The Mother of All Battles

                                                                 

I’ve fought battles.  Battles with my husband who is on an entirely different wavelength and who differs from me in almost everything.  Between you and me, that is why we still stay hitched.  For if you never had tiffs and arguments, and destination, but reach there looking younger and fresher to boot.  So as the bus went along, I started working my fingertips on my forehead,  drawing the lines, out and away.  And I puffed up my cheeks, first this side and then that, and pursed my lips to say ooh and eek and aah.

I was so immersed in doing myself a good turn, that I was oblivious of the fact that the passengers in the bus were turning around and looking at me strangely, and the lady next to me   got along famously and amicably day in and day out, it would not only be damned boring, but it would make you sick to the gills.

And I’ve had battles royal with my mother-in-law.  Since she would call a spade a spade, and give it to  you straight , without mincing words, and I don’t exactly belong to the type, who given a blow -  verbal or physical – would turn the other cheek, a la Christ’s  injunction.  We had battles galore, with the sparks flying upwards.

And then all the other usual battles, that come in the day’s bag.  Against rising prices, the cheating hawker, the noisy neighbours, and the recalcitrant kids,.

But now as if all this wasn’t enough, I’ve got to fight the mother of all battles.  The battle against – you’ve guessed it – old age.  Like Saddam Hussein I refuse to see the writing on the wall.

So though I’ve seen a legion of summers I take succor believing the dictum – you are not as old as you are but as young as you feel.  So I cock a snook at my years and keep thinking young, so don’t dress in staid sober colours.  Nor do I draw a line at wearing all those fancy chains and what-have-you.

The women’s magazines, which give you beauty tips, say that wrinkles, crow’s feet and frown lines can be kept at bay by smoothening them out with fingertips or puffing and blowing air.  So on a long bus trip, I thought I would kill two birds with one stone.I realized what was happening only when the conductor came up and tapping me on the shoulder said, “:Lady, will you stop making funny faces “?

I realized then that all the passengers were eyeing me warily thinking that I was a lunatic.  Blushing and flushing, I made a quick exit, at the next stop, though I still had a long way to go.

So what if a tooth is lost here or there?  The dentist can set it right.  Only thing is to be careful that dentures fit snugly.  I remember an aunt, who went a-visiting.  While she had an hearty laugh, her dentures fell into the tea cup , much to the consternation of others, and to her embarrassment.

Exercise does it.  It can take away the years and keep you trim.  As for white hair, it can be turned black, thanks to the various dyes in the market.  Time was when grannys were white-haired and dignified.

The other day I came across my photo, taken in my teens.  All young , slim and svelte, and my heart sank..  Looking in the mirror I could see  the difference and it hit me in the pit of my stomach, that not even a blind man would call me young. The die was cast.  I looked old, irrevocably, irretrievably.  Not all the creams or lotions in the world would restore me to my former glory.  I was old .I am old.  I’ll be getting older.

But to hell with old age.  Remember , it’s in the mind.. Have the guts to face the odds.  I square my shoulders, spread a gooey stuff on my face, and I lie down with the face mask, determined not to get up, even if the house caught fire, or the president of India came a-visiting