Midlife Woes
Brighter Side of the Menopause
It made a poet out of me
With back-breaking lethargy and numbing fog, I better lay my hand on poetry on Menopause. My granny says every pain comes with either poetry or a lesson. I asked her if her pain-in-ass constipation had some kind of lesson. She was taken aback by the counterquestion. And tried diluting the heaviness of the conversation, saying that she meant indescribable pains.
She’s right in a way. She can write a Spoken Word on how bad her constipation is treating her. And has the knack of a veteran fiction writer in narrating the teeny-weeny physical, emotional, and psychological details of her anal turmoil. If given the right tools, my granny can be the next Emily Dickinson — writing stream of consciousness in poetry.
Ironically, she can relate to classical Bollywood songs while sobbing during a telephone conversation with me. Singing songs on loneliness, silent compassion, and absent love. I wonder if she could’ve been a lyricist and ascended our family legacy. The onset of Menopause wouldn’t have rendered me feeling futile if I’d written poetry like her songs. However, having nothing good to do, my granny’s advice came in handy.
What can be the lesson the Men-O-Pause wants me to learn? While stressing over meal prep, I realized it wanted me to be a poetess like her. So, I tried.
My periods are red, and my panties are light blue. With Menopause at the doorstep, I have no fucking clue.
The stanza may not be funny or sophisticated, but it is a baby step towards becoming the next Emily Dickinson. Also, I am hellbent on doing something productive. Better be a menopause advocate and try reversing the cultural stigma attached to ageing and Men-O-Pausing.
Sadly, our culture determines the value of a woman on her ovarian capacity. If your ovaries slow down — you are useless. My ovaries might’ve slowed, but my capacity to see through the human heart and brain has drastically increased. To be honest, Menopause isn’t the end but a pitstop to refuel and redefine the perception of feminine utility.
My House Help told me Menopause came as a relief to her because now her man trusts her. He thinks she’s out of the extramarital affair league now. Good lord!
I thought feminine disloyalty was more of an emotional factor than a sexual one. Anyway, to each his own. Let’s leave him to harbor his fantasy. Good for my Help.
However — for many women — Menopause brings the undefined guilt of wasted time and relationships. But it also helps adjust POV. It has helped me with a fresh perspective. Now, I can see through hypocritical relationships and superficial bonds. But best of all — I am no longer sleepwalking through life. Feeling each strand of pain and pleasure and joy. I feel alive. I am glad Menopause squeezed all the air out of my lungs and energy out of my ovaries but has cured my myopic sense of the world. Like my granny, I’ve started seeing the world with a lighter perspective and poetry.
