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This is an archive article published on June 4, 2007

26 going on 40

That infernal tick of the biological clock

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There’s no getting around it — that darn biological clock — ticking away, like something out of Captain Hook’s worst crocodile-infested nightmare. I can safely say, speaking for urban womankind in 21st-century India, that the biological clock is something to sneer at in your early 20s. It’s a phenomenon relegated to the inside pages of various glossy lifestyle magazines — a phrase that conjures up images of frumpy aunties at kitty parties, with babies in tow — boring aunties, who clearly never felt the need to Make A Difference.

Oh well, how the mighty are fallen! When you hit 24 or 25, there’s something furtive — you’re sneaking glances over your shoulder because you can feel their presence. Something, an unquantifiable, almost imperceptible something, nudging you on, permeating your conscious mind with just the hint of something bordering on reproach. Reproach? Whatever for, you ask? Reproach for maybe ignoring or clouding out anything long-term. Focusing on the here, the now, the career, instant gratification, whatever.

Past 26 now, I find it’s a minefield. I feel the persecuting eyes, the pointing fingers — and I know full well what they’re thinking! Slightly over the hill? Isn’t she too old to be playing single and unhitched? Isn’t she supposed to be going for the big one — biological redemption?

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Now, a few years ago, I would have scoffed. I would have found some suitably derisive form of defence to mock my shadowy persecutors into oblivion. Except the clock is taking on a tangible quality. Every time I see babies, or I meet proud mothers, there’s this thought bubble impinging on the whole conversation: What if the stork came calling?

What if, indeed. And that, clearly, is the moment of panic. You know how 40 is supposed to be the new 30. It’s clearly true — the regressive side of Darwin’s legacy. You know of course that this generation onwards, we now consider college students ‘kids’, never mind that they’re old enough to vote and procreate.

Well, similarly, the early to mid-20s is an extended adolescence. What I’m looking for is meaning to explain the 26 phenomenon. Grasping here, for generational straws — to figure out why I’m not at all up to the task of either smashing that biological clock to bits, or at least bringing it out into the open, like any civilised adult would.

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