The Complex Equation of Love, Life, and Womanhood: Insights from a 31-Year-Old Unmarried Woman in Bengaluru

At a certain stage in the life of every 30-something Indian lady, numerous conversations revolve around providing clarification. The key issue at hand is this: “What is a smart woman like you doing unmarried?”

The “Cemetery” Of 30s

One would assume that the legalization of same-sex relationships, emerging areas of polyamory and open relationships, the fluidity in gender and sexuality, and self-expression would have diminished the type of mindset that leads people to pose such inquiries. However, even the youthful and supposedly open-minded occasionally reveal their belief that 30 is a sort of graveyard, where life either ceases to have meaning or becomes less significant than before. Recently, a young man was boasting to our mutual acquaintance about having had intercourse with “a really old lady.” “She was, like, 31 or something, dude,” he bragged, before realizing his mistake.

Another Gen-Z lady informed me “I’ll never fit in with Gen-Z, no matter how hard I attempt.” I pondered whether the implication was that I was too mature to be so active online, or that I was not as adept at it as she was, or that instead of being so current with memes and prevalent discussions, I should engage in something more suitable for my age. The internet is filled with girl-math and boy-math, but never woman-math.

However, when you are content with your life and its imperfections, you have no desire to communicate with anyone who fails to comprehend it. Particularly when you can simply write a column about it.

Youthful, Tender Affection

So, let me divulge (almost) everything: At the age of 29, I was possibly in the most fulfilling relationship of my life with a composed, caring, and emotionally steady man whom I had known for years, and whose family I would have been proud to join. Just a few weeks into our relationship, I realized that I should marry him, but by our second anniversary, when we were at a crossroads regarding our next steps, I felt that I had changed too much. “Settling down” suddenly seemed too distant from the person I was evolving into, even though I had been eager to get married throughout my late twenties. Perhaps it was repulsion towards pursuing something so externally imposed that made me want to overturn it, or maybe it was something deeper (it was definitely something deeper. My parents are divorced, my family is dysfunctional, and I have been a victim of my own creative, destructive self-sabotage for quite some time now).

In any case, I was striving to discard the imposed expectations and uphold my internal desires. My twenties had been motivated by the need to excel in every task presented to me, despite familial issues, all serving as a form of survival camouflaged as decency. But now, I was determined to live out the various lives I hadn’t experienced: I moved out of our shared apartment into a one-bedroom flat – a true ‘Room with a View’ – where I delved into more writing, explored painting for the first time, and thought and worked undisturbed. I cherished my solitude, which I had never allowed myself before, as living and engaging in activities alone, and relishing them just as much, is considered ‘abnormal’ at best, even beyond gender norms. I yearned to date freely and diversely, to ascertain what truly suited me, to dedicate more time to my numerous friendships, without romance or marriage dictating the course of my life. I had witnessed the harm that ensues from individuals doing things simply because others are doing them as well.

I aspired to be an autonomous individual, in summary.

I Now Comprehend Carrie Bradshaw

Favorable or not, this was the authentic course of action. From Virginia Woolf to Carrie Bradshaw – whose room with a view was situated in pricey New York City (even in Bengaluru, I hold multiple non-writing jobs to sustain my relatively modest lifestyle) – writers particularly yearn for this sort of solitary liberty. However, when I watched Sex and the City for the first time last year, shortly after turning 30, my response to Carrie’s lifestyle was not a sympathetic “I’m just like her fr“. I was significantly more critical. Despite her initial erratic behavior with Big, I found her attire too flashy, her columns overly simplistic, her demeanor excessively carefree – not somber, brooding, and real, like mine – and her pursuits too trivial. Going out every evening, meeting new people, purchasing more shoes than she could afford… What kind of 30-year-old woman engages in such activities? She was behaving like such a… girl… I realized, to my dismay.

She was being what I could never embody at home, as the eldest daughter of perfectionistic Tamil Brahmin parents: carefree, liberated, promiscuous, adorable, silly, frequently foolish, at least financially, if not romantically as well. She was being what I struggle to be even now, owing to both internal and external deterrents. Unlike in New York City, a landlady in Bangalore might still caution you with statements like “don’t allow boys to visit for your own safety.” When I mentioned to this woman that I had male friends, she questioned whether I was truly Brahmin. Another landlady outright declined to lease to a single woman because she would be held accountable “if something happened to me.”

There Is No Correct Way To Live

Thus, when you deviate from such conventional paths, the pressure to exhibit contentment and success escalates. Carrie was one of the first female leads on TV to depict women as desiring beings, rather than mere objects of desire. She doesn’t settle for whatever comes her way – not always; she strives to be a discerning consumer, at the very least. Similar to her, despite choosing genuineness over security, I too confront uncertainty. I might catch myself contemplating like the ‘society uncle and aunty’, who ponder about how much money I earn, the size of my residence, my social media following, or the likelihood of me marrying in the near future. After all, what do I have to exhibit for my nonconformity?

Nonetheless, if there’s one thing I’ve imbibed from my Robert Frost phase, it discourages this habitual comparative evaluation, normalized by the fiercely competitive Indian coming-of-age ordeal. I must consistently remind myself, but the sole message is this: There Is No Correct Way to Live.

On Affection And Partners

Over the past few weeks, as I journeyed through Goa and Kerala, I occasionally pondered what “settling down” might look like for someone like me. I crossed paths with individuals from diverse backgrounds, as ChatGPT might say, “all walks of life.” It commenced with an old friend informing me that he had returned to the city, taking a sort of sabbatical, an unimaginable luxury for ’90s Indian youngsters who were incessantly urged to excel.

We spent the day conversing – if I may be so audacious, my Gen-Z readers – and later met a few of his acquaintances. The single ones discussed how romance differs significantly in our 30s compared to our 20s. It’s less about succumbing to chemistry and more about surmounting attachment styles and subconscious tendencies that lead to engaging but otherwise incompatible partners. One individual was engaged in an open relationship with their primary partner for nearly a decade, while also having girlfriends and boyfriends in other countries. Another lamented their incapacity to fall in love after a tumultuous end to their most serious relationship. Yet another old friend messaged me about the demise of their marriage following years of togetherness.

From this vibrant scenario, my friend and I proceeded to meet another couple, a married pair, who could be the epitome of the ‘New-Indian-Happily-Married-Hindu’ Family. Similar to the other couples I had recently spent time with, they momentarily evoked in me a yearning for the traditional monogamous arrangement. We conversed until 3 am, and the following day, I met with a friend I had made in Goa. He had relocated there to “embrace his queer identity openly,” after realizing that the metropolis wouldn’t provide the life he desired. We toyed with the notion of dating, but my recurring commitment phobia resurfaced. I had barely extricated myself from a complicated entanglement with an ex who had once been a favorite but was now completely incompatible with me, owing to the chemistry combined with tumultuous highs and lows.

Talk about being romantically foolish, well past the appropriate age for it.

Who Isn’t Encumbered By ‘Issues’?

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for me to move on from him, as I encountered intriguing, appealing individuals on the various apps one can now access – from Bumble and Hinge to Feeld, and even… Shaadi.com. Many people find these platforms unbearable, and I might eventually feel the same way, but assuming the role of an anthropologist, as I occasionally do, makes it simpler to swap outcomes for observations and anecdotes. I am still unsure about what I desire, but I have connected with a wildlife researcher whose initial conversation with me featured an image of a bear standing on one of his weighing scales. I have also met lawyers, designers, writers, artists, tech professionals, couples, divorcees, singles, eccentrics, non-eccentrics – some who are always online and others who aren’t – and what I am learning is something no relationship coach or matchmaker can impart, but what feels most crucial to grasp: there is no correct way to live.

No one appears unequivocally happier than the other. No one seems devoid of problems. Some of these issues arise despite adhering to the conventional path. Others stem from straying away from it, understandably so. Many problems stem from questioning the legitimacy of these issues, and whether others could, would, or should encounter them.

For the time being, I am here to affirm: they do have issues, and they are quite similar to yours, and that’s okay.

And I believe I’m okay too.

(Sanjana Ramachandran is a scribe and marketer from Bengaluru)

Disclaimer: These are the personal viewpoints of the author