The Hindu Business Line : Facing the autumn of life

"I HAVE failed in selling my old age to my children; even a discount sale is not on. They want me always young, without my 90 years," Ramesh Nilakantha Sastri told me when I went to say goodbye to him a week ago. His 65-year-old son, Nilakantha Hari had fixed up a room for Sastri at an old age home in Coimbatore, as they, in turn, were having problems selling their old age to their children. "I face the same problem as my father," the son told me as his wife served us coffee. Sastri at 90 does not depend on anyone; while walking he stoops over the old, wooden walking stick given to him at his marriage; has a good appetite, though in recent months has turned inexplicably quiet and still. "Most of the time he stays stretched in an easy chair in the balcony staring at a lone jackfruit tree with its roosting sparrows," said his daughter-in-law Vineeta.

Some days ago, when Sastri fell ill, he pleaded with the doctor not to give him any medicine. "I want to go," he told the doctor in a tone with which he requests his son to get him a glass of water, and the physician obliged as "no medicines work on a 90-year-old man." Sastri came home and on that day Hari decided air-lifting his father to Coimbatore. "With him around, our lifestyle is cribbed. We want to go and spend some time with our computer engineer son (what else these days) working in Melbourne," Hari said. Some guilt oozing from Hari and Vineeta, like a bad smell, hung in the air, but none in the room admitted to its presence.

Early morning walks brought this writer to Sastri. First it was a nod; then became a good morning; finally, turned into a daily hour-long friendship with Sastri spilling out his long tale of life on this earth. For Sastri, the past was not better than the future. He never started off ... "In my days... ." to bore any listener. He read books, newspapers, keenly tracked cricket and was an addict of TV serials. "TV serials are the best for the health of the aged," he used to tell me, and sometimes tried to predict their endings. "I have always had a business relationship with gods of all types. I promise a coconut to Lord Ganesha, if he gets my job done. If not, the coconut offering is off. It is what you economists call options trading. That's how it should be as then both parties to the deal will have to perform," he once told me, as we neared the Lord Ganesha temple at Vazira Naka.

He got me to study Buddhism being intrigued by the Buddhist concept of Nirvana (Emptiness) as no deals can ever be struck with Nothingness. Dhammapada he enjoyed more than the Gita. "Gita's god asks mortals to bin their egos, while the god talks of "Me, Me, Me" through the discourse. This god-talk is boring as there was no need to create anyone at all... . Personally, I prefer a businessman to a sage," said Sastri, and one can recall that July morning on Linking Road with the rains coming down like noodles. Towards the end of 2003, Sastri gave up on morning walks. It now seems a prelude to his walking away from Mumbai.

Sastri started as a school teacher in Bangalore before shifting to Coimbatore, and earns a monthly pension of around Rs 3,000. That will go to meet expenses at the old age home. While in his 20s, Sastri married and his wife kept away the walking stick (given during Kasi Yatra), as "you may need it when I go away." She left him some 10 years ago, leaving Sastri holding on to his walking stick. Hari told me that a post card from Sastri says everything is fine except for the morning coffee, which is a bit thin and sugary.

At least the case of Sastri is better than a happening which one heard from one's retired banker friend Srinivas Kamath. Kamath is clued to the world of retired men and women in this part of Borivili. Like him, quite a few bankers opted for the Voluntary Retirement Scheme. Kamath came over on Diwali day to have lunch and talked of the long hours doing nothing. "An hour is a day ... on and on. It is a strain," Kamath told me.

Then came the story of his good friend who parted with all his surplus funds to buy flats for his two married sons. His friend and his wife shuttled between the two sons. One Sunday evening, the friend took his wife for dinner at Hotel Aura, bought her two ice-creams and was in a good mood. "I am going out tomorrow morning to a friend's place," he informed his wife. On Monday, he walked out from home at 5 in the morning with his calling card in his pocket. At 8 in the morning, Kamath got a call saying his friend had killed himself by falling in front of a train at Borivili station. Kamath affixed the full stop.

Article E-Mail :: Comment :: Syndication :: Printer Friendly Page

Stories in this Section
Facing the autumn of life

Aeren R Imax plans foray into NCR with Harry Potter

Sticklish Singles