To quote one of our teachers from high school, our birthdays are the results of biological accidents, and as such, there is little merit in making a big deal out of them. Our ages too, one can say, are just numbers,
In Physics, half-life is defined as the time required for a quantity to fall to half its value as measured at the beginning of the time period. The term is primarily used in the context of radioactive decay: "the carbon-14 isotope has a half-life of 6000 years" implies that if a sample contains 100,000 carbon-14 atoms today, then 6000 years from now 50,000 are expected to remain, while the rest is expected to wither away.
In Physics, half-life is defined as the time required for a quantity to fall to half its value as measured at the beginning of the time period. The term is primarily used in the context of radioactive decay: "the carbon-14 isotope has a half-life of 6000 years" implies that if a sample contains 100,000 carbon-14 atoms today, then 6000 years from now 50,000 are expected to remain, while the rest is expected to wither away.
Unlike carbon-14 atoms, human-beings are in general, not known to be radioactive. However, if there were some ways to quantify the vitality of our spirits; then there's little doubt that that quantity would undergo a decay much similar to that exhibited by radioactive substances. I'll venture to say that the half-life associated with our species is 30 years. That is not to say that I assign a pessimistic life-expectancy of 60 years at birth; it only means that when we are 30 we lose half of the life-force that we are born with.
On my thirtieth birthday, therefore, I reflect on how I expended the first half of that force. I remember my days as a child: the trinkets that my mother used to bring for me on her way back, our regular vacations to my grandparents' place at Santiniketan and the long walks with my father, and the stories told by my grandmother; who had a remarkable memory and knew all the classics to minute detail. My retrospection is filled with a myriad of fond images and experiences: of cheerfully jostling through packed crowds in Kolkata during Durga Puja, of playing cricket in severely constricted spaces, of the summer holidays spent immersed in Tintin, Enid Blyton and Satyajit Ray, of the games that my cousins and I used to concoct and play, of the cricketers' cards that I used to collect and that I eventually started manufacturing on my own, of the poems and stories with which I filled hard-bound notebooks, of the stuff that I used to write in my journal; and so many more. I think of the things I learnt and the stuff I forgot; of the friends I made, and those that drifted away; and of the girls I had crushes on and those that developed a fondness for me. I recollect many trivialities and many of the little pleasures of life that had chanced upon me. For thirty years, I have had the joy of experiencing the sights, sounds and fragrances of this planet and that in itself I find fulfilling enough.
On my thirtieth birthday, therefore, I reflect on how I expended the first half of that force. I remember my days as a child: the trinkets that my mother used to bring for me on her way back, our regular vacations to my grandparents' place at Santiniketan and the long walks with my father, and the stories told by my grandmother; who had a remarkable memory and knew all the classics to minute detail. My retrospection is filled with a myriad of fond images and experiences: of cheerfully jostling through packed crowds in Kolkata during Durga Puja, of playing cricket in severely constricted spaces, of the summer holidays spent immersed in Tintin, Enid Blyton and Satyajit Ray, of the games that my cousins and I used to concoct and play, of the cricketers' cards that I used to collect and that I eventually started manufacturing on my own, of the poems and stories with which I filled hard-bound notebooks, of the stuff that I used to write in my journal; and so many more. I think of the things I learnt and the stuff I forgot; of the friends I made, and those that drifted away; and of the girls I had crushes on and those that developed a fondness for me. I recollect many trivialities and many of the little pleasures of life that had chanced upon me. For thirty years, I have had the joy of experiencing the sights, sounds and fragrances of this planet and that in itself I find fulfilling enough.
But while the ride this far has been fascinating, the path ahead, still, is fraught with sudden turns and detours. It is generally expected that by the time one is thirty, one's life should be settled or at least in the direction of being settled. The lives of many of my friends approaching thirty follow this norm. They have good jobs, years of professional experience, regular salaries, well-planned financial investments, and loving spouses or fiances. Some of them share pictures of their children on social media while some share pictures of the houses they have purchased; some others do both. Most of them, while pursuing their career and personal goals, seem to be converging steadily towards a state of order and stability, towards a life that is regular and secure.
About thirty years ago, when my parents observed their thirtieth birthdays, they were married for six years, had stable jobs in academia and were expecting a child. Of course, they still had a long journey ahead, but they knew where they were going, the path was in sight.
About thirty years ago, when my parents observed their thirtieth birthdays, they were married for six years, had stable jobs in academia and were expecting a child. Of course, they still had a long journey ahead, but they knew where they were going, the path was in sight.
My life, on my thirtieth birthday, however, lacks more or less everything that society assigns value to. It would seem that I had clearer directions when I was twenty, than what I have now. I am still a graduate student, working towards an academic degree that, while self-gratifying; has little utility in the market, and my only experience in the industry was for a mere 10 month period some 6 years ago. Far from settling down, I have little interest in spending the rest of my life in the same country, even continent; and have no idea where I would be living in, in a year from now. Finally, the prospect of me marrying and/or starting a family is slightly more far-fetched than that of an asteroid colliding with the earth.
And yet, it is this uncertainty, this lack of direction, that makes the journey exciting. Like a particle undergoing Brownian motion, a life without stability can go in any direction whatsoever. Instability and lack of planning give rise to a lack of rigidity; potentially keeping open a sea of possibilities, and between a stable life of perpetual boredom and an uncertain life with the potential of unexpected surprises, I have already made my choice. Today, therefore, I do not resent my uncertainties but revel in them; and when I think of all the places I want to visit, of the languages I intend to learn, of my unfinished novel and of all the remarkable things that can happen, I see no reason why the second half of my life's energy would not be spent in a way at least as interesting and as fulfilling as the first.
1 comment:
This one also has a vein of optimism like your prognosis for Modified India.
Anyway I turn 30 very soon, and reading about "half life" makes me depressed. :D
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