43 I am told (because I really don’t know these Mathematical things) is a prime number. And according to Anjani, known in my social media circles as my Half Angel Portion (Read it anyway you want; it’s correct), I am Prime.
I think it’s more mot juste to say I am primed. To age gratefully and gracefully. To love. To do things with more intention.
I am really feeling the age, especially in health. Perimenopause is vicious, and as I always get most lucky with health, I seem to have every symptom that exists. In the middle of my workshop or conversation, I forget basic words. I don’t remember entire parts of conversations even when they are interesting and I am not tuned out. Migraines have always bookended my period. But they attack with a ferocity and intensity that forces me to cancel plans and work. PMS is awful and starts fifteen days before I am due. Then perimenopause, arthritis medication, and of course, my penchant for bleaching and colouring my hair have ensured that I have the beginnings of female pattern baldness. So I have decided with great sorrow not to fall for colours and remind myself brown, black, and grey are colours too and it might just be fun to see how I would look with salt and pepper hair. O but the seduction of colours! Sigh. We’ll see.
But 40s is more amazing than the 30s in the clarity it brings. 30s was all about cultivating a bullshit meter and learning to let go. 40s, I find, are about being a rolling stone. A drop of water on a lotus leaf. Finally. I think I am the expert on friendly, warm, even empathetic, but thoroughly detached and completely in control. The Gods in my Datta, Dayadhvam, Damyata tattoo can finally be proud of me. Even so, nearly all the people in my life currently, find a way to make place and stay in my heart so much that I do genuinely care and love. Like this birthday of mine that felt so blessed because of the love, the extra thoughtful gifts, and importantly, the time my friends spent and promise to spend with me. Like my guy friends getting me soju from their trip to Pune. And Anjani buying my favourite soju brand (Jinro) from Delhi.
It was a no-brainer then as to how I would bring in my birthday.
I wanted to get drunk, wasted. Intentionally. It’s been years since I did substance and allowed my brain to experience its depth.
I am very happy and smug to report, lovers, that I did. Completely. So much so that I actually don’t remember what I spoke. I know I spoke a lot. My poor guy friends had to contend not just with their favourite team not winning in cricket but also my lecture on apparently how a life is to be lead and other writing philosophy all mostly delivered in a clipped British accent. Thankfully, but also unfortunately, no videos or recordings exist. I vaguely remember some dancing, happy music, and laughter. But it was all over too soon. Since I experimented weaning off my anxiety medication, I was a depressed drunk, and ended up crying about my lost love to my lost friend to lost Papa. I had a hangover for perhaps the second time in my entire life. It was incredibly cathartic. I woke up lighter in my body even if my head decided to weigh as much as the universe.
This planned drinking binge is something I strongly recommend every couple of years. Of course, after this, I don’t think I will touch alcohol for over 300 years because it’s just ghastly. Even soju, which is simply brilliant in how quickly it can get me drunk, which is really no mean feat.
Intention is also about making space for love, not just lovers, because, again, I am primed to let new people in my life from whom I can learn and be challenged, who might allow me to love them.
Primed to be more grateful. A day goes by with not too severe physical discomfort either for mum or me is a day for celebration. Having and being able to love the people in our lives feels like a miracle. Getting to do the work I do, enjoying it still is such a privilege.
43 is a prime age. It feels like the start of something. Precious. And with that anticipation, I celebrate ageing another year.
Cheers, darlings!
Bhumika's Boudoir 