Thoughts on Turning Thirty

I celebrated my 30th birthday on 28th Jan. It feels like I have crossed a milestone, and I have entered a new era. I always had this feeling that there is something waiting for me which I’ll get after 30. It has been two days since that and nothing has changed around me (for good), but still, I have this weird feeling that the something monumentally good is just around the corner now. Fingers crossed.

But well, this post is to reminisce about myself, more like a letter to my own self. (I’m egoist that way I love myself more than anyone.) I’m donning my wise-woman hat and entering the mind of what I’d like to tell the “Doubting Thomas” part of myself.

Dear Me,

It’s alright to be an engineer and an amateur writer. It’s perfectly okay if you don’t want to be a professional or published writer right now. The people who think that you’re wasting your time by not adopting your hobby, probably haven’t lived in the financial insecurity which comes with owning of one’s own business. They probably have not felt the joy of seeing a building, designed by you, being erected; they probably haven’t felt the joy of letting your pen loose on the paper. Those engineers who think you’re wasting your time with writing and those writers who think that engineering eats away the creativity have not felt the pleasure of being the two together. Don’t mind them. Don’t let them rob you of either of your joys because they cannot comprehend being the two together.

It’s okay to be romantic and practical.You might not be a dreamy-eyed anymore, but you still have right to weave your own dreams. It doesn’t matter that you don’t believe in love at first sight, it doesn’t matter that you try to see both pros and cons of everything including a relationship; it’s okay that you don’t want to save someone or comfort someone anymore– your romance has another dimension. You’re wiser than all those who think you’ve grown old.

It’s okay to be religious and young. Don’t let the idea of the people that religion is evil influence you. Let them call you old-fashioned, but remember, they were not the one who gave you the courage to cover the paths of their life. They might believe that being an atheist make them “of this world”, but then always know that age and religion are two different concept. Religion is more about faith than about age.

It’s okay to wear the salwaar-kameez and yet be modern. Don’t let the words of the people deter you that these dresses have gone out of vogue. You have never let them dictate what you should wear; don’t let them tell you that you’re quite “behind” the times. Western clothes in no way mean progressive thoughts. Wear what you feel comfortable in.

Don’t mind being a cook and a working woman. Just because someone else doesn’t have time or aptitude for cooking food, doesn’t mean that you should also give up. Yes, it needs a lot of time, but it also releases your stress; it also makes you happy. Let them comment on how “behenji-type” is this.

Last but not the least, you can be happy and alone. You’ve experienced this and you know this well. The people who says that happiness calls for a companion might be right too, but don’t think that you’re strange as you don’t have such need right now.

You’re all of the above and so much more. The world cannot imagine having all these  “and”s. They might try to cast you in a single mould, but you’re much more than one mould. You’re like water– you can be a well, a stream or a whole ocean; don’t let the labels limit you. More than that don’t let your joy be curbed by the comments of those with limited viewpoint.

Love forever and ever!

You might think that I’m crazy, but it’s good to remind myself why I defied every tradition. Sometimes the questions do get troublesome, sometimes this makes my life very difficult–but there is a reason why I am like this, and this little post is a reminder to myself. Hopefully coming years will add many more “and’ to this list.

(This post is a part of #UseYourAnd activity at BlogAdda in association with Gillette Venus)


Week 2- Post 13- #GameOfBlogs By BlogAdda

(This short vignette is written as a part of  Game of Blogging (#celebrateblogging) contest by This is a group activity in which a set of bloggers write installments of the same story.

Read the first post here.

Mine is 13th post. Read the 12th post here

 You can read the next post here)

Tara couldn’t believe her eyes. There was so much of fire everywhere. She could see the smoke coming out of windows and doors. She could hear the cries of the child trapped above and her mind went to Roohi. Tears flowed down her eyes and she felt a searing pain in her head.

“What the hell happened here,” Cyrus screamed and whipped out a phone. Tara expected him to call fire station, but he talked to some Johnny to send his team here.

“Breathe, Tara. The help is on the way,” Cyrus whispered, reminding her of the shallow breaths she had been taking. Smoke stung her eyes and she almost lost herself to darkness once more. Cyrus’s arms came around her, forcing her head on his chest, away from all the smoke.

“Tara, breathe. You don’t want to go to hospital again , do you?”

Tara tried to breathe in and out, tried to forget the orange flames eating up the building behind her.  She felt like a coward—one who couldn’t do anything to help the people struggling in the building, the kind who needed a crutch to even breathe. Distant sirens approached her self-incrimination.

“You know people at fire-station?” she asked.

Cyrus didn’t hear her. She raised her head and noticed that his eyes were on the approaching police van. A fire brigade came and the people around the building scattered to give way to the firemen with huge water hoses.

A policeman knocked on the window and saluted Cyrus.

“Are you sure there was nobody in this building?”

“No, sir. Only a man named lived here, one who makes attar. The whole building is his.”

“But I heard a baby crying,” Tara protested.

“TV or the recording, Ma’am. This building is closed to all the visitors,” the policeman said.

“But, Shekhar comes here every month for his supply of attar. He is allowed,” Tara said again, wondering about that child trapped somewhere in the building. She wished to be the courageous woman who leaps in the building to save little kids, but she wasn’t that. She was a woman who reported the happenings from the bottom of the fuming building, who cried her eyes out at the hint of the fire.

Something passed between Cyrus and the policeman, but before Tara could decipher it, that feeling of being watched by someone returned. She looked around, trying to spot that hoodie, her kidnapper, but there was a crowd all along as the people stopped to see the burning building. She tried again, but nobody stood out.

Her attention came back to Cyrus and she heard policeman saying, “There had been a blast in that building too.”

Cyrus whipped out his phone and called his Johnny again, and wheels in Tara’s mind turned. The policeman had been reporting to Cyrus. Why? Who was he? And who is this Johnny he calls every time?

Tara looked at Cyrus again. He looked the same—as geek as he had in the first meeting, then why was she getting the sense that he was more than a geek?

“Who are you, Cyrus?” she asked as soon as he closed his call.

Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at #CelebrateBlogging with us.