Friday, April 24, 2015

Old is Cold

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This is about a fast-vanishing institution like me...an old man in his 70s who lost his wife years ago and lives with his only son and daughter-in-law and a grandkid or two.

He is fit enough to eat and drowse and talk and grouse except that he suffers from a chronic IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) which naturally makes him highly irritable.

He can see and hear and read and write but not go out and mix with other old hags like him and happily exchange gossip, talk about their good old days and health problems, the high cost of living, and modern girls.

He has his own bedroom with his old double-bed (still intact), an attached bath with a geyser, a split air-conditioner, a laptop with a free wi-fi connection, his book case and books both as old as his misspent youth. 

But he prefers to spend most of his days and sleepless nights in the vast hall on a roomy single soft sofa overlooking the kitchen, the master bedroom, the toy's room and balconies and the front door. It is his throne that he resents if a visitor usurps it, and clings to it like the very devil.

He has lost every worthwhile thing of his youth like his teeth except his bloating ego and a meager pension which he cherishes like his million dollars. His days are spent looking forward to the pittance of his pension...on the first of the month he feels like a king till the 10th, and for the next ten days till the 20th he feels forlorn like Raama agonizing about his misplaced Sita, and during the last ten days from the 20th to the month-end he is as lustful as an engaged groom waiting for his wedding day.









As he ages and ripens, his critical faculty increases and gets sharper like a thorn on the dying bush:



http://www.survivopedia.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/bad-bush.jpg


He is critical of the way his son dresses in his fading jeans to his office and knee-length Bermudas at home instead of starched dhotis and ankle-length lungis. And the skimpy way ladies dress at home in anything but a sari with a pallu...and their habit of incessantly punching the buttons and swiping their fingers on their cell phones while cooking, eating, and perhaps...

If they ask him about his health he pretends to be offended, saying he is far more healthy than the present day youth with their pot bellies and burps. And scolds them to mind their health first. And if they forget to ask him about his failing digestion and hearing for two consecutive days, he sulks and frowns and feels neglected.

And fondly wishes his wife were alive, and reminisces his long and happy married blissful decades although, while he was married, he was forever pining for his long-lost bachelor decades when he looked at the world through the protective haze of his cigarette smoke and dirty teeth.

I guess you get the drift...   






...Posted by Ishani

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