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Unforgiving numbers


‘I am older now’ is my go to mantra for everything wrong that happens in my life which I don’t bother to right it. Someone stupid said one fine day age is just a number and then people started falling for it. Age is a number plus its infinite principal. Last night I was asking my husband if he remembered when my upper arm joints had started hurting regularly. And he casually mentioned it must have been two years ago. With age, some parts of my body that I didn’t even know existed have started hurting a little more from all the wrong sides. I suffer from fibromyalgia. I also used to suffer from plantar fasciitis. The names of these diseases deeply bother my husband – not sure about the pain. 

Last week was my birthday. A colleague sent a horoscope link and one of the lines read ‘cancer signs are so moody that even they don’t know when our mood changed’. Nothing to be proud here. I have also heard myself saying ‘15 years too late for social media’ and yet I hang around it like a typical loser trying to fit in and yet not fitting in. Not fitting and not being popular in social media doesn’t bother me a lot but it kind of pricks – so hollow.

I slept like a baby for four days and even the sleep started ageing. Here I am after four days of good night’s sleep tossing and turning a thousand times with my phone furiously typing away at 12am. The thought of keeping a bottle of cough syrup on the side hasn’t left my mind since and then night comes again - the sleepless knife tugging me further and further away from the la la land.

This month I went on an all girl’s getaway trip with five girlfriends. We went on a 4-day shopping trip to Delhi. Prior to my flight I booked myself for a full legs and arm wax. The beautician decided to rip a line of my eyebrows amidst the excitement. And there I was calm and serene. Age does this to you. Had I been an 18yo I would have ripped all her eyebrows but then double that and nothing seems to alarm me anymore. So, waxed and ready for the trip and I wouldn’t have the guts to wear my half pants coz I am shit scared of india (did you notice the small i). When I booked the apartment, I sent a special message saying we wanted a vetted(?) driver considering how unsafe Delhi was for girls. Never received a response. The uber and ola spoiled us and was just the answer in the sweltering Delhi heat.  AC cabs right in front of us anywhere we wanted to be picked and dropped. And then I thought about the expensive run down Maruti taxis with equally rude drivers in Kathmandu.

The other day, a senior colleague entered my room and showed me her muffin top. I found myself saying, ‘di I am getting there just wait up’. I also told her the other option - tummy tuck. It must have been all the sweets I mutter silently. Dairy milk doesn’t qualify to be in the chocolate category. As if their prices weren’t outrageous enough they decided to save a bit of sugar by creating air bubbles. Who eats chocolate with air bubbles any ways? 

I requested a dynamic young girl who used to intern in our office to intern in my home instead. My eight-year-old wanted me to help her make videos on musicly and I didn’t know how to go about it. I searched and searched for Nepali sounds to help her make her own video and I failed miserably at that. I reassure myself this has nothing to do with age. The social media is in fact evolving too fast. I am glad I asked the young girl friend to help, she just sent me three videos in which thankfully my 8yo looks happy doing what she wanted so bad.

I guess the only good thing about this age is I now know what kind of wine and chocolate to purchase. I guess these are the only two things that make difference in determining what makes me happy for the rest of my life.

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