No. 1 hit singles

You know what the problem is with singlehood. Plotlessness. That is what. In one all-encompassing word. As a species, we are programmed to fulfil certain processes at certain times. Philosophy, literature, music, biology, aunts — they all hustle the same trajectory. Hindu philosophy prescribed the four ashramas. The Bard padded three more stages, making it the seven ages of man. Cat Stevens coined his ditty Father and Son , where he crooned “Find a girl, settle down, if you want you can marry.” (Pox on you Boyzone, for killing that song for me.) And if one were to ever lose sight of these ‘goals’ — enter the gynaecologist, whose one role on this earth is to glower and say, “It is getting late.”

But what if fate, circumstance, turn of events dictated otherwise? What if the whole meet-partner-fall-in-love-be-loved-marry-have-baby-have-one-more-baby did not go quite according to schedule?

What then?

In a country where ticking these boxes becomes a badge of honour, what of those who have not yet clicked on the boxes or have chosen to ignore them altogether? What of unmarried men and unmarried women, divorced husbands and divorced wives, single fathers and single mothers? In these scenarios — in these lifetimes, to be precise — one must gird one’s loins, and find meaning in this plotlessness and seek a vision that looks beyond linear narratives.

It is not easy to imbue meaning when and where ‘society’ not only believes there is none, but annuls any possibility of it. As a single person of ‘marriageable age’ you aren’t merely seen as someone who is slower off the blocks, but as someone ‘too picky’, ‘shunning responsibility’ and, of course, that favourite as ‘playing the field’.

Facebook nags you to ‘update life event’. Friends and family ask ‘Any news?’ And they mean only one thing. But you have none. And that is when you realise that the best plots are not those where the sequence and end come predetermined. Instead it is those that leave you asking, What now? What next?

Most people look at being unattached with the same fervour as a wait in an airport lounge, essentially, a space where you bide time till departure. With every announcement on the PA system, you hope “ Mera number aa gaya hai ”. To be there is only an intermission — a compulsion — before arriving at where you are meant to be. But what if one stopped looking at singlehood as an airport lounge and instead embraced it as setting up camp on an island. Instead of constantly looking at a flight, a way out, why not revel in what it is, while it lasts.

You may receive a few raised eyebrows from those on the mainland, but so what? Why not try to live ‘serenely’, “to accept what can’t be changed, the courage to change what one can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” When on the island, why not indulge in what you want to do. Grow geraniums around your tent (roses are for the mainland), count the shooting stars, even buy a dining table while you are at it. Meet other island-dwellers. Boats will pass by. And who knows, one boat might even choose to drop anchor.

Singlehood is a stage of equilibrium. Not ridden with epic highs and even more epic lows. It is the confidence that you can be there for friends and family, because, yes, you do have time. It is to be open to the universe and to be geared for new experiences. It is not ideal, but it is just as valid and legitimate a stage as any other. Idiosyncrasies might become norms, as no one is there to tell you otherwise. It does require negotiations and compromises. One must choose camaraderie over intimacy and often solitude over company. But that is not a debilitating choice. A destructive relationship can char you, being unattached means you might have to make movie plans in advance. It means you might have to put up curtains by yourself.

An article in the Wired recently explained (through foolproof numbers) that the baby madness on your Facebook feed is more in your head than for real. The author Clive Thompson helpfully reminds us to “observe the world around us like a scientist — to see what’s actually going on instead of what just happens to gall (or please) us.”

And therein lies the crux. Everyone around me seems to be marrying and gestating and procreating. But their lives are no better or worse than mine, they are just different lives, ridden with their own perks and burdens.

A friend recently snapped, “Oh, what is the good part of being unattached? There really is none.” The challenge is to find meaning in the here and now, to not be inundated by a past that didn’t work out and a future that is yet to configure itself.

Joy doesn’t arise only from ‘life events’. It comes from incremental pleasures on a daily basis — the right espresso and a great book for company in a coffee shop; the silliness and heroics of one’s nieces and nephews; working hard and working well; stealing out time to meet old friends; meeting new people and seeing one’s city through their eyes; warming toes in the sunshine; leaning in; from leaning out. And putting up curtains.

I have become sceptical of the term ‘happily ever after’. I wonder what that means. Why should life be divided into two halves? ‘After’ implies a rupture of time, a particular event, which cleaves life into a past and future. I realise now that this is my ‘happily ever’.