“Life Begins At 40”, They Said… But ‘They’ Might Just Be Wrong! Sniff! Sob!!

40s are the new 30s, it is said, and life begins at 40. Really? A satirical take on a personal struggle in the 40s by the author, almost bordering on black humour.

40s are the new 30s, it is said, and life begins at 40. Really? A satirical take on a personal struggle in the 40s by the author, almost bordering on black humour.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have read enough inspirational bollocks about people claiming that “life begins at forty”, and how forties are the new twenties. And I do suppose they are; what with all that botox, steroids, liposuction and tummy tucks. Which is probably pretty similar to a 22 years old Kylie Jenner today. But then again all that fancy stuff like lip fillings, that is not for you and me; we are middleclass folks.

I am sure you may have thought that your midlife crises would constitute “spur of the moment” vacations to Spain for the Tomatina festival, but then your bank will slap you on your face with it’s barely five figure balance and EMIs. So, then you decide to pick up a relatively inexpensive hobby, like an obsessive, aggressive, omnipotent, all consuming drive to convert your porch into a garden. And your Pinterest is all about DIY planters, perennials, annuals, terrariums and succulents.

You decide to garner words of undying appreciation from your social media followers/friends by calling your garden, “your own tiny attempt to save bees from extinction”. Because isn’t midlife crises all about finding meaning? At some point you really start believing that you care, in fact care a lot, you cry over the death of Harambe. And yet you don’t give a flying glance when the America’s elect president, teaches men “how to grab them by the pussy”; but calls Climate Change a scam.

You realize your last year’s jeans feel tighter, you scour your Instagram, Facebook and Twitter every single day, multiple times to find anything, anyone out there to inspire you to lose weight. And the 81 years old nun who goes for Ironman every single year becomes your greatest inspiration. You search online; you find Gold’s gym right in the next lane. They charge 15,000/- a year for using the gym, and 36,000/- for six months of personal trainer. Your bank slaps you again with a reminder of your child’s overdue school fees. So, the next day you find out that Beyonce is Vegan, and then you wonder if the Vegan way would help you lose weight and keep your pockets from getting lighter.

You invest a couple of thousand bucks in Rujuta Divekar’s diet for Vegan Gujaratis, even though you aren’t a Gujarati; but eh… who cares?! You blow another few thousands at Hypercity, you arm yourself with groceries enough to feed an orphanage, yet just a tiny bottle of olive oil. Because you realize that you are not as rich as that Rujuta, and you’ll have to sell your kidney if you want to continue using olive oil for the family.

That evening you find yourself eating a salad comprised of spinach, cucumber, tomatoes and misery. You brave yourself to stuff one forkful after another, and feel more of a cow than you have ever in your lifetime. Which then reminds you of that yummy chicken curry from Ilango’s and that makes you cry. Through your tear filled eyes, you open the Swiggy app on your phone and order a large, double cheese Chicken Supreme pizza from Pizza Hut with pepperoni toppings.

But, no your mother hasn’t raised a quitter, so the next day you wake up and transfer 50,000/- to Gold’s gym, you’ll pay your son’s fees next quarter, along with the late fee, you decide.

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When you walk out of your home, you barely glance through the dying plants in your tiny garden, begging for water. You tell yourself you’ll water them tomorrow, but today, today you sweat in your seven thousand rupees Adidas active wear and Puma shoes.

That night, you take a whole of five minutes to slowly lower yourself on the seat of your English commode, because your body aches in places you never knew existed, you mentally calculate the amount you would receive if you cancel your subscription from the gym. Satisfied, you take your phone and check the prices for tummy tucks and liposuction.

Author’s note: Well, this piece is almost autobiographical and is meant to be a satirical take on how unknowingly we crowd our life competition, peer pressure and social media. We burn through passions and hobbies to fill our lives with meaning, yet we don’t find the contentment we crave so desperately. Also this write up highlights my personal struggle with my weight loss and my complete failure at maintaining a healthy diet.

Published here earlier.

Image source: pixabay

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About the Author

Ell P

Writer. Artist. Dreamer...and a Coach. Hi, I am Lakshmi Priya, but I respond better to Ell.P. A leadership consultant/coach when the sun shines, and a writer/artist past midnight. read more...

36 Posts | 209,164 Views

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