Twenty Somethings

For some reason or other, I’ve always thought of “twenty two” the age as rather insignificant. Not at all like sixteen, eighteen, or twenty one; three milestones, in a way, one after the other. The first meant stepping into junior college (and the age of consent), the second meant stepping into university (and the legal age); the third, into adulthood (and R(A) films, I guess). Twenty two doesn’t mean anything. It was not at all like last year’s monumental 21st, but equally lovely, spent with people I love — people who still can’t help giving away a surprise birthday party, but I love them anyway. I count myself lucky to have friends who are wonderful, humble, driven, exceptionally extraordinary (and very very hot); and to have spent the third birthday, probably the last, with someone who means the world to me. I don’t know where I’ll be next year — New York (probably), San Francisco, Chicago; Turkey, Nagaland, Bhutan or all of them — in my maniacal quest for professional success (the sign of the twenty somethings), wherever I am it is these people who give me strength, inspiration and plenty of love, and I hope I can be the same for them too.

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