The opinions expressed in this article are the writer’s own and do not reflect the views of Her Campus.
Edited by: Sahana Inuganti
NO, this article isn’t about Progeria. Just putting it out there.
Hello! I’m Delzeen, an 18-year-old in the body of a 75-year-old. Long story short, I’m becoming an old person. And like every old person, I’m going to complain about my old-people problems.
Remember Angry Gran from the game ‘Angry Gran Run’? She was such a cool daadi: escaping from an asylum, kicking people out of her way while their screams blended into a harmony of “AAAA”s, swerving through the underbelly of billboards, and sprinting past the gap between Dingu-the-dinosaur’s feet. I want to be like Angry Gran. But no, life made me a Dingu.
Here’s what the realistic version of Angry Gran Run looks like for me:
Level 1: “My back’s aching, my bra’s too tight”; I thought I’m Pam but I look like Dwight.
The only difference between my daadi and me is that daadi doesn’t say, “Aiyaiyaiyaiiii cramp, cramp, cramp, cramp!” when she bends down to pick something up. Daadi’s a yoga enthusiast at 75 (who’d’ve thunk?!) What happened to the daadi who used to watch Hindi soap operas with me every day…?
Then there’s me: grappling with a bad back every single day, cramping as I bend down to tie my shoelaces, and unable to even ‘push’ in a single push-up. Despite taking more vitamin supplements than my gran, I’ve still found a couple of strands of white hair…at 18. If an interviewer asks me where I see myself 5 years down the line, I’d probably say I’d be the brand ambassador for a pencil brand; they can’t say no after looking at the looming dark circles with the sheen of graphite that orbit my eyes (Apsara or Faber-Castell peeps…iykyk).
When you say ASMR, I’m reminded of the sound of knuckles being cracked. I can sense the daadi-ness in me when my involuntary response after every sip of tea is, “Pspspspspsrrrrrr AAAAAAAHHHH”.
Level 2: Ye le,
chana baadaam khaa.
I don’t remember what I just read 2 minutes ago; I don’t remember what I ate for breakfast today; I don’t remember what assignments are due this week; I don’t remember song lyrics; I don’t even remember the way back from school…and I’ve travelled by that route for the past 13 years. Shame shame.
To be honest, I’ve always been forgetful. Once, in kindergarten, I forgot my school bag. At school, yes. I wore my raincoat without carrying the bag and went home with just the raincoat and a yellow neck-strap bottle that went duk-duk-duk-duk every time I waddled (P.S.: The next day, my mom sent me to school with just one plastic bag and the same duk-duk bottle. ’Twas hilarious).
My mom has one universal solution for this—baadaam khaa (eat almonds). I’ve never understood the baadaam paradox. You’re supposed to eat baadaam because it helps you remember…but…how do you remember to eat baadaam in the first place…?
Level 3: OK boomer.
It took me two days to learn how to make a PDF, and two weeks to learn how to manoeuvre Snapchat. I’m scared of using Discord because of the one time I might’ve accidentally video called the entire HerCampus team. IMSOSORRY.
Why do I like Android more than Apple?
“Arey, that back button is there near the home button na…less jhanjhat…”
A piece of advice: the Zoom background I forgot to take down from my previous meeting which accidentally shows up in the next meeting is NOT DIRECTLY PROPORTIONAL to my character. It had Dayaa Behen on it, come on, that’s funny.
Level 4: “Arey humaare zamaane mein…”
Forget mansplaining, I start gran-splaining. You’ll find me channeling my inner Aatmaraam Tukaraam Bhide *straightens collar* rambling with the usual, “Arey humaare zamaane mein…” to anyone who thinks Travis Scott is the best artist out there, introducing them to this gem called Mohit Chauhan.
But be careful about your favourite songs in public, people. Every third person seems to be an influencer; (god forbid) they like your favourite song, they’ll make a trend out of it until you absolutely.detest.it.
There’s one baby who got millions of views for wobbling, no? Why wasn’t Tik Tok there when I was a baby?! I used to eat monopoly cards for breakfast and manage to roll off the bed despite being islanded by four huge pillows. And I survived. Freaking medical miracle.
Level 5: The young oldies.
Do you know what’s worse than feeling old? Seeing actual senior citizens behaving like youngsters. They know more about internet trends than you do; they have a higher metabolic rate than you do. That stuff kills you.
During the Diwali party in my colony this year, something terrible happened. 65-year-old aunties were jamming to Love Nwantiti. They knew the words; they knew the steps. When everyone was doing a Garba routine, moving in a circle, I had to JOG behind the 65-year-old auntyji who danced like she was on an unlimited supply of red bull.
Then, there are vichitra praanis like me. The day I wear a kurta, my designation changes to ‘aunty’.
Once, a lady who was a part of a blood donation campaign asked me if I’d donate blood. When I told her I was just 16, she said, “Wow! You look 22!” From which angle, sister? I was wearing crocs!!
Those oldies who tell my mom, “This young lady looks like your sister…just a few years apart!” either need to shut up, or not get offended when I say, “That person being cremated looks just like you…just a few years apart!” at funerals. And that’s my villain origin story :)