Then came the 40s …

I ain’t gonna lie. I hated turning 40, with a passion, I did. To me 40 was always something that other people turned — not me.  It was so ancient. So kachana, so far gone, that when it hit me, I wanted as little fuss as possible. Truth is, I wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened.  I celebrated it with a group of friends, who have been my girls since high school — who had also turned 40, whom I was sure would understand.

I didn’t think anybody else would understand my reluctance to age and relate to my chirambakusakara blues.  It took some doing for me to appreciate it.  It was so unlike my other milestones. Twenty one for me was giddy — I was still flirting with womanhood, deeply immersed in hormone-infested throes to notice what had hit me.  And because I was married young, by the time I was 25, I was already a mother and wife and had since grown roots in the oh-so-demanding trio of career, wifedom and motherhood to feel much else about that particular milestone. 

The 30s were a breeze.  I did feel those coming, but I was so happening, if I do say so myself, and at the top of my game career wise, nothing else mattered.  I welcomed the 30s with gusto. I loved them. They were intoxicating. I was scaling dizzying career heights and travelling the world, meeting all manner of people. Now these, I wished had lasted forever! The 30s. Then came the 40s —  trudging along, loaded, heavy and prone to sagging.  Heralded by a thickening waist, a mind not so frisky anymore, punctuated by the equally dreaded honorific address of “ambhuya”.

You know, you are not a spring chicken anymore when they all start addressing you like that.  You see, there is a mid point — which I like to call the half ‘n’ half mark — where while a few people may call you “ambhuya”, there are still quite a number that see the undeniable residual youth and continue addressing you as “sister”, “sisi” or the equivalent — this I could take and relished the fact that my round face could pack in a few more years, before betraying my true age.  But when it got to a point, where even walking in the dark at night somebody would identify you as “ambhuya” or where with your back to someone, you were undeniably “ambhuya” — ouch! That hurt.

When that happens, then sis, you know  the funk is oozing out with each of your menses. Youth doesnt live there anymore. At least not without concerted effort. In particular, I had the hardest of times accepting, and accepting with grace, that some of my body parts and force of gravity were conniving against me.  That was a blow. I felt like nature was betraying me and that biology was letting me down big time. So like I said it was a process for me to come to terms with the 40s.  But I am happy to say that with much tete-a-tetes, reflection and meditation, I have come around. I am now bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about the fabulous forties.

The fact that I surrounded myself with my same age friends, made the journey that much more palatable. We anticipated the milestone together and have been walking the journey side by side. We have held hands and commiserated when white hairs have started making their appearance, or when threading a needle became almost as tough as climbing the Mount Everest, due to the steadily but surely fading eyesight. And because many of my friends have been happy campers and quite optimistic, that sisterhood when I needed it most, has made it that much easier. Now we joke about it, and what’s more is that we are now wearing our forties like badges of honour.

What also helped was that the coming of the forties, allowed me the opportunity to reflect. Because a whole new chapter of my life was beginning, I took the time to ponder upon where I had been, where I was and where I was going.  Needless to point out that whole exercise  has given me an overwhelming sense of purpose which, I am sure, will continue on well into my fifties, if God wills it.  The growth I registered and continue to register makes me both proud and grateful that I reached the great four oh! I now realise that long life is actually a blessing, and now, I honour and cherish my age as such — a divine gift from the Almighty.

I am particularly encouraged when I see mature women of elegance ahead of me who wear their ages and experiences gracefully.  That I find hugely inspiring.
The greatest part about all this is that, I am now loving the forties so much I want to write about them and share the journey in this column. Brothers, sisters you too can come to the party. 

The Fabulous forties column is for all readers: readers in their forties;  readers who were in their forties and who care to remember what it was like; and those readers still looking ahead to their forties and would like a foretaste. 

Contact: maggiemzumara@yahoo.ie