I learnt it all over again upon my return to India, not just because the steering wheel and gear shift was on the other side. The first time in America, where I learnt the mechanics of driving and whizzed along freeways, relishing the speed. The Taj Mahal viewing happened more than twenty-five years later. I walked to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue at age twenty-two, naïve and awestruck at being in the capital of the USA.
Wear high heels.Īnd somewhere along the way, save the world.Ī lot on the list has been accomplished, though not always in the order I expected it. Visit the White House, See the Taj Mahal. I learnt later that this was called a bucket list. Consequently, I had a long jumbled list of dreams, desires and aspirations. In due course.Īdjectives for my younger self included hefty words like outspoken, bold, ambitious. The larger (and slower) part of me, is aware of its chronological age, and therefore, happy to walk slowly, knowing that another bus will come by. This part of me has a mental age somewhere in the mid-twenties. That was more than three decades ago.Ī small part of me wishes I could still run, if not every day, at least on occasions that demand speed. I’m no longer the lithe teenager who used to take-off at the sight of bus number 333 in Bombay, in my blue school uniform and white canvas shoes, with my neatly-combed braids tied with white silk-edged nylon ribbons flying besides me like two sidekicks. I could have run, waved my arms to get the drivers attention, or sprinted to catch it. It’s a muggy Monday in Singapore as I walk to the bus stop. A long wait at a bus stop reveals that growing up (aka growing old) has its advantages.
0 kommentar(er)
