I turned 34 a couple of months ago, and ever since my birthday, I’ve been having what I can only describe as teenage image issues. Not existential questions — more like: What is my vibe? What is my aura? Am I the main character or do I live in Delulu Apartments?
To get answers, I put myself under the scanner of ‘observational awareness’ (which is just a fancy term for narcissism with lighting). And what I noticed is this — me, and a lot of other decent, middle-class 30-somethings in Hyderabad, have quietly slipped into the role of ‘eternal can’t complain’.
We’ve technically been adults for a while now — our adult life is now an adult. It can vote, hold a learner’s driving license and knows which roads you can drive on the wrong side without getting caught.
We could have taken better care of our health, but we took the resistance of our youth and tested it heavily with Mysore bonda, biryani, and all other items fried in crude oil. Now we have a tummy that can legally apply for a PAN card. We move at 0.75x speed and still need a lift to reach the gym. The word uncle now refers to both your title in the building and the chips you eat with whisky. But hey — being called uncle is way better than being dead. I mean, so many people in their 30s have died randomly that just being alive with an unhealthy lifestyle makes you feel like one of the invincibles.
A wise man in his 30s invests. But the stock market right now? It looks like it just went 10 rounds with Mike Tyson. It’s bleeding red. Still, we believe in the finance ministry. Not that they’ll fix it, but they’ll definitely make it worse. But hey — we’ve got jobs (somehow), money comes in (and immediately evaporates), and our UPI apps still say transaction success. So again… can’t complain.
Family? Oh, they’ve got plans. If you’re married, they want a kid. If you’re not married, they want a wedding. If you have both, they want you to buy a flat and offer your soul as collateral. But just when you want to scream, your mom gently slides in a plate of pappu annam and aloo fry. And suddenly your inner child whispers, ‘Maybe my therapist was wrong. My parents are perfect.’
And love? If you’ve reached your 30s, you’ve met someone and felt love. It either died painfully, or you married them — and now you’re putting effort into the relationship like it’s your second job. No, it’s not the Bollywood song sequence you always imagined, but yes, you get loved for being silly. Sure, you’re asked to behave maturely after the same silliness repeats over and again. But if you’re still in the ballpark of love in your 30s, again — can’t complain.
Yes, the world is not in a good place. There’s war, religious unrest, and general chaos. But your city? Peaceful. Yes, there’s traffic, construction, and religious speakers on full volume at all times — but you’ve got noise-cancelling headphones on EMI, so you can now listen to the same sound in HD. Your society is so secure, even your own father needs MyGate approval to enter. Forget an airplane crashing into your Aparna Sarovar Heights — we know that trend is over. The only riots happen over raita — and if you’ve got it on Swiggy, you can outsource that pain to a delivery guy.
Basically, when you zoom in, things are wrong. But when you zoom out? They seem fine. So for the last two months — and for the rest of this year — if anyone asks me how I am, I say, and will only say: Can’t complain.
Sandesh Johnny
@johnnykasandesh
(This comedian is here to tell funny stories about Hyderabad)
(The writer’s views are his own)