Growing old and slowing down

I don’t quite remember my first grey hair. I must have been in my early 20s, because I remember my mother (and perhaps even my grandmother) pointing it out, much to my embarrassment. At the time, grey hair didn’t mean being older. It meant being old. And there’s a huge difference between the two.

I don’t blame my mother. When my brother’s first grey hair was discovered, I made fun of him too, for being old. So, a few years later, when I noticed a grey hair or two, I didn’t take it well. I yanked the first few off. I was worried my hairdresser would comment on my hair. I hated it when friends pointed it out.

But then, at some point, I stopped caring. Now, I quite like seeing more and more greys on my head. It’s somewhat of a relief. Being old.

And yes, I know that I’m not actually old or anywhere close to being old. But I remember when I was in my mid-20s and swore I would never get married or have kids, people would say I would 100% change my mind in a few years. “Just wait until you are 28. You wouldn’t be saying this then.”

This sounded terrible. Marriage wasn’t something I wanted in life. It isn’t something I want now. And even if I’m open to the idea of living with someone (rather unlikely given my commitment issues), I’m dead against having children. It’s one of the most selfish, awful things you can do to another person and I really wish I would never change my mind about this.

But when people told me I just needed to give it some time, I was so worried that when I turned 28 or 30, I would suddenly start considering marriage and kids. So, to be past that, to be 32, to see signs of ageing… well, it’s a relief. It means that I’ve made it past the stage of uncertainty, the stage of a mind easily changed.

And even if I’m not past that stage, since people in their late 30s also go on to get married and have children, I do like that I haven’t changed my mind in the past 10 or so years. It’s nice to know I’m committed to something.

Actual ageing, I’m not a huge fan of. What good fortune it is to not live up to 70 or 80, when you start fully losing control over your body, when you start depending on others, when you stop being yourself.

Maybe because I’m slowly closing in on my mid-30s, maybe because it’s a depressing world we live in, I’m always so physically and mentally tired. Which then makes me grumpy and angry and just done with the world and the people around me.

When Sagarika, the train I usually take in the morning, derailed a few weeks ago, train schedules got all screwed up. The express train with only one stop before mine ran late and even though it was packed, taking it meant I got to work earlier. And so, I started taking that train. Sometimes, I worried my lungs would pop like balloons. I would check to see if my clothes were still on me. I hoped I wouldn’t get flung off the train.

Even when trains started running at more or less the usual times, I still rushed to the station to catch the 7.15am train. My body ached and I was always so angry and I still took the bloody packed train. Some days were okay. Most weren’t.

Then a couple of weeks ago, a tummy bug resulted in the decision to take lunch from home. Since a lunch box wouldn’t fit in my bag, my mother got me a lunch carrier. Not used to carrying two bags, I decided to wait for the Sagarika that first day. It still runs at least 10 minutes late, but it’s mostly empty.

And since then, I’ve been waiting for this train. Even when the 7.15 train is delayed or the 7.20 train seems somewhat okay, I keep reminding myself to slow down. To choose comfort and convenience. To not choose discomfort and actual pain when I could afford to wait for an empty and slow train.

Life doesn’t really let you make that choice, however. Not for most people. I get jostled by people running to catch buses so they can make it to their place of work before a certain time. Getting late means salary deductions, not something many can afford. I get annoyed sometimes, but then I remember that it’s not only a lack of discipline.

Fewer buses result in people running to get into one before it leaves. Tiring work means people fight for a seat. People are exhausted, stretched thin, unhappy, hanging on by a thread. They don’t even realise they are pushing someone or stepping on their feet or elbowing them.

(Of course, not that this excuses such behaviour. One of these days I will snap and punch someone).

But seeing people go about their lives in a mad rush makes me want to slow down. To not tax my body too much. To take the time to look around and noticed the world that rushes on past.