… and single!

A girl’s perspective on growing older without any success at finding Mr. Perfect, what it might have been like, what it may be and what it might be like:

Sixteen and Single:
You’re a baby rabbit. You’ve just popped your head and your floppy ears out of the burrow, and you can barely believe that guys and girls actually spend time together (willingly), to the extent that they eventually marry (you’re parents were never considered ‘guys and girls’, they were always parents). There’s plenty of time left to waste and enjoy before you bother to look at the male population of the planet. Girls who’ve gotten themselves boyfriends are considered stupid. Boys are still “something” that you can make fun of and call names.

Eighteen and Single:
Good riddance to junior college. Its time to hop onto the degree wagon. Most of your friends have tested the relationship waters, and have done their share of depressed singing, sobbing, eating and shopping as a consequence of unsuccessful, immature “relationships”, as they choose to call them. The opposite sex is still immature and irresponsible, as always. Who wants to jump into anything related to them right now? You know better than that, don’t you?

Twenty One and Single:
Relationships? Boys? Gifts? Outrageous telephone bills? It is the dawn of the “been there, done that” phase. Please do not misinterpret the word “done” in the previous sentence. After nearly everyone burst into love all around you, you realized that it wouldn’t be long before the dreaded bug chomped off a healthy bit of your heart too. And chomp it did! You have been left broken hearted by atleast one guy, and you’ve adopted the “grapes are sour” defense. No grape shall dare enter your forcefield of dry sarcasm and leave without dents, bruises and Harry Potter scars, all over them and their ‘egos’(?!).

Twenty Four and Single:
Dammit! Its time for the first friend to plunge into marital bliss, and you’re holding the wedding invitation in your confused hands, wondering what invisible force of stupidity struck her to take such a ‘harsh’ decision. Whatever happened to ‘love life, hate love’? You, on the other hand, are too happy to worry about romance and your future somebody, since your career keeps you more than warm at night, and you have enough on your plate to worry about, till the next three Christmases.

Twenty Six and Single:
Time to worry. Not about finding ‘him’ stupid, about evading those questioning glances your mother, aunt, grandmother, mother’s aunt, aunt’s grandmother, grandmother’s sister and nosy neighbor throw at you, when the “wedding” discussion surfaces (coincidentally, you are around, every freaking time!). Friends are busy buying engagement rings, ‘discussing’ honeymoon destinations and investing in real estate, while you juggle between work and family engagements (no! Not the ‘engagement -> marriage’ engagements). There’s still time, its not like you are sixty or even close!

Thirty and Single:
Everyone you know decides to marry within that short span of time. One moment they're sane, the next moment, they're getting married. They’re willing to marry a perfect stranger that their mother picked for them, as easily as she would have picked oranges in the market – “Oh! That guy is from a good family, let us marry our daughter there". You never realized when you turned 60. Yes, sixty, everyone talks to you like you’re sixty. When you are single, you do not turn 30 after 29, you turn 60. You have not only missed the bus, you’ve managed to miss the train, the airplane and the hovercraft and you’ve become OLD! Aunties at parties discuss you. They try to find you another 60 year old man, so that they can ‘save your future’. The only problem is that, he is 60 for real, but that’s no issue, is it? You refuse to follow the ‘orange looks good from the outside and all the oranges on the tree look good, so that is a good orange tree to marry into’ pattern of arranged marriages. You develop a strong immunity to taunts and stares. Oh well, atleast your fine lines and wrinkles do not decide the fate of your career (entirely).

And that, my friends, is about it for now. I cannot imagine my life (or any other single woman’s life) at the ‘after 60, yet single’ stage (I’m freakin 21 and starving!). The rest of this post may continue after a few more years of experience about life and singledom. Until then, all ye single women, relax – you are not the person I was talking about.