Aging

Aging. Being in pain. Finishing. Rotting.

             —Emmanuel Fournier

Came across this on Poets-a-day on poets.org. I hadn't been on to this website for months until suddenly I started receiving the poems on my email. And, then I read another literary magazine in the morning, which celebrated the works of Vishnu Khare who recently passed away. I lamented abandoning my leisure days when I took refuge in poetry, esp, Hindi. It was about four years ago that on a December night I picked up some hindi literary magazines and was hooked on to their content from then on. I also wrote my first hindi poetry after a month of devouring poems by Chandrakant Devtale, Dhumil, Viren Dangwal, Anamika, Agyeya, Nida Nawaz and others. I distinctly remember being overwhelmed with the written word. I fervently copied their poetry in my little diary of quotations and from then on, I kept an art journal for all poems and literary verses that I read and liked to reread. 

A reason to write here after so long and with this renewed passion is that all of a sudden, I became aware of the time I have been whiling away in earning a living, getting swamped with work that does not necessarily enrich me as a person. I am drifting my days and weeks in mindless work that although I am passionate about does little to nourish my senses. I often feel left out and aloof without my literary companions that I had so lovingly gathered during my freelancing years. Now that I am grinding myself to a fate that all of us adults do, that of earning a respectable living with enough money to splurge on my interests, I see myself no longer responding with the same passion that kept me going when I was penniless. It's a wonder still that I have a few friends who also respond to this dispassionate way of living and then go on about ways to mend this. I am utterly enthusiastic about the need to live, not just exist. December does that to me. It brings an energy that I see myself losing as the year draws to a close, but then really, do we ever think about going on in a time loop? As I look back into the year, my 30th year of existence, I wonder what happened to all the years between turning 20 & 30? In the twenties, we were bold, rebellious, angry, energetic. In the thirties, we are dispassionate, mellowed and slowed with the wheels of time. I can scarcely recognize this shift in a person, in me. Ten long years have passed on, with so many people in it, out of it, yet the laments still feel strong about so many things. 

I know new people now, I know old people who have changed and become unrecognizable, I scarcely recognize my old self now. Everything, every person, every place has undergone such a drastic transition, it's hard to remember old memories now. My conversations with old friends begin with how long it has been to talk to each other. Yet it doesn't feel that long or disconnected. Maybe, that is the beauty of relationships that are bonded in years of trust and love. I go back and look at the bygone years with a cherished happiness, no longer lamenting the mistakes, grudges, disappointments or miseries that kept me chained infinitely in that past. This is a new time with a renewed me. I am aging with a grace and maturity I am thankful for now. Tis' no longer about the wrinkles on my skin, but the echoes of my laughter that lit up my life and others around me.