Elders Home - To Move or Not to Move

Barring me, my four siblings (75 to 85 years of age) have paid advance to an Elders Home in Coimbatore, to begin a new life from mid-January 2022 when the auspicious Tamil month, Thai, starts.

To the uninitiated, if Bangalore is the retirees’ paradise, and Chennai the cultural centre of South, Coimbatore, hailed otherwise as the Manchester of Tamil Nadu for its extensive textile industry, is now the epitome for seniors living. Yes, to spend one’s sunset days with all conceivable amenities provided. Simply put, there is pressure on me to join them.

 The ladies’ argument? Once in, we get readymade morning coffee, breakfast, lunch, evening tea and dinner. Menfolk have retired decades ago and have installed themselves at home 24x7. But the ladies never got any respite in the bargain. Instead, their work increased – demand for an occasional extra cup of coffee, pakodas when the weather is cloudy, or a voice from the far-end computer room to the kitchen suggesting, How about a fruit session of banana, guava, apple with a gentle sprinkle of MDH fruit masala? and so on. Thus, for the ladies of the house, it was, has been, and will be, kitchen, Kitchen and KITCHEN all the way. It’s time they got a break and joined the menfolk in having equal free time, they argued, in the two recent family reunions in Coimbatore, which I missed because of my knee pain. However, points well taken.

 Against this backdrop, last week Hari & Geeta, our neighbours, knocked at our door and announced, “Mama, we are driving to Coimbatore for 4 or 5 days on some work. We would be delighted if you could join us. We would drop you first at your elder brother’s house, then go to our place.”

Knowing me a little too well to find an escape route, Hari continued, “Normally we would stop twice in the six-hour drive, but because of your knee problem we shall stop any number of times you suggest. Also, since we will start early morning, Geeta will prepare both breakfast and lunch. Mami need not bother.” If you decline this, you will accept none in your lifetime, came an inner voice.

Added to that, I was myself looking for an opportunity to visit my brother, 85 years. So, as the Malayalam saying goes, Acchan ichichatum paalu, Vaidyan kalpichatum paalu. Roughly translated, the patient piously wished for milk to be prescribed, and the doctor also happened to prescribe milk.

The hallmark of the trip was Hari’s impeccable driving, only a shade short of professional, and Geeta’s display of culinary capabilities, doing full justice to her staying glued to the Food channel at home. Yes, the super-soft Idli, gun-powder, and coconut chutney for breakfast and coconut rice and cooling curd rice for lunch were matchless. Aunty served Shoppy Mart and Maria Mart snacks bought at short notice.

Brother and Bhabhi were more than delighted to receive us. Though we told them we would have lunch on way, they prepared some snacks and coffee, and had Hari and Geeta also join us.

The visit next day to the Elders home was a real experience. The small, but beautiful apartments for seniors’ living were built to meet all their requirements. And the fittings, nothing short of the best in the market. The internal fixtures for the TV area, shelves, everything had a touch of quality. We had arranged with the organizers that we would have lunch in the seniors home, on payment, along with the residents, just to have a taste. It was very homely which you are seldom likely to get tired of. The only snag was that, as in a marriage or other function, you might have to wait outside the dining hall for your turn. On the brighter side, that is the occasion when you get to know of people and connect with others.

The organizers showed me a few unsold apartments. Whereas all the other four apartments had balcony facing the coconut grove or the open paddy fields, the ones showed to us opened out to the opposite apartment balcony, or to the series of solar cylinders installed on the terrace of the opposite block, or to the junior girl’s school where chorus voice will be the highlight, to deny you some well deserved afternoon nap. In short, everything has a price including a late wake up call for booking. Thus we could not get one of our choice.

But we are incurable optimists. Thanks to Aunty, I am trained to look at the brighter side of life. The arguments in favour? Nothing to beat Bangalore weather. Excellent ambience in our present residential complex. If one sister and one sister in law of mine leave Bangalore for Coimbatore from Jan next, all of Aunty’s sisters and brother are here. “I am the monarch of all I survey, My rights there is none to dispute,” I remembered Alexander Selkirk’s line that I read for my Matric exam.

But we are incurable optimists. Thanks to Aunty, I am trained to look at the brighter side of life. The arguments in favour? Nothing to beat Bangalore weather. Excellent ambience in our present residential complex. If one sister and one sister in law of mine leave Bangalore for Coimbatore from Jan next, all of Aunty’s sisters and brother are here. “I am the monarch of all I survey, My rights there is none to dispute,” I remembered Alexander Selkirk’s line that I read for my Matric exam.

On Being A Senior Citizen

The world observed Senior Citizens Day the day before yesterday. A review of the pleasures and pains attached to a senior citizen may perhaps not go amiss.

First and foremost, you tend to procrastinate things – not today; tomorrow definitely.  Precisely why what I should have penned this write-up on the occasion of Senior Citizens Day, I am doing it two days later. Anyway, the consolation is, it’s better to be late than never.

 On the brighter side, when someone says, “after you, sir”, in a pharmacy, metro rail, department store or in front of an elevator as you wait for your turn, you feel elated.

 Aunty (read Madam) Sitaraman, our Finance Minister, has kindly exempted income up to Rs 5 lakhs from tax for the super senior citizens. Specifically from this viewpoint I feel happy to belong to this category.

 When attending religious or social functions, “only senior citizens in the first batch, please,” announce the organizers giving us preference to the dining hall. On the flip side, while booking for a railway reservation the chart might show ‘lower berths available’, but when you remit payment and you click the button victoriously, you end up getting a middle or upper berth. And on board, not always you succeed in persuading the fellow lower-berth passengers to surrender theirs for you.

 Wear and tear is the name of the game. Every part of your body starts disowning you, and no agency is willing to insure your body - like they decline renewing AMC for a refrigerator or airconditioner after a specified period saying, ‘it has outlived its useful life, sir’.

 Body pain, indigestion, knee pain, acidity, shoulder pain, too many visits to the restroom at night, are all sure to fall into the deaf ears of your family physician. Expect his stock reply: ‘Age-related… Any other problem, sir?” as though he is very curious to solve it. Thus, visiting a physician is more a ritual than a problem-solving venture.

 In sharp contrast, you get unsolicited advice from many well-meaning visitors if you happen to be unwell. Recently when I had knee pain, I had a stream of visitors home. Quite welcome, I enjoy a chat with them, but not when they start advising me on medication. “I say, there’s one dark grey Ayurvedic tablet that you get from any Ayurvedic shop. You take it for a week, and you will be relieved completely.” To my understanding all Ayurvedic tablets look grey.

 Another visitor had this to say. “I just completed an online course on a traditional system of medicine. I will tie grains on certain joints, and your pain will disappear sooner than you think. “No thanks, I think I will await the outcome of the modern medicine I am taking,” I wriggled out.

 Yet another said, he would message me the name of a herbal decoction that a Sadhuji Maharaj from the Himalayas prepares. He lists names of his friends and relatives who had benefited from it. It is very effective for all kinds of pain, he asserts.

 One of the popular publications of WHO was, “A Guide to Good Prescribing Practice”. If my memory serves me right, it dealt with five male/female patients of different age groups having the same symptom, but how in each case the reasons were different, and how different medications were needed, and not one-kind-of-pain, one medicine.

 These said, the best advice came from my friend, a retired, but still visiting Professor at IIM Bangalore, Ahmedabad and Kolkata. He suggested when in pain, do visit a Hospital. I wondered whether he was reinventing the wheel because that is what we do. No, he was a step ahead. “That is where you come across people who have more acute and serious problems than you have, which makes you feel,“Thank God, I am better off.”

Yes, count your blessings would seem the best answer.

Mother's Day - Remembering Meenakka

 

I opened the newspaper this morning with grave concern for the Covid situation in Bangalore where both Aunty and I live with utmost caution, having taken the second dose of vaccination.

I learned today is Mother’s Day. I closed the newspaper immediately (a rare gesture), and thought the best tribute I can pay to my beloved mother is to jot down a few lines, be they random in nature and not well coordinated. “Write to the heart, not to the head, man,” said my inner voice. So here it is.

On record my mother’s name is Meenakshi, but everyone in the village including us called her Meenakka, meaning Meena Akka, or Meena Didi. Yes, that was how it was in the village. My maternal grandfather was called Perianna - Peria Anna - or Big brother. “Paru” Mami was called Jyosiar Aathu Manni (Jyosiar ghar ka Bhabhi), somebody else, Vedamba Chitti (Mausi) The list is endless.

Meenakka was born to a fairly well-to-do family, though may not be filthy rich as the house she went in to after marriage. But her family was hailed the ‘Karikar family’. I don’t know who gave that title - the British? But it meant the family that oversees the activities of the village (?). Anyway.

Meenakka got married to an absolutely stranger, then three times her size (to switch sides later in life) and all in a phat mangni phat shaadi, style, moved from a modest house to a mansion and totally to an unaccustomed new lifestyle where she was the Rani of the fiefdom.

She had the best of jewellery and best collection of silk sarees specially ordered and woven from Kanacheepuram (kept safely in the locker underneath the Store room) Father lived in style, and he wanted his wife to be no less. But the opportunities that she got to wear them were far and few – to the few marriages, or to religious ceremonies, or to attend music concerts. On such occasions she would have a pan that would make her lips red, as lipstick days were still far away. She was very fair, charming with lustrous hair. Often, she was compared to a Tamil film actress of those days. No wonder when she stepped out for such occasions, the other village women came out to the front yard and watched stealthily to see the clothes she was donning.

But then everything has a shelf life. These days didn’t go for too long. The family went bankrupt because of World War II. We moved to her parents’ house in the neighbouring village. There all of a sudden she had to cook for 13 people, both families put together plus two more boys who stayed there to be able to pursue their higher education in the only college, Victoria College, in Palakkad. Also, whenever possible she would take charge of milking the cow, as Patti was asthmatic and had breathing trouble often. In addition, she would draw water from the extra-deep well, at least ten potfuls, 20 meters away from the kitchen. In the evenings she would draw double that quantity to water the vegetable plants that Thatha grew with no great results because of the quality of the mud. But efforts were jaari undaunted. Thatha was a never-die enthusiast.

Some of the other attendant tasks she performed included the ones that the near and dear ones of Thatha posed on their visits to village from cities. They would buy in bulk mangoes, lime, or mahani kizhangu (root vegetable with which one prepared pickles), tamara kizhangu (lotus stem) and expected Meenakka to cut them to prepare pickles. When Thatha finds her less inclined to undertake this arduous job, he would pat her and say, “I know it is not fair, but just do it for them, it will never go unrewarded,” and she would.

While in Thatha’s house, we young boys would meet and discuss mundane things. One day one boy asked: “Who is the best-looking mother in our midst?” “Krishnan’s mother,” I said. “No doubt she looks good, but I would vote for Meenakka, your mother.” All others agreed in unison. I still cherish these two instances - one where the village women of my father’s village used to admire her charm in private, and we the village boys in Thatha’s village endorsing it in a different context.

The wheel moved a little bit. We got jobs in Bombay and Delhi. Our parents moved first to Delhi to be with me. They divided their time with sons and daughters in cities – some years of well deserved rest. Even in Delhi her charm figured in ladies’ discussions. Some of the ladies would discreetly ask my wife, “What dye does your mother in law use?” She never used any.

From up above, as she takes stock of her life on this planet, I am sure she would only have reasons to feel proud, “I was able to live more for others.” Yes you did. Thank you, Meenakka.

Characteristics: Changeable Vs Inherent – a Debate

 

Ravi, or Ravichandran, of Alder 8022, the one and only mood-elevating Bhajan singer in our midst, rang me: “Uncle, is it the right time to talk to you?”

“Of course, Ravi. Retired man. Everyday holiday. Go ahead,” I said.

“We are a well-knit group of individuals who studied together in DTEA Delhi, now scattered in Bangalore, Hyderabad, Trivandrum, Mumbai, etc. We meet every month online for an hour and a half for an informal debate on a pre-decided subject. The topic this time is: People are of a certain nature and cannot change Vs Change is possible for the better (or worse) depending on circumstances and individual response, education, learning, etc. “Uncle, may I request you to be our special guest and sum up the discussions, simultaneously giving your own views? The meeting is tomorrow. Sorry for the short notice.”

To take up a stand, for or against, would be less arduous (thanks to Google Uncle) than having to sum up others’ viewpoints, weigh one against the other and bring the discussions to a logical conclusion. I was almost on the verge of declining it. But the ego in me just didn’t permit, despite the prospect of ‘a miserable attempt’ looming large. But, at 80, I can write off anything to experience, I reassured myself.

Dr Poornima, in Trivandrum, was given the floor. She began, first renaming the topic to: Nature Vs Nurture, the old tried and tested subject. She argued that natural instincts could seldom be changed. “Howsoever well you might domesticate a tiger, it is sure to pounce on you one day,” she asserted, with a free flow of supporting Sanskrit slokas that could send shivers to the likes of Velukkudi and Nochur .

Mr Narayanan had come fully armed with slides, in a spirit of My way or Highway. His arguments had liberal doses of genetics, societal factors; duality of human nature: love and hatred, Good and Bad emotions... to substantiate that human nature CANNOT change.

Equally fully equipped with his own set of slides, with a heavy marketing pitch, Ravi tried to sell his point that Nature CAN be changed.

Other speakers included one who got a little philosophical that God sees everything. to cement his case. Yet another shared the story of Dr Jekyll and Mr

Hyde, to prove his point of the dual nature of human beings – good and evil. This was followed by a few other eloquent speakers.

In the end, it fell to my lot to do the balancing act. I said that the whole exercise would boil down to Inherited Vs Acquired. The advocates of Inherited attribute that children imbibe the qualities of their parents, having thus very much to do with genetics. However, the proponents of the Blank Slate theory challenge anyone to hand them a bunch of healthy infants, and they would mould them to what the others want them to be – doctors, engineers, or architects...

The case of Valmiki, from a dacoit to a sage to pen the great epic Ramayana, would seem a clear case to support that change is possible at any time. Also, as one understands, Kulapati KM Munshi learnt Sanskrit way past his fifties to become a scholar.

Heridity, while it might reflect in facial features or mannerisms, does not hand down all traits of parents. Rohan Gavaskar could never make the grade as his illustrious father Sunil Gavaskar - either as a cricketer or as a commentator. Nor, for that matter, could Dev Anand’s son even pass muster as an actor.

“Thus, neither statements, “People are of a certain nature and cannot change, or, Change is possible...,” is totally defendable. Both have merits and defects.” I concluded, feeling relieved at having disentangled myself – escaped unhurt.

Alas, I had to cut short my attendance as someone wished to see my son’s apartment in Oak, for sale. I wish I stayed through to hear their septuagenarian English teacher’s concluding remarks. Regardless of her possible observations on the proceedings, she would definitely have patted herself that, given her students’ articulation, clarity, diction and intonation, her efforts in the teaching days had not gone waste, after all.

Thank you Ravi, once again.