Thursday, October 7, 2010

Writing - Deccan Herald ( middle )

My grandmother has a social life more active than mine. She's extremely busy. Her days are filled with a tea party to attend, someone to visit, being visited by someone, a religious function to go to, a wedding couple to bless or a dinner invitation. She runs her own home, supervises her garden, manages her own maid and walks every evening to chat with her sisters who live nearby. She is actively interested in who is marrying whom and which eligible young girl has been thrust into the marriage market and which aunt is on bad terms with which cousin and why. She is coping beautifully with the real estate/IT holocaust which is destroying Bangalore and never complains about traffic, how the city has changed, how many ‘outsiders’ there are and `where all those old, lovely monkey tops have gone'. She remains completely interested in life, in people, believes she’s eighty going on eighteen and refuses to be convinced otherwise. In short, she’s `going with the flow’.

But she’s not the only one. Sometimes a strand of silver or a wrinkle is an indication of a life that's been lived fully.But it could also conceal a spirit that believes that there is still so much left to do. I know energetic seventy year olds who have birthday parties at discos, drive cross country up mountains and wear hues that would make a rainbow cross eyed.! I read about a sixtytwo year old grandmother selling her home and travelling the world on a Harley to fulfill a life long dream.

Many people withdraw - from life, living, learning, friends and family and even themselves as they get older. They shrink into their bodies. They shrivel.They give up and and wait to be `summoned’. Some fill each moment of today with cynicism, bitterness and regret or try desperately to cling to what’s gone.

But what they do not understand is that every phase we go through in life constantly creates new experiences and learnings that are relative to it. Reaching a stage where it’s all over or we’ve been through it all is therefore impossible. We’re never too old to enjoy family and friends, to notice how special our loved ones are, to celebrate not running with rats anymore, to splurge on ourselves, to finally stop and smell the proverbial flowers, to look good, to laugh, to cry during `Notting Hill,’ to secretly covet Christopher Egan or Mila Kunis, or to fall hopelessly in love.

Someone once told me to “ hold on to this moment because we won’t be eighteen forever.” I think they were wrong. If our minds and bodies agree, we can be any age we want to be.

 “Is there a secret potion tucked away somewhere ?”I asked my grandmother, wondering how she and her sisters had received this constant access to the proverbial fountain of youth. "No " she said.

" There must be something ! " I persisted.

She then told me that their birth records had been written into a copy of the family Quran which got lost when shifting homes. None of them could therefore remember when they were born or how old they really were.

" So therefore " she said, " We just decided to be the age we FELT we were.”