The same old story….

The eyelids droop as the wrinkled face concentrate on the bride surrounded by the impeccably made-up friends and cousins. She must have been quite a beauty in her youth, this old lady, I wonder. She turns her face towards me and seeing a patient and eager look on my face, she starts talking about her life. The sons who stay outside the country, the daughter who is so busy, the home which was torn apart to erect the apartment complex where she owns three flats now, the nuisance called “mobile” that is destroying the youth these days – it was a long narrative and I was all ears. Yes, I do have an interest in people in general, and I do not mind being on the receiving end of a monologue. Our tête-à-tête was rudely interrupted by a sudden uproar from the bride’s coterie, and my old lady frowned. “They must have put the vermillion on her forehead without giving uruli (a series of devotional sounds that women produce during some religious ceremonies like puja, marriage, etc. by frequently touching the rounded upper and lower lips by the tip of the tongue). That is a bad omen.” she remarked with a dismal expression. Another woman, well past her youth, started singing biyanaam (a type of melodious song sung by women on the day of marriage) and the ambience suddenly became nostalgic and emotional. A few young women looked at the old faces with disdain and impatience. And it was then that I, a middle-aged soul, realized the reality of the elderly in our society who are rapidly feeling sidelined in today’s youth-obsessed society.

Last night, on my way home after a tiring session at the gym, I met the old couple who live in a flat on the floor below mine. The man is around eighty, robust and smiling. The woman is quiet, with eyes that look perennially sad. I greeted Uncle and he seemed lost. I asked him if all was well. He said, “Our son recently celebrated our grandson’s first birthday. They stay in Dubai you know. His in-laws and friends were there. We got to know about the celebrations from photographs in Facebook.” While there might be dozens of reasons for this party being celebrated without the knowledge of Uncle, the fact remains that he was hurt for not being kept in the loop by his son.

Internet has made me an autodidact, and I have learnt many new words; one such word is ‘ageism’. Coined in 1969 by Robert Neil Butler to describe discrimination against seniors, the word implies “prejudice or discrimination on the grounds of a person's age”. Ageism is here, and ageism has found a strong foothold in the till-now close-knit Indian society. 

Despite embracing modern technology such as using Skype, joining Facebook and putting posts on Twitter, the seniors around us are fast becoming outcasts. We are rapidly becoming inclined to treat the senior members of our family and society with derision and lack of respect. This attitude from the younger lot forces the older generation to retreat from society. The efforts of the older generation to stay in touch, their attempts to share their feelings of loneliness and their “fossilized concepts and opinions” are often thwarted with ridicule and indifference. As a result, they experience of feeling of being "invisible”. They are increasingly being sidelined to the extent of being treated as non-existent entities. Their opinion is never solicited while taking any decision, nothing on the television  and radio is made keeping their interests in mind and they are often written off  as ‘obsolete’ and ‘ well past their prime’ by the society.

Many of the elders around us often talk about illnesses and the aches that cripple them. While some have gastritis, the others have knee-pain. The headaches are frequent, the breaths are laboured, the bones are brittle, the heart is weak and the memory is failing. Some take naps during the day, and then they cannot sleep at night. The constant reminders about these conditions are usually beyond the perception of the robust young men and women who are at the receiving end of these monologues.

But then I think of myself. At forty, I have started the journey ‘oldwards’. Maybe that is the reason why these words flow for this write –up.

I think of the wrinkled cheeks, rheumy eyes, thinning hairlines and the tiring descriptions about ailments. These people were once powerful. They created the comforts that the generation next take for granted. They went through all trouble that we gave them at our infancy. Most of the nights when we were sick, they kept awake to take care of us. They toiled hard to put us in good schools, sometimes standing in queues for hours to collect admission forms, and paid for our education. They searched for knick-knacks for hours after office so that we could submit the school projects on time. They paid for our parties and our first bicycles. They took care of our accommodation, food, clothes, books, extra-curricular skills and all other expenditure for years, sometimes sacrificing their own needs and comforts. They bought us cricket bats, ping-pong balls, teddy bears, computers, video games and all other entertainment items that we demanded. They cleaned our school shoes, washed our uniforms and tidied up our rooms. They did not complain when every year we required new dresses because we grew taller; instead, they decided to postpone buying their own dresses so that we got ours on time.

I wonder why we have this apathy towards our elders.  Is it because we have made more money and have become richer than them now? Or is it that we magnify our troubles so much that we find their existence inconsequential? I wonder if we fear mammoth care costs for the elderly, for if we spend too much on their medicines and investigations we may not be able to buy the duplex that we liked so much at the swanky neighbourhood of the city.

Wearing a selfish pair of spectacles, I think of myself and wonder where I will be when my body or mind will begin to deceive me. I wonder if I live in such an advanced scientific society where some nerdy scientist will soon manufacture robots that will take care of me when I will be unable to take a single step on my own!