Friday 29 March 2013

20.

Yes, I know. I'm back after 5 months. Following in the footsteps of most of the 20-something-ers of this generation, I've realised that I too am inconsistent. Another bullet point in the long list of vices. I've been meaning to write here, since that fateful morning. Oh! no no! I didn't win the lottery or anything. I woke up, and realised I am 20. What's the big deal, you may ask. I don't remember being older than 15, I would say. I'm here not to complain about how old I am, by means of the colour of my hair, but about how old I am, in the sense of how confused this sudden revelation has made me.

I don't know. Three words that seem to be my constant reply to all sorts of questions. On one hand, I still live with the knowledge, and faith, that I've trusted and loved ones to ask, no matter what the question is. But on the other hand, I've been newly introduced to the concept, that unless I place the final seal, the post will lie around uselessly, like one of those red taped files in the Indian government offices. I have now become a complete cent percent responsible for my choices. Even when you can feel the hand, of the influential people in your lives, on yours, you know, that in that one tiny moment, you are alone. In that one tiny moment, when I would have more than happily hidden under my blanket, while my parents made the choice, I'm alone. And I need to choose. I need to decide. I need to. I don't want to.

As a child who grew up around large groups of older kids, I always envied them for the different levels of independence they enjoyed. I ardently wished that I would suddenly grow up, so that my mother could no longer ask me to put down my R.K.Narayan that I hid within my textbooks, and do math instead. And now, when I've reached the point where I get to choose my career path, I want to go back to being a kid. I wish I hadn't grown up so fast. I wish I didn't have to leave the cozy comfort of home so fast.

People always talk about how you grow wiser as you grow older. You grow wiser as a result of experiences, interactions, and accumulation of knowledge both practical and theoretical. But have we ever stopped to think if this was necessarily a good phenomenon? Where is that joy that used to overwhelm me at the sight of a new pencilpouch, a new waterbottle, new textbooks,  2 pieces of broken magnets, a sticky note, marbles, balls that have cartoon figures on them, cartoons in itself, a trip to the movie theatre, the excitement of receiving a kid's packet while on the plane? Where did it go? When did a colouring book stop making me jump around with glee? Is that a result of me having become wiser? Then I don't like it. How do we become 'wiser' if we stop realising the joy of small things in life?

Questions. I have more questions. And then some more. I think I'll get used to being 20 by the time I'm thirty. Or maybe, just maybe, I don't want to get used to it. Maybe, I don't want to be performing rituals that are dictated by my biological age. I wonder. Will we ever reach the stage where we are allowed to be as old as we feel? I doubt it. The world would be a more fun place to live in, then, though.