The Weirdness That Is Life

Weird thing, life.

One year you’re as close as overgrown nails and skin, and the next thing you know, you’re shaking hands, and wishing your friend a “happy married life” part ways — to meet again probably never.

And a few years later, you hear of a child — a sweet girl with rosy lips, cherry cheeks with a smile as warm as your friendship had once been.

And then comes the routine of raising kids — the phase of life where you lose yourself for your kids, their life and their routine: you eat when they sleep, you pee when they sleep and you sleep never. Running around carrying drenched diapers in one hand and fresh ones in the other, you don’t even have the time to reply to the tiny “ping” that your smartphone isn’t smart enough to mute.

Time goes by, and with every extra inch of luscious tresses the daughter caresses, you end up rolling up inches of the grey hair you just managed to pull out from your morning combing ritual. The bounce decays, curling humbly into a neat bun, snuggled out of the way.

Those rimless fancy glasses appear less and less attractive as your definition of attractiveness transcends to comfort and horn-rimmed.

Sleeveless and showing skin hits you as awkward and vulgar. You constantly ponder, “Where’s the world going?” as short skirts become inner wear and below-the-knee becomes the only decent and suitable length. Sequins and glitter stones weigh you down; black, white and grey look more like colors; grace means something different altogether, and walking becomes mandatory exercise.

Gentle knee rubs are the new leisure activity, though stumbling with latest technology isn’t new at all. You stare at old tree barks wondering, your mind wandering, and your fingers fumbling on the phone, wishing for the familiar ringtone — the ringtone that’s been in the coming for some time now.

And one bright summer’s day, the phone would ring, and you would again fumble in your haste to pick up, in your haste to speak to someone —  anyone who’d listen. And someone speaks; says they have a message — not a good message they say, and say: your closest nail has been clipped.

You bleed.

And then, you heal… until you’re clipped — once and for all.

Weird thing… life.