Behind the pillar

When the bride and groom entered the church I quickly found a pillar behind which I stood hidden for the entire service, where I had a good view of the ceremony, where I could quietly take pictures and where no one would bother me by making idle conversation about how she looked or how his sword shined. Behind the pillar I found some private moments to well up a little, say amen and cross myself every time the priest did, close my eyes quietly for short, quick prayers for her and to fight back the tears that threatened to smudge my mascara and wreck the brave front I was putting up.

My best friend is now married to an officer in the Indian Navy. I do not know why she is the only person I ever refer to as my best friend. I do not remember the first time I met her (although I know that I was 8 and she was 9 years old) and I do not remember any moment that would help qualify her best friend status (except I know that the last fifteen years were full of them). The tears that I held back pricked my eyes for the knowledge of those fifteen years.

But there was also the knowledge that the next fifteen years are going to be different. Behind the pillar dawned the realization that a new phase in life is here. A phase that had not arrived when I was 22 and has quickly decided to settle in now that I am 23. A new phase where direct instructions to ‘find someone’ will be commonplace, where unabashed queries about my relationship status should not surprise me. A new phase where I must become accustomed to conversations like the following:

.. Erin, in the midst of a long talk about life on one’s own and on one’s own terms said, “You’re going to be like me. You will study till you’re thirty; all your friends will get married. You will feel lonely and long for companionship and long to have kids, but you will have to wait. You cannot get married during your PhD, it’s too much to handle.”

.. My grandmother, while I was explaining the long procedure of applying for a PhD abroad and saying that I will be 28 or 29 by the time I finish, interrupted and said, “You must get married before that! 28 is too late!”

Despite the arrival of this phase, I feel unchained and free to make choices – about whether 28 is too late, or whether marriage during a PhD is feasible and even about what loneliness is. It suddenly seems like I, and everyone around me, is making or going to make choices that are life altering. My cousin might get married. I’m thrilled at the idea of standing behind her and giving her away at a church ceremony. I’m going to pick a whole new country to go live in for half a decade and make a career out of reading geeky papers. I will live on my own, cook for myself, maybe even buy a car. My friends will make these choices too – about where they’ll live and what they’ll do for a living. We’ll do so much, see so much, learn so much and be so different. It’s ridiculously frightening, all of this, but so exciting. Because it shall be life altering. At 23 and at 28.

And so when I emerged from behind the pillar, I managed a toothy grin. And I feel remarkably upbeat today.