It was one of those lazy Sunday mornings in winter when the fog refuses to lift, the newspaper arrives damp, and the ache in the bones dissipates only by lunch time. I was on the balcony, second mug of Darjeeling turning lukewarm, pretending to read the editorial while actually monitoring the cute neighbour walking her dog in the park below. Life, for the moment, was tolerable.
Suddenly, Gopu burst into our home, muttering oaths and curses.
“He used the U-word! Twice! Deliberately!”
I lowered my mug carefully. “Calm down, Gopu. Who used the what word?” I asked.
“The liftman! That cheeky blighter. He called me ‘Uncle’! Twice!”
The trouble with old age is that when it comes, if at all it comes, it comes just once. Most people who grow old have no prior experience in growing old. So they remain either unaware or in denial about it. I don’t claim to have more experience than any other old man, but I certainly claim a percipience that is lacking in most oldies, especially those like my friend Gopu.
“You are getting along in years,” I said reasonably. “Whether you like it or not, people will notice your grey hair and that shuffling gait.”
“Hmmpfff,” was all that he said.
“Oh, come now, Gopu! Accept you are becoming an old man. Embrace everything that comes with age—being called ‘uncle’, irritability, forgetfulness, wrinkles, dentures. Vague aches and pains. And even a bit of incontinence!”
He only looked grumpier.
“I am not old!”
Illustration: Job P.K.
I patiently explained. “A tree grows older, but it does not become old. On the other hand, you and I? Well, as we grow older, we become old. This process should rightly be called ‘oldification’. You and I are oldifying. Understood?”
Gopu continued to be resentful. “I may be growing older. But I’m certainly not oldifying, as you call it.”
“Make no mistake, my friend. You might not recognise the signs, but you’re certainly oldifying. In my case the earliest sign was the frequency with which I started losing my temper. This was more noticeable on the road, where all the rascals are in cahoots, plotting to drive me crazy. Everyone is against me—the inveterate honker who keeps tooting his horn; the dangerous motorcycle rider, talking on his cell phone, hell-bent on committing suicide; and the mad guy who cuts in front of my car without warning. Even the matron who crawls along at 20 mph in the fast lane is part of the conspiracy.”
“All the rogues on the road are against me too. But that’s not because I am old!” protested Gopu.
“Aha,” said I, “there you are! You have certainly oldified. Tell me, aren’t you increasingly disappointed with the world? Trains run late, samosas aren’t crispy enough, children are ill-mannered? In our day, the coffee was stronger, the movies cleaner, the politicians more honest! Everything was so much better, no?”
“Of course!” said Gopu.
“Listen carefully. You should be aware that this is an imperfect world and it is only the oldified who get annoyed about it. You are old if you are angered by wrongly parked cars and people jumping queues. Or inconsiderate women talking loudly. Or men wearing loud clothes. Or that mongrel down the street, incessantly yapping at nothing. Even terms like ad nauseam!”
Gopu took some time to digest this wisdom. “My problem is that the number of things that irritate me grows and grows. Unending advertisements on news channels, slow service in restaurants, the way young people wear low hip jeans, the impertinent angle of the watchman’s cap. Everything!”
The missus jumped into the fray. “Welcome to old age, Gopu! You should now look out for more signs of oldifying. Muttering and grumbling are pucca signs. Giving unsolicited advice is another,” she said. “If you hand out advice to total strangers oftener than twice a week, you are officially antique. If you shout advice to TV anchors or film characters, then you have arrived! Soon you will start feeling that the winter is colder and the rainy season wetter than it used to be. Your language has probably already changed, and you are using more ‘oldspeak’. You often start sentences with ‘When I was…’ And you say, ‘I am thinking’ when you mean ‘I am confused’.”
“And caution,” I added, “is not a virtue, it’s a red flag! You don’t have to hesitate so much before crossing the road. You don’t need to recheck five times if you have locked the door. You don’t really need to ask yourself twice whether you have taken your morning medicines.”
“Do you get the feeling that people are deliberately talking softly only to irritate you? Do you feel the music is always played too loudly? Do you think the doctor looks too young?”
“Yes, oh my God, yes!” said Gopu in despair. “You mean to say no matter how young I feel, I am oldifying? And I will have to bear irritability, forgetfulness, grey hair, baldness and dentures?”
“Incontinence. Don’t forget incontinence!” I added, mischievously.
“Oh no! This is so, so depressing. I won’t have it!”
I kept looking at him silently for a long while. Then with a smile I asked, “Can you offer me a more desirable alternative?”
K.C. Verma is former chief of R&AW. kcverma345@gmail.com