It is perhaps unfair to segregate the human condition by age, but senior citizens do fall in the niche and unadvertised segment. Cruelty to children is instantly recognised and condemned, and feminists are looking out for their sisters, but old age is as yet an unorganised grouping in India.

How old is too old, there is no consensus on this. Some people suffer the empty nest syndrome straightaway; barely has the kid reached America, when they cough and suspect TB. Hypochondria sets in faster than birthdays. They are ageing, yes, but faster than they should.

Some people are active till the day they die, leaving all those who come for the funeral surprised and wide-eyed. But, they say, just this morning I saw him in the gym. This group of the elderly, though endearing for their refusal to age, alarm near and dear ones with their insistence on doing everything themselves, including driving, which puts not just them but anyone on the road too in danger.

So there are those who age before their time and those who refuse to age at all, and in between you have those who sync themselves with the clock and calendar, patiently and sensibly saving up for illnesses and operations that may mark their sunset years.

They move from villa to flat, understand that their children have lived far away, and try as long as they can to be independent in a modest way.

The concept of old age homes, of course, is only catching on. The previous generation looked down on it, speaking pityingly of that one-odd pal who died uncared for in a nursing home paid exorbitantly for. Our innate distrust flares up at the thought of being at the mercy of strangers when we are not in our senses.

The two main fears are: physical deterioration and psychological wear and tear. A fractured leg, failing memory... A slip in the bathroom or a slipping mind, which is worse?

Ageing also brings out a host of emotional issues; no one buries it anymore, out they bring their suspicions, their life lessons, their pride, their prejudice.

Grievances are aired more openly, given that time is running out. Their anecdotes grow more rambling, and not even the most loving audience can respond enthusiastically for the umpteenth time. However, hurt they may get, you just have to tell them that you have heard it before (many times).

The older you get, the more people you lose around you, which sets off that deep, deep sense of insecurity. Which is why your mother will ask you many questions about your friend’s ailing dad that you never thought to ask your friend.

The interest in ‘people like us’ is constant. An underground, unseen holding of hands is perhaps not an exaggeration. All oldies may not hang out with other oldies – preferring the company of the young to stay young – but they are alert to the injustices and inhumanities that can come their way as a group, an age group.

As all of us slowly and unsteadily make our way to our twilight years, we have to take for granted that we will die one day. And make a plan or two to live life and not merely exist until we drop dead.

Shinie Antony is a writer and editor based in Bengaluru. Her books include The Girl Who Couldn't Love, Barefoot and Pregnant, Planet Polygamous, and the anthologies Why We Don’t Talk, An Unsuitable Woman, Boo. Winner of the Commonwealth Short Story Asia Prize for her story A Dog’s Death in 2003, she is co-founder of the Bangalore Literature Festival and director of the Bengaluru Poetry Festival.

First Published:Feb 7, 2019 8:41 PM IST