Outrunning the clock - part I

I am 29 now. And so it begins.

There’s only so long one can outrun and successfully dodge the societal clock. It catches up to you sometime or the other. In that it’s not unlike the grim statement an infectious disease expert made about COVID, “It will come to you through a trusted person, at a trusted place.” The clock makes its way to you through the people closest to you—worried parents, well intentioned friends, unnecessarily nosy relatives, and the like.

It invariably starts out as an innocent oh-by-the-way type digression from sometimes even obviously unconnected topics, “Oh, by the way, have you started thinking about getting married?” “No uncle, but I thought we were discussing the Tamil-dubbed Telugu movie you watched last week. This is quite the topic change.”

This is soon followed by its close cousin, the just-jokes variety interventions accompanied by an unironic smug self satisfaction at successfully delivering an unoriginal centuries-old punchline, “I can see some grey hairs, you’re not getting any younger heh-heh.” At this moment you feel heavy on your shoulders the societal expectation to laugh along, even if the only expression you can bring to your face is an awkward grimace that can only pass for a smile in a chiaroscuro-type lighting situation.

And slowly escalates into the full-on melodrama of the perennial TV soaps, “We’re getting old. Is it wrong that we want to see good things happen for you before I go?”

I’ve successfully dodged this conversation at home for years now by adopting a simple but effective strategy, having bigger problems. For years after I graduated, I didn’t have a full-time job, trying various things for the “experience” (before you roll your eyes, yes, I know how much of a privileged ass that makes me). I had a naively idealistic belief that I would find my way to something I loved doing along the way, a belief fed in no small part by cheesy movies where it is indeed possible to write a sufficiently satisfying and glamorous end to the story where everything does work out for the hero, and enabled in no small part by the knowledge that the survival of my family and myself did not depend on me earning a steady income (okay fine, go ahead and roll your eyes, I deserve it). Anyways, the point was that at that moment, this was the thing for the folks at home to worry about. That I wasn’t “serious” about anything, that I was going through life aimlessly.

I can’t say they were wrong either.

I remember an incident from this phase of my life where I brought up the topic of marriage myself. We were discussing how they all wanted a cousin of mine to start thinking about getting married. Ah, the good old days when these conversations were not about me. In an attempt to defend my cousin’s right to decide when he wanted to get married, I asked an unfortunate hypothetical question that underestimated the savageness of a mother’s honesty, “let him decide when he wants to get married. If you want, please find me someone to get married to.” The response, which in hindsight I should have expected at least a little, was, “Who’d want their daughter to get married to you?”

Ouch. Very much ouch. But I can’t say she was wrong either.

I didn’t know it then, but every time I would stop doing one thing, and start doing something else randomly, I wasn’t just going with the flow. I was running away from things. Even things I did like. I realised only a few years later that I had to stop running away and find something to run towards. Thankfully, when I did realise this, I found myself a full-time job. A place where I could work and learn and grow and contribute to something bigger than myself. And gradually I found progress in the consistency, some peace in the stability of having a place to be.

Unfortunately, this meant that this was no longer going to be my principal problem for the folks at home. The attention shifts to the obvious next topic.

I am 29 now. And so it begins.