If You’re Thirty And You Know It Clap Your Hands

In a week, I’ll turn thirty-one.

Which means I now get to look at women going all “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’ll turn thirty soon!” and say, “Bitch, please.”

The thing is, unlike the usual anxiety/ hysteria/ unabashed joy/ ridiculous amount of excitement I feel before my birthday, this year I’m just not feelin’ it. Usually, I go spend money on a birthday outfit, get myself totally unnecessary birthday gifts and blackmail Rook into making my birthday awesome. Not so much, this year.

There has been a lot going on, frankly. I won’t go into details just yet, but let’s just say the past few months have been a relay race between various pillars and posts. 

As a result, I’ve not gotten around to posting about so many things I wanted to write about. The expensive farce that was the winter session of Parliament. How Guwahati has made me afraid of living anywhere in India, including Bombay. The joy of rain in September. What it means to be a woman friend. 

But, you need things like time and some amount of sanity to sit and string a sentence together. I’m not saying I have the time now, but maybe some rational thought will return from its extended vacation soon.

I’m just hoping it happens before the week is out. 

Till then, clap, clap.