Sometimes, the body whispers reminders that you’re aging — but only to you. Not to others. In fact, strangers often ask if I’m a student, which delights, surprises, and mildly confuses me. It’s in those moments — when I rush to the mirror to double-check — that I find myself reflecting on what I call mirror mirror aging reflections: the quiet, personal contrast between how we feel, how we’re perceived, and how we’re subtly changing with time.

This post is a follow-up to my blog on embracing our age — but this one’s a bit of a contradiction.

Surely I’m not walking around in low-rise jeans flashing a bum crack when I sit, or crop tops revealing my (inherited, thank you very much) bulging belly. Yes, I’ll admit I’m blessed with reasonably good skin, and yes, the signs of aging may not be obvious to the naked eye. But still. A student?

This morning, at an art gallery in Hauz Khas run by a very senior artist, I was asked what college I go to. I assumed she was being polite. She wasn’t. She was genuinely curious.

My first thought: Is it the cargos? Or the oversized Ralph Lauren tote? Is that what’s giving the student vibe?

On my flight to India last week, a man sitting across the aisle asked if I was a student. I thought he was flirting. Turns out, he was just shocked to learn I have 20 years of work experience and possibly older than himself. (He flirted anyway.)

Another time, during a recent hospital visit, it happened again. I’d taken my father in for a routine check-up and was waiting beside him, quietly reading Angela Duckworth’s Drive — as one does when bracing for a long wait. A kindly, somewhat gullible-looking woman in her late twenties turned to me and asked if I was a student and whether I had an exam coming up. I smiled politely and nodded, choosing not to correct her. My father, of course, seized the opportunity — and for the next fortnight, cracked endless jokes about my “upcoming exams.”

Once, just before COVID hit, my bestie and I were flying to Mumbai when an elderly man asked if we were students heading home for the holidays. We were both in our late 30s and positively glowing at the compliment. Later, we speculated that it might have been more about context — two women, travelling solo, dressed well, unaccompanied by husbands or children. Still an unusual sight in many parts of India. Maybe “Are you a student?” is just polite small talk — like the UK’s obsession with weather — reserved for well-put-together single women.

(For the record, I’m usually in a white shirt and jeans, minimalist and subtle. I’m not giving manic pixie undergrad energy. Or am I?)

In my previous post, I wrote about the ways our bones, joints, hair, and skin remind us of time. But it’s not just the body that changes. With age, our tastes evolve. Bright colours become pastels. Reds fade into whites and greys. Rock becomes ghazals. Discos give way to quiet nights in. Action movies are replaced by slow, meaningful cinema. Romances become literary fiction.

Having said that, my taste has always been a little different from my friends’. Over the years, I’ve spent a lot of time in self-discovery — I know what I like, what I don’t, and I’ve come to embrace the fact that my preferences are more eclectic than most.

My friends still want to party all night for their 40th birthdays. I’d rather spend the evening at a quiet concert or reading a book in a lovely corner with good lighting and fluffy pillows. We’re just aging… differently.

But I want to hear from you.

What has your experience been like — in how you feel, how you look, and how you think?

Have your tastes changed — in music, books, or movies?

Do you still relate to the version of yourself from a decade ago?

And tell me — what are your mirror mirror aging reflections? What signs of aging are visible only to you?