Mid life crisis of a 47 year old Trishankhu!

Srinivasa Ramanujan became a wizard at 30.  Subramania Bharathi was dead by 39.  Dr.Abdul Kalam became known to the world when he turned 70.  TN Seshan became a phenomenon when he turned 65.  M.K.Gandhi was not even witness to the non-cooperation movement till he turned 50, and they say he is a great freedom fighter(!!)

Hundreds one can cite, who became rich and famous when they were just 45 years old on this planet.  Hundreds more, as history witnesses each day, become legends by themselves when they cross 60.  That begs the question - has anything ever been achieved by a homosapien when he just crosses that milestone of 47 years of age?  Neither 46 nor 48, neither old enough to be counted one among such tribe who have seen the world, nor young enough to pretend that the world is yet to see his very best?  Neither 46, nor 48,  but stuck on that deadly numeral 47?

Who cares for a 47 year old? Name one soul on earth’s 4500 million year history who achieved something note-worthy just after having been witness to  about 1130 full moons. Such tribe can as well be destined to junk.   Such tribe can as well cease to exist for reasons of their being notoriously not note-worthy.    Unfortunately, I now find myself one among such tribe, and hence my cribbing, till I reach 48, reaching which, I would discover newer reasons to crib about.

I don’t need the backing of evidence of history to convince myself about how worthless a 47 year old married Indian can feel.  I can experience the worthlessness of it all myself day in and day out. 

I get into a bus (you all know, I can’t drive, I love buses and all that bull-****).  I envyingly see the lucky 60 pluses being offered a seat by the gorgeous,  young female  species.  Life made further miserable by such species addressing me ‘uncle’…   what the hell, do a few grey hairs and a just-beginning-to-recede-hairline make one an ‘uncle’?  Sure enough, the 60 year olds too are addressed as ‘uncles’ by this tribe but that damning address is at-least accompanied by the offer of a seat which I am deprived of.

 I try to renew a health insurance – the company guys politely ask me to undergo sundry medical tests, which a 20 year old doesn’t need to and a 60 year old need not bother to.  I think of applying for a new job - you are rejected because either you are too old or you are too inexperienced to be classified a veteran with the requisite skills.   I see this inviting ad in the papers – “Enna Chennai, cycling polama..” and immediately a dilemma envelops me – would I be able to endure the 20 km marathon, what with the ticker inside not giving out clear assurances?  (again  a 60 year old need not bother or he is cycling in a  separate ‘senior citizen’ category where two miles equal twenty normal miles). I honestly feel decrepit and weak enough mentally but the railways charge me 100 percent of the fare while the more boisterous, “The Hindu-letters to the editor” regular 60 year -young fellas enjoy a 50% rebate for no apparent reason.    I tell my daughter to do something and she readily refuses.  I tell her not to do something and she readily disobeys.  I have a lurking feeling that this rebellion of my daughter has got more to do with my 47 years of age than her being 16 years of age. (Who on earth can take a 47 year old seriously, not even yourself!)

 There are a few more uneasy, unpleasant chores which cannot possibly be conveniently consummated by a 47 year old Indian male, which a 25 year old would only be too physically and mentally inclined to venture into and, equally, a 65 year old would not be much bothering about – as my fellow 47 year olds would concur readily, any night (or any day, if they have the time, the inclination or the one-upmanship!)

47 is wretched, 47 is dreadful, 47 is misery.  4+ 7=11=2 and this particular ‘two’ just does not tango.  This is that stage in life where one just realizes, albeit a bit late, that the past could have been more fruitful and purposeful, if only a re-winding option existed in life.  This is that stage in life where the future looks bleaker and blackier, and the faintest fear of the fast-approaching end of it all, going by the name ‘death’, just about lurks every day, much to one’s discomfiture, even for those who don’t dare admit it.  This is that stage where one endeavours to put up a brave face and barks at the world- “I have seen it all”  but inside one’s heart all 47 year olds know that they have not seen what ought to have been really seen and experienced during the course of their 47 year old sojourn.  This exactly is the stage when, the diabetes and erratic BP notwithstanding, one puts up a braver face and yells at the world, ‘…but life begins at 60…’   It might or it might not, but do you really wish to endure 59 excruciating cycles of 365 days each to wait for  life to begin  afresh at 60?..  Uncomfortable questions, I am addressing at myself…

In Tamil, there is a saying – 40 vayasil nai gunam – meaning you start exhibiting qualities of a dog when you are 40 and – 60 vayasil pei gunam – meaning you exhibit devilish traits when you turn 60.  There is no mention of the qualities one would display when he is just mid-way, say 47.  It ought to be certainly  somewhere midway between a dog and a devil, both the extremes not very endearing by themselves.   Suffice it to say, he would be barking at all good things in life that still manage to present before himself at this stage  and still be demon-enough to envy all those 60 pluses who do not feel shy of being ‘what they want to be, taking things the way they come and sipping a Bacardi rum…’

To think that I am just 45 days away from this dreadful mile-stone!  I shudder at the very thought.    I can already feel the ugly appendage developing at my posterior, which would  go by the nomenclature ‘tail’ and two sharp symmetric protrusions on my forehead which normally adorn the foreheads of a demon… The spirit is willing but the flesh just does not permit.  Permit relishing being a 47 year old….