Past perfect

There comes a time in life when looking back is as much of a joy as looking forward

The older I grow the more I find that nostalgia is the governing emotion of my life. This was brought home to me even more strongly last week when I went back to Jaipur’s Rambagh Palace for a brief visit. The moment I walked through the sofa-lined verandah that runs in front of what used to be the Jaipur royal state room (and is now rather prosaicly, a restaurant), I was transported back to my first visit to this iconic property.

I was a young rookie reporter, barely out of college, and had been assigned to cover the General Elections by following the erstwhile royals on the campaign trail. We (I was accompanied by the magazine’s photographer) were in Jaipur to cover the former Maharaja, Captain Bhawani Singh’s, campaign and stopped by at the Rambagh for a quick coffee. 

Imagine our excitement when we saw, in the verandah where I now stood some three decades later, Rajmata Gayatri Devi, resplendent in chiffon and pearls, talking to a friend. We immediately sidled up to her, waited respectfully for her conversation to end, and then asked if we could speak to her.

Much to our surprise, she ignored us completely, refusing to even acknowledge the question. Both of us were crestfallen but couldn’t quite understand why we had been snubbed so comprehensively. It was only later when we shared the story with the hotel manager did we realize what we, in our naivete, had done wrong. Instead of addressing her as ‘Rajmata Saheb’ as was customary, we had referred to her as ‘Mrs Singh’ (on the grounds that she was stepmother to ‘Captain Singh’; what can I say, we were young and callow). Of course, such lese-majeste had to be punished. 

Later, as I gazed at a beautiful portrait of Gayatri Devi in her younger days that was hung in pride of place in my room, I was transported back to my youth as well. Suddenly, all those memories of driving through dry, dusty Rajasthan in a clapped-out Ambassador with no air-conditioning as we tried to keep up with the likes of the Maharaja of Jaipur and Maharana of Udaipur came flooding back. I remembered going days without drinking water because I knew that there would be no decent loos on our route. I remembered the dodgy hotel rooms we stayed in, a far cry from my salubrious surroundings of today. But mostly, I remembered the energy and enthusiasm of my younger self, and the self-belief that I would give anything to possess today in my advancing years.

I had much the same experience when I visited Kolkata a few years ago – though, I have to confess that it will always be Calcutta to me. This is the city where I was born and raised, where I went to school and college, and got my first job. No surprises then that every street sparked a memory, every building evoked emotions, and even a walk in a park triggered a strong dose of nostalgia.

But it was a visit to my old college that really transported me back in time. I was walking through Park Street with my husband, marveling at how many things had changed while others remained just the same, when I came to the turn that led to my old alma mater, Loreto House. On a sudden impulse I walked to that familiar green gate and asked the doorman if, as an old student, I could have a little walkthrough. He agreed, and we walked into that driveway that I had traversed every day to go to class. 

We walked into reception and then into the hall in which we had held assembly on special occasions, where I sat for so many exams. I walked on to the stage on which I had participated in innumerable debates and plays – one of them written and performed by my English Honours class. It was on this stage where, at the end of my college career, I had been awarded the gold medal for most outstanding student of the year. And – pardon the boastfulness – did I mention that my name was immortalized in shiny gold paint on a board outside, along with all the other winners? 

But while places have their own role in jogging my memory, it is meeting people that brings on the strongest bouts of nostalgia. Meeting my childhood best friend in Cal, and remembering the first day we went to school, clutching nervously on to each other, as we navigated this new, mysterious world. Running into an old teacher, who didn’t just remember my name and face, but also an essay I wrote for her, which I have long forgotten. Going to the restaurant that was the haunt of us newspaper types as we worked late into the night and being greeted by the same waiter.

The memories come rushing back thick and fast no matter where I am or what I am doing. A visit to my sister results in us taking out old photo albums and reminiscing about our younger years. Meeting old colleagues means another trip down memory lane. And stumbling upon an old article of mine among the few clippings I have preserved transports me to an entirely different time and place.

My conversations these days are peppered with “Do you remember when” or “Remember that time”. I guess that is a good indication that I am finally at a place in my life when looking back is as pleasurable – sometimes even more so – than looking forward. Or, more bluntly, I am just getting old!

Ageing gracefully

That may well be the ‘ideal’ – but there is something to be said for ageing disgracefully as well

In all the shock-horror coverage of Renee Zellweger’s new face (don’t worry, I am not about to add my two-bits to the raging debate) the one phrase that popped up the most was that old cliché: ‘ageing gracefully’. The implication here, of course, was that Renee was ‘ageing’ but not at all ‘gracefully’. Instead, she was resorting to every trick in the book – tanning lotions, Botox, fillers, plastic surgery, and God alone knows what else! – to keep the depredations of Nature at bay (never mind that the actress herself put her new look down to being in a happy place in her life.)

I don’t know about you but if there is one phrase that is guaranteed to raise my hackles it is this one. ‘Ageing gracefully’. As if there is some societally approved standard of how every woman – and it is nearly always women who are discussed in this context – must age if she doesn’t want to fall foul of the Look Police.

She must not have had any obvious ‘work’ done. She must have a few wrinkles in place and her forehead should actually move. Any dyeing or primping must be so subtle as to be practically unnoticeable. It helps if she is the same size at 60 that she was at 30. But even so, she must not frighten the children by wearing short dresses, leather trousers, tank tops or (the ultimate transgression) bikinis at the beach.

‘Ageing gracefully’. You see it used in the media all the time. But it can’t be a coincidence that it is always used in the context of drop-dead beautiful women, who remain attractive despite the ravages of age. Leading the pack is the effervescent Meryl Streep, who wears her laugh lines and crows feet as a badge of pride. Following closely is Helen Mirren, who can still rock a red bikini at 60-something. Diane Keaton is another name that crops up on this list. Susan Sarandon was always given an honorable mention before she went and let the side down with a subtle facelift. Back home, we have our own icons of ‘ageing gracefully’ but the one who gets the most name checks is the late Gayatri Devi.

Whenever there is a shock-horror story about an ageing (by that I mean anyone on the wrong side of 30) star’s cosmetic surgery gone wrong, you can be sure that these women will be dragged into the narrative as examples of the ideal that all of us should aspire to: ‘ageing gracefully’.

Really? While I bow to none in my admiration of these ladies, they are hardly representative of our sex, are they? What they are is freaks of Nature, one born every 10 million or so, who are destined to be effortlessly beautiful, and remain so no matter how old they grow.

The rest of us? Not so much. We need help to look even marginally attractive when we are in our prime. So, what is wrong with trying a little harder as time goes on? Nobody blinks an eye at monthly waxing and bleaching appointments, fortnightly manicures and pedicures, six-weekly root touch-ups, and quarterly highlights: the minimum standard required for grooming these days. So what is wrong with pushing the boat out a little further when you feel you need a little more help? What’s the harm in trying to look like the best version of ourselves?

Do you look (and feel) permanently angry because of that frown line that glowers furiously from your forehead? Do you think a little Botox might make you feel better about yourself? Go right ahead and do it. Does the face looking back at you from the mirror look older and more tired than you feel? Will a few discreet touches of filler make a difference? It’s entirely your call. Do you (like Nora Ephron and millions of other women) feel bad about you neck? Get a little nip and tuck if that’s what you want. It’s your face, your body, your life, your choice. Do what makes you happy. And pay no attention to the naysayers around you.

On the other end of the spectrum, do you want to ‘age disgracefully’ in an entirely different way altogether? Give yourself permission to do so. Cancel the gym membership, fire the personal trainer, and junk that hideous diet regimen you’ve signed up for. Go for a walk in the park or do a little light yoga instead. Or just lie in bed and eat chocolate. It’s your life. And you’ve earned the right to live it as you wish.

As for me, I am determined to age as disgracefully as possible. Here, in no particular order of importance, are just some of things I intend to do as I get older:

• Cut my hair really short (think GI Jane) and dye it purple. (Grey is such a boring colour.
• Wear red leather trousers to all my business meetings.
• Tell it like it is – no more mealy-mouthed platitudes.
• Throw out all my high heels and live in ballet flats.
• Lie on the sofa all weekend watching endless reruns of Friends/Frasier/Modern Family.

I intend to do what I like, when I like, and to hell with the rest of the world. And while I’m at it, I’m going to retire the phrase ‘ageing gracefully’ from my vocabulary. Instead, I am going to celebrate ‘ageing disgracefully’. Now that has a nice ring to it!