Midlife Euphoria - Day 22

When I decided to stop colouring my hair, my husband was thrilled as his crowning glory had been more salt than pepper for more than a decade now.

In fact, there was a time when his hair was quite silvery and mine was a brilliant black –thanks to L’Oreal hair colour. At one point, for some odd reason he decided to grow a beard too. He is naturally fortunate with conspicuous good looks, which enhances anything he experiments with. The beard added to his distinguished looks no doubt, but to my dismay, it was completely frosty. I flinched at its appearance. I felt it added many years to his age and by default mine too, as his wife.

I first ordered him to cut it off. He refused to comply. I changed my modus operandi and I requested him. He spurned my entreaties. When that failed, I implored him to get rid of the disconcerting stubble. He remained steadfast.

Now I resorted to terrorism. I told him that if he did not remove the offending white bush from his handsome face, I would be compelled to tell everyone that I was the second wife of this old gentleman who I had married solely for his fortune.

He was not intimidated by my threat. However, after a little while, good sense prevailed and he got rid of the outrageous facial hair. I heaved a sigh of relief.

Now, it was my turn to take the plunge from shiny black hair to a black-and-white look.

It so happened that at this point my daughter took a pregnancy test and announced that she was going to make us grandparents once again. Coincidentally, it concurred with my proclamation to go grey.
I took the decision very heroically, but was not prepared for the hysterics that were to follow.

I was advised two courses of action. One was to go to Tirupati, a district in Andhra Pradesh, where I would shave off my hair and start with a brand new crop of hair. This would hasten the process of natural looking growth, and by default I would accomplish a religious rite. Tonsuring the head and offering hair at Tirupati Balaji’s temple is done with a special purpose, i.e., while offering hair, a devotee casts off all the vices, vanities, and sins from his whole being. By doing so, he/she wants to become a complete devout. This is also done so that Shri Balaji, who is all benevolent, showers all his love, benevolence, affection, and piety on the devotee by fulfilling his/her desires.

Seemed a bit drastic and I personally felt I did not need to dispose off any major imperfections in my character.

The other choice was to disappear from the face of earth for a couple of months and reappear after a well-groomed silver mane.

The first option still looked more attractive and expeditious, but needed real daring. I have not seen myself sans hair since I was one. The not-so-appealing memory is locked away in a couple of black-and-white photographs.  

In spite of that, I was seriously considering it until one night I got up sweating from a nightmare. In my reverie, I saw a head as bald as an egg reflecting the colourful lights in a pub, crafting a psychedelic frenzy with every movement of the head. OMG! I could not subject myself to be a reflector of any kind.

That left me with the only other laudable option – vanish!

But where?

“When you want something, the entire universe conspires in helping you to achieve it” – Paulo Coelho.

After that some events transpired so quickly that I could barely keep pace. We decided to spend three months in our newly acquired hill house, incidentally corresponding to my daughter’s first trimester of pregnancy. It is out of the realm of our day-to-day social contacts. It would be easier to cope with strangers rather than connections you are familiar with. After that, my daughter wanted me to come to her in America for three months to facilitate the arrival of the new born.

I reasoned that three months in the hills would sail by as I could cover my multi coloured curls with a cap or stylish scarves. The cool weather would be a decent justification. Besides, the new acquaintances I make may accept it as my style statement. By the time I would reach the US, my tresses would hopefully be respectable looking.

In my own mind, I had planned to go completely berserk with my locks using coloured chalk to highlight the silver grey streaks. Wow, it would look hip and cool! The plan seemed seamless.
However, my woes began after the first twenty days when the roots flaunted a thin layer of snow, stalked by jet black coils. With every passing day, the snow kept getting thicker yet not covering the entire top. It looked like the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas. The sight from our hill home window looked brilliant, but when I looked at myself in the mirror I gasped at the alien image staring at me.

My daughter once said to me exasperated, “I don’t know what is so ‘natural’ about childbirth. Right from the time you conceive till the baby is born – the whole process is anything but natural!” I would reassure her saying, “These first two or three months are the toughest. You are ready to abandon the endeavour almost every day. If you withstand the first trimester, the rest is a cakewalk.”

In my mind’s eye, my predicament was far more natural – just a transition from black to grey hair. No physical stress, unnatural body changes, pica, nausea, fear of stretch marks, oedema, unnecessary shots, intake of vitamins, worry about oedema, or blood pressure like in pregnancy.

She sailed through her first trimester like a pro – experiencing no major morning sickness, nausea, swelling in the legs, loss of appetite, cramps, fatigue, or unnecessary weight gain. But my first trimester was giving me heartache. Every time I looked at myself in the mirror I would shirk. I started to avoid meeting people – something Martian to my otherwise gregarious personality. There was loss of appetite and inclination to wear something outlandish to distract attention from the top of my body toward other areas. My symptoms in the first trimester were more psychological than physical.

My supposition of cool weather in the hills was a fallacy. The days were quite warm, and covering the hair with a scarf or cap was uncomfortable. My comical look not only raised eyebrows, but I was afraid it may get me branded as lightheaded. I had to quickly abandon it.

After the first trimester (my daughter’s as well as mine), I had an inch of white hair showing at the roots, and the rest of the 10 inches was black. I had resolved not to colour it but unknown to others, I would touch it up with black kohl once in a while. That created other problems as the towels and pillows started turning greyish, and my husband knew I was cheating.

I decided that I would chop the length of my hair by half so that the proportion of black: white would be 5: 1 rather than 10:1. This was corresponding with the beginning of the second trimester for my daughter. She kept updating me about her progress – weight gain, visits to the gynaecologist, and acquiring a new wardrobe to suit her increasing girth. Simultaneously, I was busy with my new hairdo and wardrobe to match the colouring of my hair. To keep me distracted, I even took up new passions like walking, playing golf, and bridge. Mastering the varied techniques of these diverse activities helped me keep my mind off the major issue – my first ‘try’mester. After the hectic activities of the day, I would finally put my head on the pillow and drift into a nightmare-less sleep.

I braved a lot of remarks/suggestions about my mop. When someone is pregnant (and looking abnormal), no one seems very surprised. But if someone is braving an important changeover in life – no one wants to leave them alone. I was told that my looks were too youthful for a grey head of hair. Why was subjecting myself to this grief? Was it a transitory phase? Had I taken a vow of some kind? Why can’t people mind their own business?

I wonder if these comments were a tribute, or an affront to my current look.

Anyway, it was a matter of a few more days before I would be off to the western shores.

We were first going to be spending a fortnight in Germany. This was going to be my first brush with ‘western liberalism’ post my eccentric persona. Surprisingly, no one seemed to bother. People were mostly discreet, accepting, and respectful of personal choices. I could just as well have merged with the landscape around me for the kind of attention I provoked. I was pleased. To say the least, I thoroughly enjoyed my stopover in Germany – visiting the Eifel National park, seeing fascinating castles around Achan and Trier, doing the exotic cruise on the Rhine, and mingling with locals.

Now I was even more confident that the liberal American society would not care about the personal decision on my “shock” of hair.

By the time my daughter moved smoothly into her third trimester of pregnancy, my final trimester with my grey hair continued to be turbulent. I looked like a penguin with three inches of white and three inches of black hair.

We took the flight to America. In the long 24 hour haul, I started getting nervous. Not only had I stopped colouring my hair, I was now also supporting a new look with my clipped hair. My big concern was my three year old grandson. Will he recognize me? Will he like my look? Would he accept me as his nani? What if he doesn’t?

Those were the longest 24 hours for me.

At the airport, my son-in-law came to collect us. I was wondering what he would say about my hair, but he was too polite to make any comment. I wasn’t sure if I felt relieved or even more anxious.

All through the drive from the airport to the house, I thought what my grandson’s reaction would be to my modification.

The minute we entered the house, he rushed towards me. I closed my eyes in anticipation!

My grandson jumped onto me with a cheerful smile saying, “Welcome nani, I love you.” He had not even noticed the drastic change in my appearance. All my trepidations were inconsequential and all my qualms, put to rest. He loved me! He accepted me! He liked me! I did not need any certification from anyone else.

It was only toward the end of the third trimester that a semblance of sanity presented itself in my look. Now it was more the natural salt-and-pepper look with the tips showing all black. I looked rather trendy, and some people even thought I had patterned it stylishly. My daughter too was getting anxious and impatient as the last few months can be quite tiresome, though her face was glowing and there was a virtuous look about her.

Finally, the baby arrived full term. The salt-and-pepper look was complete, and each shaft of hair was now the same hue from roots to the tips.

I held the new-born delightedly in my hands. And it was at that moment that I realized that all our fears are inward. You are loved and respected for the person that you are, and not the façade that you present.

Midlife Euphoria - Day 21

Midlife Euphoria

The Marriage Conundrum | A Time of Transition in One of Society’s Oldest Institutions

In one of my previous chapters, I have mentioned that our generation has witnessed the maximum advancement in technology and has embraced evolution with open arms. Not only are we familiar with the latest gizmos, we are actually manipulating them to our full advantage.

There is another very important establishment of society that has revolutionized its version. It is the oldest institution of civilization, namely marriage and matrimonial relationships. Our generation has had the privilege of witnessing our grandmothers married to seemingly autocratic males (our grandpas). Overtly, the men were dictatorial and pompous – It is another matter that the same high-handed males outside the house would be tame little puppies at home. The clever women got their way even then, but to be confrontational outside the house was considered inappropriate. That was a time when a woman would be seen and not heard. For the woman, the perceptive juggling of various nuances of marriage associations bore compensation only after a considerable number of years and that too if they had played their cards intelligently.

If the man was seen helping his wife in any domestic pursuits, his macho image took a beating. I remember my own father and uncles hesitating to assist in any household chores, especially in front of their mother or other relatives.

We have come a long way since then. Voicing the same, I wrote an article the link to which is:
http://littleblackbookdelhi.com/2013/02/12453/the-marriage-conundrum-a-time-of-transition-in-one-of-societys-oldest-institutions

The article is as follows:

Marriage is one of the strongest institutions that keep a family, a society and its people together. Over the years, the roles that members of a family perform have modified. No longer is the man the exclusive earning member and the wife a full-time custodian of the house. Their roles have diversified due to which they have common characteristics. There is sharing of responsibilities in what was once considered, essentially gender-based chores like child rearing, cooking, and cleaning for the woman and travel-related jobs, outstation conferences, etc. for the man.

Needless to say, to keep the institution of marriage efficacious, both the spouses have to compromise for each other constantly. In many ways, a girl still has to measure up and stretch out far more than the boy, as the prerogative to break or keep the family together most usually lies with the woman. At the time of marriage, women are far more astute, mature, and pervasive in a house than a man. By their look and persona, they can make the house a warm place for friends/relatives or mar it completely. This is an inherent quality a woman possesses, which is different from men and can only be explained by saying that men are from Mars and women are from Venus.

Thanks to the fact that women have found a voice and have increasing financial security, they are not in a hurry to jump into marriage. There is no right and proper age for marriage. Girls want to be sure that their spouse is someone who is compatible and someone who she can relate to, physically and mentally. The shift is from looking up to a husband to standing equal to him like a friend.

Women have evolved more than their male counterparts. They have embraced new ways of the world copiously and now feel emancipated and worthy. Not only are they balancing their roles at home and out of the house effectively, they are also excelling in fields that were so far dominated by men.

Most men are still in a state of transition, primarily because the stereotype of a docile wife still persists among several sections of society. Thus, the perception lingers in their minds, and they rationalize it by presuming that their parents are not yet ready to embrace a liberated daughter-in-law. It would be invalid to say that all men are coping with this dilemma, even though some have actually come to terms with this development. A woman in many cases is not only an earning member, but possibly the principal wage earner, whereas the man maybe an auxiliary. Depending on the pressures at work, some men have decided to be house husbands willingly, a concept that was unheard of until a few years ago.

On the other hand, there are men who covet a progressive woman who challenges and contests them in the same way as their male colleagues. They are likely to prefer a woman who is well acquainted with the modern endeavors of the world. Nevertheless, they also tend to get intimidated by the idea of marriage. These men too seem to be in the process of consolidating their sense of self, in order to handle the changing definition of the women of today.

It is due to this discrepancy in the evolution of coherent understanding between men and women that the sacred institution of marriage appears to be a bit shaky. This phenomenon is not limited to the west, but signs of its vulnerability are apparent in our country too.

However, I firmly believe that now is a changeover period. The time has come when the foundation of a healthy matrimony will be the alliance of two equally balanced states of mind with a spirit of camaraderie to attain collective intends. Only then, beyond doubt, the institution of marriage will once again become the formidable force it once used to be.

Day 20: Midlife Euphoria - How Dare I Have Fun!

I'm beginning to realize that aging is not for wimps. Yes, I'm in my midlife and I think I am having the time of my life!

From the time I can recollect, we have been taught to practice restraint. Be it while emoting, spending money, or having a great time. Our folktales are teeming with allegories of overtly extravagant, gregarious individuals who were doomed. The clear message underlying the fables was to practice moderation, least the devil casts an evil eye. In some cultures, this way of life is ingrained so deeply that when one does otherwise, one actually feels guilty. If  enjoyment could be clubbed with some work, it is still acceptable, but to have pure unadultrated fun is considersed preposterous.

Our eastern philosophy has perpetuated this myth deeply into our psyche. To a certain extent, this ”holdback” has seen us through difficult times. Also in the bygone times, respecting this sentiment was important, as life was fatalistic and uncertain, with fewer choices, poor medical care, and countless factors beyond our control. No doubt this same restriction has saved us from the terrible recession the west is going through at the moment. But my question is, ”Is it fair for this check to actually impose a life sans fun, a surrender from enjoyment, relinquish a wish to buy an exorbitant dress, abandon a desire to go on a cruise, or simply forsake an urge to indulge outlandishly on oneself?”

In my opinion, if by midlife you have accumulated a considerable amount of assets, your children are well-established in their lives, you have a decent home to live in, and above all, money to spare, why should you not spend it on yourself even a bit recklessly, without your conscience playing the spoilt sport?

But, no!

From childhood, we are drilled into saving for ”a rainy day.” Our parents scrounged, scraped, and stashed all their lives to set aside a fortune that they would enjoy in their old age. Could they do justice to the hardships they bore for the comfort that they would one day reap? Sadly, some passed away leaving an inheritance for their progeny. (Needless to say, their lives’ savings would be squandered in no time by the inheritors, as I believe in the adage  ”easy comes easy goes”). Some became too frail/scared to travel or sightsee, some could not indulge in culinary delights due to medical and dietary restrictions.

The dream of living in palatial houses is dreamt by all and realized by many. This means putting in your life’s saving into an enormous asset, namely a house. Living in these giant houses with huge lawns and artifacts, looks most glamourous and stylish, but in truth, is nothing more than a golden trap. Soon you recognize that you are just custodians of this huge domain, attending to it like a slave. Cleaning, repairing, and providing security for the vast empire. All your savings are reinvested for maintenace. You are handicapped and imprisoned in your own mansion, as you are scared to leave the premises for obvious reasons.

Instead, live life king size, and prudently have enough stashed away for an emergency. Today, wealth advisors will show you how to lead joyous lives with enough to bide by in a crisis.

My husband’s company runs a wonderful program for employees who are about to retire. We attended one such seesion. It was for a week and held at Ooty. We just went to have a good time, but in the process learnt a lot.

The golden rules to a happy healthy and respectful retired life:

1)      The first rule is to maintain good health and not neglect any abnormal medical signals

2)      Invest in insurance policies that will give you security

3)      Distribute money in different ways to derive the maximum benifit from your assets

4)      How to budget, yet live, an exorbitant lifestyle

5)      Sometimes, the children are abroad and are not interested in your house/property. Some with the grace of God, are really doing well and do not need your belongings, while some children are ungrateful and do not deserve your wealth. In any of these circumstaces, you can take a reverse morgage on your house. This simply means you sell the house to a bank and enjoy the money in your lifetime, while continuing to stay there and only after you pass away, the bank will acquire the house. Marvellous! Isn’t it

6)      Living in old home communities is another option that is really catching up in our country. I think it is a brilliant concept. You have people of your age group around you, and when complaining about any aches and pains, you will get an empathatic audience, instead of scowls and exasperation from children who will seem more tired of listening about your aching body than you would be of the pain.

7)      Also you will have ample time to experiment with alternative health remedies, like yoga, meditation, reiki, gymming, etc. Not only are they beneficial for health, but make you part of a community, which is essential as you age.

Very often, we realize that as we age, our energy levels drop, we tend to get absent- minded and a bit clumsy. Sometimes, one tends to miss out words while hearing a conversation, not admitting that one is getting hard of hearing. My father-in-law had very humorous thoughts on these issues. He always said that as you age you tire easily and have a valid reason to lie on the bed and relax; when you drop something and break it, it is time to go shopping and buy new stuff. If you become hard of hearing, it is better as you ”hear no evil.”

The older we get,
the fewer things
seem worth waiting in line for.
When you are dissatisfied
and would like to go back to youth,
think of algebra.

A friend of mine in the U.S., Sukhi, popularly known as Sue, told me about  another friend of hers who works in her organization. She was promoted and the new position  required her to keep a distance from her subordinates (who were colleagues/friends till then) and not mingle with them casually. She tried it for a few days and was miserable. Her colleagues were her friends, her confidantes, and family. Distancing herself from them was cutting her off from the world that she enjoyed so far. The dilemma was whether to choose a career vs. a fun-filled future with people she loved. Finally, she realized her life’s ambition to reach the top was to ensure happiness for the future, but if the price she had to pay was renouncing a way of life she loved then it was not worth it. She refused the responsible position and embraced the charmed life she already had with the people she cared for.

This got me thinking. I have been a teaching faculty in schools for a long time. Our favourite pass time in the staff room was to tear the principal to shreads. It was cathartic and we derived great pleasure in blaming all our frustrations on the chief administrator. Many years later, I was given the position to head a school. I was thrilled, but soon realized that ”uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.” It is lonely at the top. The easy comradarie that you share with your colleagues disappears. Your job demands that you keep a distance from them, reprimand them, and sometimes, even be downright mean. It is an uncomfortable situation.

Sometimes, the pursuit of larger goals makes us ignore some basic goals that fulfil our life with joy and positive energy that give a zest to life. You have to choose what gives you happiness. Sometimes, the choices seem irrational, but look at the long-term benefits of the same.

Way back when I was much younger, I had to quit my job as the children were small. It seemed like a difficult decision at the time. But in retrospect, I travelled a lot with my husband and children and today, after two decades I can proudly say that I share a very special bond with them, and feel very enriched with my varied experiences in different places where my husband was posted – not to mention, the closeness that he and I share.

Our conditioning has been such that I find that people of my generation, even to this day, don’t know how to have fun with friends or otherwise. To quote Malcolm Gladwell of the “Blink” fame, “Go by your instinct.” Sometimes, spontaneously catching a play, going for a drive, listening to music, letting your hair down, getting wet in the first monsoon shower without saying, ‘Oh, I’m too old for this kind of thing,’ is a must do thing.

I remember when my daughters were mere babies, they would be in peels of laughter whenever I played peekaboo with them. It never failed. The unexpected always puts a smile on your face. Similarly, indulging yourself silly – be it gorging a black forest cake, late night party, dancing till your feet drop, or an extravagant cruise/holiday – is okay once in a while. Not only do we need to stimulate our brain and body, we also need to give a workout to our soul. This could be any of the above mentioned. There are people in some cultures who use gourmet food as a balm on wound. These people are happy. Food can uplift spirits and dodge depression. This does not mean we go out of control, but indulge once in a while and give your insides an aerobics feel.

I am passionate about eating and indulge without compunction, whereas a friend of mine does the same with guilt and invariably shows signs of discomfort afterward.

We kindle our mind with brain teasers, Sudoku, crossword puzzles, jigsaws, memorize long verses, etc. to ward off Alzheimer’s disease; similarly, we need to revitalize our eyes to breathtaking visual delights, our ears to invigorating sounds, our skin to rejuvenating creams, our nose to refreshing smells, and our tongues to exhilarating tastes.

All through my youth and childhood, I had suppressed so many desires. One such wish was to don a bikini. Somehow I could not put it on as at any given time; either I was too skinny or too fat. If my legs were in shape, my midriff looked out of proportion; or if my waistline was acceptable, the arms were bulging. After my daughter was married, we went to Hawaii for a holiday. I decided to put on the bikini in the exotic beaches of Hawaii with all restraint thrown to the winds. Although I was far less shapely than the numerous times when I had discarded the idea of slipping on the bikini before, I thoroughly enjoyed myself without a care about the kind of a spectacle I was making!

One of the many things,

no one tells you about aging is

that it is that it is such a nice change

from being young.

Ah, being young is beautiful,

but being old is comfortable.

I wanted to go to Venice and sit in a gondola, I wanted to go to outlandish Africa and see the giraffes, I wanted a quaint little summer house in the mountains where we could spend our summers, I wanted to go white-water rafting and snorkeling. All these were accomplished with the support of my husband and kids. I have the luxury to loll around in the sun on a hammock for hours, or spend an entire day with friends hanging out in shopping centers, coffee shops, or window gazing. I still want to go on a cruise, I want to go paragliding, I want to travel to other mystic lands, and I want to go to Leh … My wish list could go on and on. But it does not seem as intimidating as it did when I was younger. I had to think of the children, the house, the finances. The yearnings were there, but we never had the time to carry them out. Mercifully now, we have the time, the patience, and still the energy to follow through these desires.

We are in a very happy place now, we don’t have to worry about careers, we don’t have to plan for making money, and we don’t have to grow our families. For the first time in our lives, we can actually be selfish and indulgent, and pamper ourselves silly. For the first time, we can actually become the center of our universe. But no, we bring all our baggage of the constipated upbringing and insist on living in the past. I feel sorry for people in their fifties who have started counting the funeral chariots in their procession!

Come on guys, let’s seek fun ship!