By Debi Mukherjee
I was thirty and seven
a promising career, with
two children in tow
I was what you call a ‘modern day woman’
One evening, while rushing home
I chanced to see
a familiar face in the crowd
quite unexpectedly
a friend from school, we hugged, we smiled
catching up quickly, it had been quite a while.
“Oh how young you look!” she admired
"Oh you too!" I returned, beamingly
she smiled abashed, “just these ‘fine lines’ you see?
it is all over my face,
Motherhood she sighed!
is stressful indeed!
honestly though!
you haven't aged!
despite your job and
the two kids! So happy for you Kiki!”
At night I stared at my chin, and jaw, temple and centre of the brow—
“yes Kiki, I see them now!”
did my friend merely help me peek into a world that I had not seen:
a world where despite my accomplishments
my face had to be youthful and radiant!
much like the face of the woman in the 90's advert
we watched as little girls?
Alas! I was chasing against a moving train— my age!
my heart raced as I pondered this fate,
I was inching towards thirty and eight— to age
gracefully, showing not a wrinkle or grey,
to meet the impossible standards of each passing day!
I typed: “How to remove fine lines”
and watched my screen explode with
anti-aging creams in endless designs—
serums, moisturisers, day creams, night creams
and thirteen steps to observe before I sleep!
to imagine that the world was expecting nothing but timelessness
from every woman like me—
it was heart wrenching indeed.
I am only human—
vulnerable and real
criticisms cut my fragile heart deep, so
as it turned to midnight
I pronounced my own truth
stepping into my pyjamas
I ordered the serum of ‘Youth.’