledgeable words and sound only stern or solemn?

 Now consider this; my all time favorite dress has always been my blue denim jeans and a t-shirt. But of late I feel it doesn't suit my age and certain occasions. I get those looks from  female species and you know what that means. Most outfits that look smart on the mannequins look ridiculous on me nowerdays. Why oh! Why do the great fashion houses and designers only create clothes for the 20s and 30s ultra slim and petite women?What are the rest of us suppose to wear? Leaves,animal skin and fur like in the Paleolithic ages?

My insides are facing the enemy too and losing out! Most days I can’t resist a second helping of that yummy mutton Rogan Josh and then the dreadful after effects  the morning after, less described here the better for the sensitively endowed.The hot flushes, the thinning hair line and widening middle line all familiar territory now. The poor better half suffers my mood swings and impatience quite well (he has little choice!) Who would provoke the godzilla at home?

 I am spear- heading towards the 50s too fast for comfort! What lies in store, God only knows, but I will definitely keep you posted. Take care friends and I hope all your aches and pains disappear as it just did for me (on completing this blog post!)
 Find a hobby, there that’s it, that’s the secret to get the dreadful old age blues out of the system. Eureka! What a discovery!