Growing older

During my visits to the malls and market area both in Delhi and here back home, I have often commented on older ladies not dressing their age. Whenever I see a female in a dress or fitting pants with her stomach screaming for some space, I wonder why they put themselves through such misery? Why bother to look young when the truth is you have crossed a certain age? Well in the last few weeks, I had two experiences which made me question if I had stepped over to the other side myself.

1. After a rather hectic day at work, which included a three hour back-to-back lecture, I was happy to change into something more comfortable like my ASOS knee length dress before heading to the tailor's. While in town, I met three juniors who were happy to take a momo break with me. One of them was a girl, a super junior, who is here on a month long holiday from her medical college in Rajasthan. She was dressed in pants and a sweater with matching boots. It was when we were talking and walking together that I realized I was dressed wrong for my age. She looked much more mature than me and here I was, dressed rather skimpily (atleast in comparison to her). Was I also one of them now? Trying to look young? Or did I look decent enough to pass off as a twenty something year old wearing a summer dress on a hot day? I really hope it was the latter.

2. The other episode took place today. I was out in a village school in East Sikkim, interviewing teachers and students for the evaluation report I am writing for an NGO based in Gangtok. Two female teachers stated their ages as 29 years and 34 years, respectively. For a second there they had me thinking. My first thought was they must be lying about their age. To me, they seemed atleast over 35 years old or more. But then again I thought maybe I was still looking through the eyes of the young girl that I once was.

In the last five years, I have witnessed a few changes. There was a time I was once one among the students, and today I am friends with the teachers. A time I would call the taxi drivers 'Daju', and a time now when I call them 'Bhai' mostly. Also, I seem to be having the driver-passenger talk rather instantly. This was a trait I witnessed among the aunties and uncles in the past. Maybe now I should add another unwanted milestone to this ever increasing list. I am now part of the circle of ladies who are still young at heart, just no longer in appearance.

Growing old(er) sure has its stages. Sigh.