Adulthood: The Scam We All Signed Up For

Although all kids are a pain in the you know what, they are also innocent, and they can make fun of you in such a way that you have no option but to smile. Imagine this: someone says “Samaira’s mom’s height is same as chhota baby.” If that line had come from the pados wali aunty, toh Bhayankar ladai ho jaati! But from a kid? Suddenly it’s funny. That’s the magic.

Anyway, I’m writing about my love for books and ek pyali chai. That chai could be your chamomile tea, hibiscus tea, or masala tea. I mean something you like to sip when you’re sitting with family, friends, and one good book. That’s really all we need — at least, that’s what I think.

The smell of books — oh my god — it gives me a different high. The way you touch them, the sound when you flip a page — omg. That’s something else. That hits differently.

But people nowadays are going book-free. Everything on cloud. I won’t lie — I also use it, especially when driving, travelling, and running around balancing mental peace, household chores, and this modern “Maa” image. You don’t always have time to carry files or notebooks, so paperless is good there. But books? Ah, that’s my real love.

Books give you everything you need, exactly when you need it. Want to feel sexy? There’s a book. Want a thriller? Pick one up. Basically, whatever type of boyfriend you want, or whatever you wish your husband would do — a book will never say no. It will always deliver.

Children can pick books to feel adulthood. Because adulthood is sad. It’s depressing. You’re constantly trying to find happiness — yoga, gym, painting. But everyone’s problem is the same: adulthood.

Some don’t want to grow old (me!), while others want to “age gracefully.” I don’t get that. We’re all ageing anyway. And just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re “samajhdaar.” Adulthood doesn’t guarantee that. In the end, you just die trying to balance samajhdari with happiness.

But look at kids — they’re always happy, precisely because they are not samajhdaar. Sometimes I also want to be like that. But bloody adulthood doesn’t let me.

So yes, samajhdari, adulthood, happiness — all hoax. You find your calm and peace in the stupidest things: bungee jumping (after signing “we’re not liable if you die” forms), extreme sex, shopping like crazy (and slogging like a pig later to pay for it), or painting like a child — basically what my kid does on furniture and walls.

And then, in the name of samajhdari, you start talking like an Olympian. You don’t say, “I’m going home.” You say, “I’m going to Trump Towers.” You start blocking calendars for dinners, trips, even coffee. You talk brands, places, things-to-do lists. And I wonder — is it worth it?

Honestly, it feels like adulthood was written by someone who was sad and wanted revenge. Someone thought: “Why should I be the only one suffering? Let’s make everyone adult and miserable.”

So here I am, still in love with my books and chai. They are my peace. The rest — adulthood, samajhdari, happiness — all a big sham.