Pengalin Tirumana Vayasu 21.

A little over a year ago, I wrote a breathless, restless piece about the adrenaline rush that comes from turning 20. Today, here is a less inspired, more rehearsed follow up on what it feels like to turn 21. The words are not flowing half as smoothly and the piece isn’t half as formed in my head but what the hell. Here goes nothing.

Taking a stock of this last year seemed like a good place to start.

Relationships cemented? Atleast half a dozen.

Relationships lost? I can think of a couple.

Adventures had and memories gathered? From Khaltse, Ladakh to Berkeley, California

Hearts broken? One for sure. Maybe more or I kid myself.

Hearts mended? Getting there.

Three hundred and sixty five days came and went by, some agonizingly slow and others flying by before I could say ‘twenty’. Before I knew it, I was at the threshold of another huge set of exams, at the other side of which lay the welcoming expanse of three months without the people or the place of the haloed portals of my college. But that also meant I was a couple of days away from my birthday, the big twenty-one, when it all becomes legal and as the autos on the streets of Chennai remind me – the age for girls to get married. Mind you, the autos don’t tell you it is advisable to or even that you should but rather, as a statement of fact ‘the age for marriage (for girls) is 21.’ No questions entertained and no negotiation.

Before everyone rushes at me in dismay/horror/excitement/variant thereof, let me clarify. I am not getting married anytime soon, thankyouverymuch. Nope, miles to go before I sleep and all that. But somehow, those autos on the streets of the city hit home that morning of my birthday. Between panicking for a Microeconomics exam and nightmares of a professor who threatens to fail us all, I could see the yellow and black tuk-tuks plying the streets, propagating their words of wisdom to those who cared to listen and many who didn’t.

Twenty one stood for all things adult. Through my childhood, that was that holy age when no one could stop you from doing anything – you could vote and drink, be the conscientious citizen and the happy-go-lucky vamp. You could finish your undergraduation and then study, or work, or travel, or laze or do just about anything. And you would be too grown up for anyone to ask you anything. And one fine morning, here I was. Twenty one.

As I sit in rural Karnataka typing all this, I tell myself I shouldn’t lie. Sure, of late I have thought about the bigger picture and the road ahead and the various other meta constructs meant to scare the young brain out of its wits but I have also thought of cheap food and dancing. Questions of ‘what after graduation?’ are followed closely by ‘where are the best momos in town?’ ‘Where do I want to be five years from now?’ and ‘what colour should my room be and what posters should I print?’ go hand in hand.

This birthday, I was lucky. I was lucky enough to have more people who care more than I ever seemed to realise. And I was lucky to have a miracle of a friend put it all together. As an email came in every hour from the US and Germany, Hyderabad and Ahmedabad, I teared up and cried at relationships built and nurtured and the people who come and more importantly, stay. I was one lucky thing. And whatever else twenty one will teach me this year, I got an early reminder of one thing – there are a few things in this world that a beanbag, the best of friends and brilliant food won’t solve.