Pact with Life

                    Near 50 and Done with Nonsense

Hitting 50 feels like you’ve earned a lifetime membership to the Who Cares? club. Is it just me, or does every woman eventually reach this stage? I’ve stopped explaining myself, overthinking every little thing, or apologizing for living life my way. These days, I sit, read, stretch (well, sometimes), and sip coffee like it’s the elixir of life.

Fitness? Let’s not get carried away. My bones might not be as sprightly as they were in my 20s, but they still move—mostly. Every time I decide, this is it, I’m committing to exercise, something magically sabotages my plan. So, I make do: a neck roll here, a shoulder stretch there, and occasionally, a heroic jump (or what vaguely resembles one). If I’m feeling particularly ambitious, I take an intense walk to the kitchen and back, coffee mug in hand. Walking and weightlifting combined—now that’s efficiency!

At home, my style is… let’s call it relaxed chic. Hair in a bun, track pants, a comfy top, and an ancient hoodie that might soon be declared an antique. My son loves pointing it out: “Mom, you’re a walking brand story—bottom GAP, top Nike, and Sarojini Nagar couture.” And bras? Please. Once I step through the door, they’re banished to another realm—far, far away.

The other day, my son smirked and said, “Mom, you’ve mastered the art of sloth life. Woven into that couch all day—you’re like the poster child for ultimate chill. Maybe you do something… I don’t know, a job?” I replied, “I love this moment right here. Coffee in one hand, zero rush in the other—this slothy life is everything I didn’t know I needed.”

Then there’s my beauty routine, or what’s left of it. No mascara, just a basic cream I whip up myself to keep wrinkles at bay. To be fair, I don’t think I look too bad yet (a little self-love never hurt anyone). But the weight? Oh, if only some magical charm could whisk that away. Until then, it’s me and my coffee-induced cardio sessions.

Even my husband has learned to tread lightly. “Did you throw out that glass with food in it?” he’ll ask, launching into his usual CSI: Leftovers routine. “No,” I reply, “it’s growing mushrooms now. When you’re ready to say goodbye, I’ll deal with it.” His inevitable retort? “Well, I’m getting older too… are you planning to throw me out someday?” My response? “Let me think about that.” Cue his awkward laughter. Mine? Loud, spooky, and as delightfully witchy as it gets.

What surprises me most is how much I’ve come to enjoy this so-called “home chapter” of my life. I never imagined I’d like this quieter version of me. I was always the social one—thriving on meetups, chatter, and endless plans. But somewhere along the way, things shifted. My friends might think it’s just “one of her phases,” but as I type this, I realize this version of me feels… settled. I’ve made peace with it, and I like it here.

This isn’t laziness—it’s liberation. Socializing? Only with the people who matter. Drama? Declined, deleted, and filed under No Thanks.

So, if you’ve hit the I-don’t-give-a-damn phase too, welcome to the club. Grab your coffee, roll your neck, and laugh at the absurdity of it all. Let’s celebrate this fabulous chaos—because honestly, what else is there? And why should we force ourselves into doing more when everything we’re doing now is exactly what we deserve? Sometimes, it’s perfectly fine to embrace your inner sloth. After all, sloths are efficient in their own way—they climb slowly but they always get to the top. And me? I’m savouring every glorious step of the climb because it’s exactly what I deserve, like, and want right now—and that’s perfectly okay.