The Daily Telegraph Life Begins at 30 As auntie Chandelier steps off the plane, my heart begins pounding. She has come from Kerala to help look after my mum. Extended Indian family members - especially aunties - are like members of the mafia with "the family" and marriage being sacrosanct. Innocently sporting the sari/sock/sandal combination, she battles her way through customs, the officer in charge should be made aware that she conceals a weapon deadlier than an AK47- her tongue. Fearing the matrimonial interrogation, I contemplate whether it's better to hold up a placard at the arrival's lounge: "I'm here auntie - yes me, 33, almost 34, and no, still not married." A lovely woman with sparkling eyes makes her way towards me. This is not how I remember her. The last time we met, she was drawing diagrams and preparing me for the highs and lows of marriage (I was about 12). She smiles a lot and it lights up her whole face - the kind of glow that says my girls, all three of them, are married and settled with children. I am trying to reciprocate the beacon thing she does by sending vibes that I am happy, unencumbered, independent and totally carefree. Had it not been for the fact that she was arriving, I could have boarded any number of planes, gone to an unknown destination and begun a whole new adventure. She doesn't buy any of it and looks to the empty space beside me. I want to tell her about my friend Claudia, mother of two, who called that very morning, telling me how lucky I was. I try sending out the lucky vibe. This seems to have no effect as she looks to the space beside the space - the one reserved for children. I take the coward's way out and pretend that I don't understand Malayalam and start spouting off some pidgin phrases such as "where is the post office?" She carries on regardless, saying that she has come to sort things out. We stop a moment longer beside my car, just so she can admire it. I'm not into material things but it's to reinforce the fact that if I were with a husband in Kerala, this would be a moped and I would probably be clutching on to his back with no helmet and she would be in a side car, or worse, clutching onto me and the suitcase. I add in broken Malayalam that I am a homeowner too. She is still not impressed. Auntie Chandelier is some what silent throughout the journey as I continue asking for directions to the bank, the grocery shop and other local amenities. The thing about being in my thirties is that I have learnt to get myself out of tricky situations much quicker and tend not to make the same mistakes twice. Volunteering too much information is not a good thing: listening twice as much as I speak is my general rule, except on this occasion. It has been a week since auntie Chandelier arrived and I have horrified her on many occasions. Going out clubbing looks particularly bad especially as the only alcohol she has ever consumed is in the fermented rice pancakes that she prepares. It has become difficult to suddenly break out into full-blown Malayalam and explain that all is not as it seems: at 33, I am more concerned about looking after my skin so now drink water instead. While I dance, I secretly think that it's exercise, hence some very odd moves which complement the yoga and running regime. Recently, I have become overly preoccupied with the smoke smell lingering on my clothes, so don't wear my best. In fact, the highlight of the night is singing loudly to Heart FM as I drive home. The whole cooking routine is another source of disappointment: at my age, I should theoretically be able to whip up a meal from scratch with no bottles, packets or ready- made sauces. The clubbing and culinary failings have not been the worst thing though. She almost passed out when I ate a bowl of papaya. This week I have learnt that papaya, when eaten in large quantities, makes you infertile. "Pomegrenades. Maybe still hope," she says in broken English, handing me a bag of pomegranates. This, along with a bag of chic pea flour which I am supposed to add water to and paste to my face, will bring youthfulness, fertility and a husband with a moped.