Who am I?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

 The famous lines from Shakespeare, probably read and will be read by countless people generations down the line.

Of late I got this strange feeling of wanting to find out who am I.  My name, the inheritance from my late grandma (May her soul rest in peace!), is what I am known as and called so.  But, what and who am I really, inside?  This has been nagging me for some time now.

A Dialogue with Generation Z

By any standard I don’t think I will be termed as old and I don’t feel so either.  Neither can I be called young any more.  A bit of rigidity has set into my joints, though I can proudly say that I am physically very active.  But the remarks of my son, while we were discussing birthdays, made me feel my age.  He said, “Dad, but where will you place all those candles even if you celebrated your birthday?”  I was telling him about my lack of interest in celebrating my own birthday.