“I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried,
I’ve had my fill, my share of losing,
And now, as tears subside,
I find it all so amusing,
To think, I did all that,
And may I say, not in a shy way,
Oh no, oh no not me,
I did it my way” …
My dream when I say ‘Ta’ and move on, is precisely what Sinatra sang that he did … Live life, my way, my terms, make my folks happy and myself too in the bargain … :-D
I did’nt know 30 could be so hard. A new decade. A new period of hope, dreams, goals based on ground reality, not as a mid-sized mother of 2, being a “Mrs So and So”, sorry, a “Mrs. Kamath” or a “Mrs Shenoy”, a ‘soona’ to someone, a mother to a few. Here I am, a few weeks shy of becoming 30 (I’m deliberately not using the word ‘turning’, it’s my worst nightmare to think of the bloody movie), single, still being confused enough about love being "love" or a mere 'Lifeline', (who knows?), and cutely chubby to some, grotesquely overweight to a few more- (Mostly ‘prospective grooms and their seriously issue-ridden parents). :-)
I’ve spent a good part of my life reading. Books on adventure, crime, psychological thrillers, the occasional horror story (the only one I did’nt complete being the Exorcist which had me literally peeing in my pants at age 14). It’s just that off-late, I noticed a, well, "trend" of piling on the ‘Nora Roberts’ series of muddy romances and believe you me, I am sincerely trying to wean myself away from them. A rebel for a better part of my life, all of a sudden, since the debacle with a seemingly perfect New Zealander (Kiara oara!) happened, I can’t help but think as to whether this IS what I’ve really and actually been looking for? Without realising it? A touch of some good old fashioned romance???? (Oh boy! Shame on me, the socially awkward epitome of chubbiness!). Oooops! Perhaps there has been a mask hiding who I’ve really been and what I’ve really wanted or needed all this while. And I’ve spoken to friends in similar predicaments and to our chagrin (Damn it!), we’re pretty much the same. Romantically mucked up romantic retards, the odd balls who proclaim to run away from romance when that’s all some of us have ever been looking for!
Proof of this being when I had dinner a few months ago with a friend whom I’ve known for the past 24 years (Shit!, we’re old). This ‘Ooooh, I hate committing to one man, no way!’ kinda gal actually admitted that the arranged setup was’nt for her because she thought she was a good old-fashioned romantic who wanted, and believed in a Prince Charming who’d make that unusual (We have to be different, right?) appearance and sweep her off her feet! (He’d f*****g better!) Or else we’d get together and sue Rhonda Byrne for screwing up our confidence and leading us to believe in the power of the Universe … Wait a minute, why have’nt the makers if He-man and Skeletor sued already?). Jeeeez and sheeeesh …
Now, tragically, I find myself up at nights (pathetic!), wondering, going ‘what if’ and asking myself questions which I consciously know will only take me under … It’s murky down there and I seriously, sincerely don’t want to go down that road of no return unless that’s the only way out (Shudder!). I am actually scared of ending up like an aunt who’s not-so-ok in the head because she did’nt get married at the ‘right time’. One question though: Biological clock aside. Why is it necessary for a woman to be married before she’s 27-28? Also aside from the fact that if a woman marries when she’s younger, she’ll be ‘mouldable’ (Sorry if that ain’t a word, I coined it), to the husband and his ways … How ancient and sexist a statement is that? Why is it taboo?
That’s me … Just 30. And as I stand on this threshold, I’m going to use this blog … To vent out my ire, frustrations, sorrow (Sob tales too). So put up with it, or move your cursor to the address bar, type a link and move on!
I’ve had my fill, my share of losing,
And now, as tears subside,
I find it all so amusing,
To think, I did all that,
And may I say, not in a shy way,
Oh no, oh no not me,
I did it my way” …
My dream when I say ‘Ta’ and move on, is precisely what Sinatra sang that he did … Live life, my way, my terms, make my folks happy and myself too in the bargain … :-D
I did’nt know 30 could be so hard. A new decade. A new period of hope, dreams, goals based on ground reality, not as a mid-sized mother of 2, being a “Mrs So and So”, sorry, a “Mrs. Kamath” or a “Mrs Shenoy”, a ‘soona’ to someone, a mother to a few. Here I am, a few weeks shy of becoming 30 (I’m deliberately not using the word ‘turning’, it’s my worst nightmare to think of the bloody movie), single, still being confused enough about love being "love" or a mere 'Lifeline', (who knows?), and cutely chubby to some, grotesquely overweight to a few more- (Mostly ‘prospective grooms and their seriously issue-ridden parents). :-)
I’ve spent a good part of my life reading. Books on adventure, crime, psychological thrillers, the occasional horror story (the only one I did’nt complete being the Exorcist which had me literally peeing in my pants at age 14). It’s just that off-late, I noticed a, well, "trend" of piling on the ‘Nora Roberts’ series of muddy romances and believe you me, I am sincerely trying to wean myself away from them. A rebel for a better part of my life, all of a sudden, since the debacle with a seemingly perfect New Zealander (Kiara oara!) happened, I can’t help but think as to whether this IS what I’ve really and actually been looking for? Without realising it? A touch of some good old fashioned romance???? (Oh boy! Shame on me, the socially awkward epitome of chubbiness!). Oooops! Perhaps there has been a mask hiding who I’ve really been and what I’ve really wanted or needed all this while. And I’ve spoken to friends in similar predicaments and to our chagrin (Damn it!), we’re pretty much the same. Romantically mucked up romantic retards, the odd balls who proclaim to run away from romance when that’s all some of us have ever been looking for!
Proof of this being when I had dinner a few months ago with a friend whom I’ve known for the past 24 years (Shit!, we’re old). This ‘Ooooh, I hate committing to one man, no way!’ kinda gal actually admitted that the arranged setup was’nt for her because she thought she was a good old-fashioned romantic who wanted, and believed in a Prince Charming who’d make that unusual (We have to be different, right?) appearance and sweep her off her feet! (He’d f*****g better!) Or else we’d get together and sue Rhonda Byrne for screwing up our confidence and leading us to believe in the power of the Universe … Wait a minute, why have’nt the makers if He-man and Skeletor sued already?). Jeeeez and sheeeesh …
Now, tragically, I find myself up at nights (pathetic!), wondering, going ‘what if’ and asking myself questions which I consciously know will only take me under … It’s murky down there and I seriously, sincerely don’t want to go down that road of no return unless that’s the only way out (Shudder!). I am actually scared of ending up like an aunt who’s not-so-ok in the head because she did’nt get married at the ‘right time’. One question though: Biological clock aside. Why is it necessary for a woman to be married before she’s 27-28? Also aside from the fact that if a woman marries when she’s younger, she’ll be ‘mouldable’ (Sorry if that ain’t a word, I coined it), to the husband and his ways … How ancient and sexist a statement is that? Why is it taboo?
That’s me … Just 30. And as I stand on this threshold, I’m going to use this blog … To vent out my ire, frustrations, sorrow (Sob tales too). So put up with it, or move your cursor to the address bar, type a link and move on!
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