There’s something about the sea. It’s salty, a bit unpredictable, and has been there forever, just watching us make the same mistakes. Standing there, watching the waves do their endless thing, it hits you. Especially when you’re on the wrong side of 40. The salty air doesn’t just clear your sinuses; it feels like it clears the cobwebs from your brain. And that’s when the real rants, and the quiet reflections, begin.
The Great Masquerade
They say life begins at 40. I think they mean the part where you start questioning everything that came before. For some, it’s 50. But there comes a point where the spiritual GPS kicks in and recalculates. You start thinking deeper. You start realising you’ve been carrying a suitcase full of personalities since childhood.
It wasn’t a conspiracy. It was survival. You had the “Professional You” – the one who nods thoughtfully in meetings and uses words like “synergy.” The “Social You” – the one who laughs a little too loud at parties to seem approachable. The “Good Kid You” – the one that still seeks approval. Personas. All of them. They helped you stay relevant, be more social, be more professional. But they also came with baggage, and somewhere under that pile of masks, you realise you’ve misplaced the real you.
The sea doesn’t wear a mask. It’s calm, it’s a raging storm, it’s shallow, it’s deep. It just is. Maybe that’s the point.
The “Bhai Ne Bola”
Not everyone is lucky in friends. I’m talking about the kind you can call at 3 AM, and even if they don’t pick up, they’ll call back at 3:01 AM, ready with a bat or a box of tissues. The kind where the phrase “Bhai ne bola, toh karne ka” isn’t about following orders, but about an unshakeable trust.
With them, you can finally take off the mask. You can be the unfiltered, slightly embarrassing, gloriously messy version of yourself without the fear of judgment. It’s essential. It’s therapy without the couch. Because let’s be honest, the world is a stage, and we’re all just acting. But with your real friends, you’re allowed to be in the green room, make funny faces, and just breathe.
The Circle of “I Told You So”
There’s a saying that goes, “By the time you realise your father was right, you have a son who tells you you’re wrong.” Truer words were never spoken. This realization usually hits you right between the eyes sometime in your 40s.
You suddenly get why your dad was paranoid about you staying out late. You understand the look on his face when you brought home another “brilliant” scheme. They did the best they could with what they had. And now, here we are, doing the same.
But the world has changed. We’ve swapped the large, chaotic, joint family for the streamlined, hyper-efficient nuclear one. Now, all that attention, all that anxiety, all that love that used to be spread across a dozen people? It’s laser-focused on our kids. We give them more attention than they want, solving problems they haven’t even encountered yet. And teenagers? Don’t even get me started on teenagers. It’s like living with a closed-door policy and a constitutional expert whose sole job is to find loopholes in your rules.
The Guilt Trip That Never Ends
And then there are our parents. The ever-present, low-hum of guilt. The guilt of not calling enough. The guilt of not visiting enough. The guilt of not being able to do more, stay more, talk more. Life, with its relentless responsibilities, gets in the way. They understand, of course. They’ve been there. But the guilt seeps through the cracks anyway. You promise yourself you’ll make more time. Maybe when the kids go to college. But for many of us, that magic “free time” is as elusive as a quiet moment in a house with a teenager. The sand is slipping through the hourglass, and the tide waits for no one.
A Brief Note on the Better Half (Typed at My Own Peril)
Look, even the gods have gone hoarse trying to understand the mysterious ways of the fairer sex. The ancient texts are full of stories of divine beings scratching their celestial heads, utterly perplexed. So, who am I, a mere mortal running on chai and regret, to even attempt an explanation? I have many years left on this earth, and I’d like to spend them (lovingly) with her. So, on this topic, I exercise my right to remain silent.
Reflections from the Shore
So, you stand there, the cold water lapping at your feet, and you think. You think about the masks, the friends, the family, the guilt. The waves keep coming, washing over your footprints, erasing them. It’s a good reminder.
- Leave the Masks (or at least, lighten the load): Maybe leaving the mask entirely is impossible. The world is a stage, after all. But you can try to leave the guilt and the burdens that the mask carries. Don’t let the persona become a prison.
- Hold on to the Shore: Spend as much time as you can with your family – parents, kids, spouse. Life after COVID-19 feels like it’s been put on fast-forward. Hold on to the good things. They are your anchor.
- Forget the Salt of Pain: The sea is salty, and so are our tears. But the sea also gives life. Forget what gives you trauma and pain. Let the tide take it. Remember only the good things. Let them be the shells you pick up and keep.
- Life is Bitter-Sweet: The sea is beautiful, but one sip of that water and you’re gagging. Life is just like that. It’s bitter and it’s sweet. It’s up to you to choose what you taste. You can’t control the waves, but you can learn to surf.
So, here’s to the 40-somethings, the 50-somethings, and everyone in between. Here’s to the masks we wear, the friends who see through them, and the family that holds us together. Here’s to sea, salt, and this crazy, beautiful, fleeting life.
