Sexy Savvvy @ Sixty

       

"Gooooood Morning Mumbai. Get your cuppas stiring. Your sheets rolling. With your radios tuning to 98.2 FM-The Silver channel. Savvvy Shraddha sets you in the mood for the day. " ......blared the FM station at seven in the morning.

"My little birdies and young ponies as you begin this Stupendously Fantanbulously Dazzling Day, let me tell you I have a guest.... The Equally Stupendously Fantanbulously Dazzling Danish Kapoor ufffff DannyK!!! " 

Her voice roared into the eager ears of her countless followers. She was caffeine to their auditory senses. Zandu balm to their monday migraines and kayamchuran to their constipated constitutions. 

  "Yuhi chala chal rahi... Yuhi chala chal... With this oldy goldy song let's welcome our guest for this morning-DannyK..... So Danny morning or mourning to have woken up in the wee hours for this gupshup or let me say Chai pe Charcha..." 

Bursting into her own lame jokes adjusting her burgandee coloured tresses, Shraddha winked at DannyK.

 Blushing pink,"Oh cmon aunty... Oops sorry I mean Savy Shraddha......" 

Danny corrected himself but suddenly a wrinkle popped out hidden under her dimples. She noticed his  embarrassment. 

" No sorry buddy. That's what I'm. I'm unapologetic at Sixty- two..... You can even call me granny."  This time it was Danny who rolled out mirthfully. 

She knew how to get her guest comfortable and make them relax in her ambience. After all this what she had been doing for past thirty-fourty years of her monotonous life. It's just today that the setting and backdrop had changed. Its also just that post these radio convivial atmosphere, she was often invited for a coffee or dinner date. Her guests loved her for she was no Agony Aunty talking of teenage problems but Savvvy Shraddha who laughed at problems. 

Thus,  with a sprint in her leg and arthritis in the knee she walked down the stairs of the radio station occasionally like a mischievous teenager skipping a step or two. 

 "Shraddha bawa, go slow darling.. The osteoporotic bones might give away any time. "

 The Sixty-eight year old Parsi manager cajoled her warmly. Smiling back but returning to her prancing, once Mrs. Batliwala was out of sight had become Shraddha's routine. 

"Bhaiyya malwani chaloge kya??" 

"Yasss yasss,  you tell we go..." blurted the close to sixty rickshawala looking at her Esbeda sling and Ray-ban glasses perched on her frontals.  

"What's so Elizabeth with these locals? Angrez gaye inhe chod gaye." Again, she smiled to her own repetitive lame joke.

Having reached home, a nest her seventy something husband had built near the beach, she banged open the wooden door to be greeted by Snobby her German Shepard. 

"Stay away you lascivious dog.... all you eat is my revlon compact by voraciously licking into it" 

Her actions didn't  justify her words. Bouncing onto the resin sofa, " Manny, please get me a glass of water. " She seduced her only husband of thirty five years. 

"What's wrong in calling me Manickchand?  Proudly named by my beloved parents." 

"Oh pls Manny, that sounds so gutka types. Now they do have mouth freshners on that name. But it doesn't do any help to the stench already created." These lame punches of her would  kill Manny every practical living day. 

"By the way Rohan and Rachita are joining us this weekend." informed her Manny. 

"OMG Manny!!! You mean my pizzas and burgers are arriving. Rochy my red wine and Rony my hukka puff... How I love them.!!!"

"You have spoiled our grandchildren. You are their Dadi. Behave like one."

"God gracious!!!  You please stop behaving like my Daddy. Admonising me over the don'ts. "

Shraddha was more comfortable  with her age now then when she was approaching it. Fifties made her feel sixty. Infact, the dreadful menopause of forty rushed with physical and psychological havocs. She was made to believe life had to be slow, steady post fifty. 

"If fiftes are about slowing, by sixty I should end the race." 

Melancholic thoughts of reaching a ripe age dripped from her. Her hearty grandchildren though had arranged a birthday bash for her on turning sixty. Shraddha was not happy.

 "Why celebrate the last innings of the match?Finally your wicket will be taken." Her broodings too bore hidden humor.  

"Apply the Nupoor Mehendi. Wear some light peach saree. Ohh not that red one. Too bold for your age... " Her friend who had just turned sixty adviced her. 

But life had different plans for her. Just on the eve of her 60th birthday, she was browsing through an early gift 'Shobbha At Sixty', a book by celebrity author Shobha De.

She thought, "Are only celebrities allowed to be Sexy At Sixty? Tummy tucks and face lifts are only for the elite? What if I don't face the camera everyday?  I need to face my soul. And I won't face it wrinkled but dimpled with happiness." 

Into the bag went the peach saree and a red gown was clicked on Amazon for an early next day delivery. 

As she gleamed in the red, people gasped in green. Her Rohan and Rachita, the party organisers, clapped rigorously and wooed whistles at her. 

Today, as she remembered that awkwardness, she felt proud of herself. Her mobile had beeped around sixty times in the past sixty minutes while she was day dreaming about her sixties. 

Sexy Shraddha's pizzas and burgers were arriving. She couldn't afford to be the lousy, pickle-setting grandma. She had to be all ears to their pickled gossips. Humming the tune, "Shradha ki Jawa is..." she took a step towards the bathroom to groom herself for the day. Millions of such bold steps awaited her footprints.

    " Saturday night at Shangrila disc....... To groove into some great music and dance. Ready babes?? " the last of the sixty messages was that of Roch. It mattered because it had made her so called last days happier. Full of life. 

" Auntyji.... Auntyji... Get up and dance........" she sang over the board. Set lose her burgundee locks and merrily did a jig. 

       "After all practice makes a Woman At Sixty perfect!!!!!! " again that gurgling laugh at her own handicapped jokes.