Well, right now I think my blog would have been ready to write its last and final testament (read: will), but for the complete absence of a fitting heir. And so, it decides to pull on, in the dreary winter of Bangalore, with the last remanants of its owner's sympathy.
It's not only lately, that I've realized that my conversations are vastly different from what they used to be some time ago. It's more about prices of vegetables and pulses, how to set the curds, and the best way to wash my husband's whites. Damn! I think I never did notice the little house holder creep under my skin. And I see it's here to stay for a long long time to come. I'm unsure how to assess this change, and whether to classify it as good or bad. It's possibly inevitable, and a necessary part my evolution from a girl to a wife. It's also something I cannot avoid like the way I ignore fashion.
It's the effect of age that no therapy or spa or plastic surgery can mask. It seems to have its own world of fundamental rights, and its right to be present in everyone's life is undeniable. I can see that things will swell from here, and I must admit that there is a certain amount of excitement, that real adult life is now mine.
I pride in buying green peas at five rupees lesser than the colleague who sits across my table, and yet every morning the thought of fixing breakfast and lunch exerts more pressure on me than finishing an assignment at work. It's evolution I think and it's natural.
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