Have we lost our solicitude for the older generation?

I started reluctantly, my face not betraying any emotion. To visit my aunt’s distant relative did not brighten up my mood that evening. The car drew to a halt to ask directions along the famous ECR and proceeded. I never knew I was going to experience emotions that I never had before. The quiet road ahead led to the sea, but our destination was well in front of the shore. ‘Vishranthi’ was set near the shores of the Bay of Bengal

The sea breeze blew at a good pace as we opened the rusty old gate. The first thing we saw was a big cage filled with birds, mostly parrots. I smiled at the irony, for Vishranthi was no seaside bungalow or a beach house, but an old age home. A voice snapped from our left. Though polite, the watchman’s voice was pretty hoarse. We told him the name of the person we wanted to meet and were directed by him.

The walk through the serene and quiet home could very well mislead any reader. Though filled with greenery and perennial sea breeze at a gentle pace, the whole place had an air of heaviness. The face of the old people I walked past had a forlorn look, a look that suggested to me that they did not care anymore for the worldly things, a look of resignation, a look of acceptance of their ill fate.

We found the building and entered into the hall only after being questioned by a lady attender at its entrance. As we entered, several old women looked up from the inside expectantly. Then, it hit me. I did not need to be Mr. Holmes or Dr. Watson to read their emotions. All of them hoped we were some of their folks who have come to meet them. Some recognized soon that we were not and those who could not see properly held on to their hopes to see where we were heading to. It is beyond the capabilities of my words to describe the real scene with those high emotions. I virtually looked at all those faces trying to convey, ‘Sorry I have not come to meet you, sorry’

The hall we entered into was spacious with around 8 to 10 beds in random directions, a decent sized television and an austere dining table along a narrow corridor which led to an open terrace behind the hall. My aunt called out the old granny’s name. A woman directly in front of us put her book down, sat up on her bed and looked at us. Her face bore an expression of instant recognition and she called us in.

For a considerable amount of time, the old granny and my aunt were talking about people whom I neither knew nor cared to know about. The granny went on about her pastimes in the orphanage, about the dance and music programmes daily that took place inside the orphanage, about TV serials and about how bad the food was. I got bored soon and began looking around. I saw an old woman in the terrace beyond the dark narrow corridor. She was sitting on a chair in the middle of the terrace talking animatedly.

Out of curiosity, I craned my head to see whom she was talking to. I could not find anybody within her vicinity. Thinking she must be out of her mind, I began withdrawing my gaze when I saw a cat. The little brown cat was sitting on its hind legs and was looking at the old woman with utmost concentration. I was moved. May be it understood what she said or may be it did not. But it sat with her to hear what she had to say. I felt ashamed and brought my concentration back the granny who had not yet stopped talking.

I walked back, in a daze. It was very obvious. Every one of those old men and women sitting there were neglected. What did they demand? Money? Power? No. All they wanted was some time, compassion and love from the ones they loved most. May be it is because the modern man thinks that the planet rotates on a fulcrum called money. But he should remember that one day, everybody is going to grow old.