Just as there is light at the end of the tunnel, there is sometimes an eclipse during the brightest night. From the Beti Bachao campaign slogans painted on city walls to our female athletes outperforming the men, we talk a lot about progress in society. Yet my recent encounters with the quintessential uncles of the middle class have been teaching me that our society is still far from accepting a woman who is independent and has an opinion. My joy at finally finding a new flat that suited my needs was soon marred by the drama of the move-out process. The landlord—who not only lied that I hadn’t given enough notice but also invented multiple reasons to withhold my deposit—was a case study in arrogance. It wasn’t just the blatant greed and lying that irked me; it was the disrespectful way I was treated and spoken to. This so-called “ex-army officer” spoke over and down to me the entire time, interrupting every sentence with condescension and irritation that I dared question hi...
The folly of youth to the wisdom of old age. Passion to practicality. Erratic speed to steady progress. Tortured love to deep bonds. Anger to acceptance. Somewhere in between lies the resilience of middle age. (I hope the early stage of middle age, but as I count the grey hairs in my mirror, I know this battle could go either way). I play pickleball with my team, try to keep up with their youth, the energy. Does it make me feel younger or just old? I can’t drink like a fish anymore, my body knows it even though my mind may forget it sometimes, especially post 4 drinks. Routines now not only excite me; they are like the best friend that my body needs to feel its mediocre best. Back pains creep up if I skip more than 3 days of the gym. Being a woman is a cruel fight against a “ticking clock” of what society thinks I must have achieved by now. But oh, the resilience of middle age gets me through! I may not be wise yet, but I am wise enough to know that if...