On Being Alone

So I'm back from watching a movie, by myself. Alone.

I hate to use that word, alone-it sounds so forlorn and that's not how I feel when I'm by myself. It's not something very unique and a lot of women must be doing this out of choice. But I can't imagine it being easy, not in India.

All of my life I've been surrounded by people, family. I never had the luck, nor, I must admit, the ambition or perseverance to go off by myself, not even to a hostel, for my education. And so it's been for me-always, always people around me. As I've hit my 40s, I've finally started pulling away from family and carving out time for myself.

In one conversation after another I've had women deny or downgrade the stresses of everyday life and I've been no different. Only in the recent past have I admitted to myself, how stressed my normal workday makes me. The epiphany struck me during a vacation to a remote corner of Himachal.  Without access to the internet or even a telephone, as layer upon layer of care melted away, my everyday levels of stress hit me. I realized their existence only in their absence!

Ever since that vacation, I've actively worked to create the space and time to be by myself. Watching a movie is one of those little ways. When I first set out to do it, I was diffident and anxious but I got the hang of it and now it's a cakewalk. Yes I still get the odd stare and people keep looking around me, wondering where my partner/s are, but I couldn't care less.

 I recently did something else which was revolutionary to me- I took a holiday alone. I'm not adventurous enough to pack a bag and go off unplanned so this was meticulously planned trip -but it was a reading holiday. I read books and took walks by myself and thought through a lot of stuff- but mostly I read. It was the best holiday of my life!

                                                                                     

Wrinkles and Grey

The wrinkles on my face,
the lines on my forehead,
the crow's feet under my eyes
all expanding further,
like tentacles gnawing away at my life.  

My fast greying hair, 

from which conversations sprouted-

I feigned modesty at compliments-
that too, just unprettied itself out.

Now my discoloured hair, limp,
like a beggar woman's curses 
shouted from across the street.

The skin on my hands has begun to shrivel 
slathering gallons of lotions it defies.

It cannot be held at abeyance any longer,

the quick-paced, relentless beating of time

Head reeling from the horror,
I recoil
I retreat from the mirror -

that image isn't mine.

Beyond my control, 

slave of time

my skin and my body-

but not my mind.

When I close my eyes 
from behind the weary brow still shines 

the toothy smile of the little girl. 

Bright, self-conscious, awkward 

and hope lingers, unfounded,

in the dark bright pools of her eyes.

You live on,  
little girl, 
in hopes and in smiles-
I've weathered many a storm
I'm still alive.