Whenever I would embark on one of my wanderings through my fantasyland (which are quite frequent, believe you me), I would always imagine myself as being 23 years old. I don’t have any particular fascination with prime numbers, it’s just that I always thought that at 23 I would have finally passed out of college with a job and would be an independent woman with a space of her own.
Well some 36 hours ago the clock finally turned 23. I was much too excited about the birthday part to notice about the age part anyway. And then again I still haven’t reached that phase when I’ll start concealing my birth year from my Facebook profile. However, sometime between a fab party at 3 am and the IBL lecture at 9.15 am, it just crept up on me, the fact that I had reached that age I always wanted to be.
Well, getting a job will have to wait, at least a few months more. In all probability I’ll be closer to 24 than 23 when I finally start working. As for my own space, its not that I don’t like room 24 here in the Old Hostel at IIFT, with the window next to my bed and my money plant in the balcony. It might not be the two bedroom apartment (with one bedroom converted into a library) of my fantasies, but for now its more of a home to me than Usha Bhavan.
It’s not just about the material acquisitions. The point is, I always thought that 23 was the perfect age for a girl (or is it woman now?) like me. Now that I actually am 23, it seems like everything is still the same. Probably because I have been changing very subtly, very slowly, yet very very surely from that Gal from Cal into someone else (I am still not sure who).
But be not thou dismayed fare reader. The adventures of this vagabond in la-la-land will continue, even though they are now somewhat constrained by her erratic sleep and work patterns. She only has to find a new milestone to look forward to. 26 is a much better age than 23, wouldn’t you agree?
Well some 36 hours ago the clock finally turned 23. I was much too excited about the birthday part to notice about the age part anyway. And then again I still haven’t reached that phase when I’ll start concealing my birth year from my Facebook profile. However, sometime between a fab party at 3 am and the IBL lecture at 9.15 am, it just crept up on me, the fact that I had reached that age I always wanted to be.
Well, getting a job will have to wait, at least a few months more. In all probability I’ll be closer to 24 than 23 when I finally start working. As for my own space, its not that I don’t like room 24 here in the Old Hostel at IIFT, with the window next to my bed and my money plant in the balcony. It might not be the two bedroom apartment (with one bedroom converted into a library) of my fantasies, but for now its more of a home to me than Usha Bhavan.
It’s not just about the material acquisitions. The point is, I always thought that 23 was the perfect age for a girl (or is it woman now?) like me. Now that I actually am 23, it seems like everything is still the same. Probably because I have been changing very subtly, very slowly, yet very very surely from that Gal from Cal into someone else (I am still not sure who).
But be not thou dismayed fare reader. The adventures of this vagabond in la-la-land will continue, even though they are now somewhat constrained by her erratic sleep and work patterns. She only has to find a new milestone to look forward to. 26 is a much better age than 23, wouldn’t you agree?
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