Surya Shekar, first runner-up of our first blogging competition, talks about the important role that elders play in our lives.
A year back, when I ...
Surya Shekar, first runner-up of our first blogging competition, talks about the important role that elders play in our lives.
A year back, when I first moved into hostel more than a thousand miles away from home, I felt all alone.
For the first time, I had no mother with me to wake me up every day (which is no easy task); I had no father to guide me about my decisions; I had no grandmother to feed me with her own hands (a privilege I still enjoy every time I am back home); I had no grandfather to thrill me with the stories of his exploits in faraway lands. All I had with me was a cauldron of emotions: a whirlpool of sayings, advice, stories and morals.
The first day I was in my hostel room alone, I felt like crying. It felt like I was on a lonely unguided ship taking me to a desolate place far, far away with no promises to return soon. I started thinking, “What if my grandparents die while I am away? What if something terrible happens to my family?” I broke down and started weeping. Which was when the phone rang up.
Maa is one of those gentle souls who cannot be at peace knowing that someone somewhere else is suffering. So when I picked up Maa’s call, I pretended to be alright.
Quite obviously, she saw through it.
But she knows best how to calm someone down. She took my mind off by weaving a story about our winter vacation plans and asked me what I felt about it. Then she recounted the story of how Dora, our cat, was finding it difficult to get up on the window sill, so she just had to claw and chew through the expensive curtains which kept getting in the way. Maa was almost sympathizing with Dora though I could hear Dad grumbling about Dora’s elevated position in the household. At the end of the phone call, I was genuinely happy.
There’s a unique lesson to be learnt from each elderly person, because they have all grown old with their own set of ideas and experiences, tied together with intimate bonds. While Maa taught me how to control outbursts of anger, Dad taught me how to solve problems rationally. While Dadu (grandpa) taught me how to think, Ammi (grandma) taught me how to feel. Even before I learnt to read, Ammi used to read out Amar Chitra Katha stories to me, enthralling me with stories of Lakshmibai and Shivaji, inspiring me with stories of Netaji and Swamiji, entertaining me with stories of Akbar-Birbal and Vikram-Betaal.
The support my elders have given me, is enormous. Their influence, all-encompassing.
Is it possible for me to support them back for all that they ever did?
Surprisingly, yes.
Maa once told me how Ammi loves telling her sisters when I do well in an exam or win a quiz. She feels good knowing that there’s her grandson leading a healthy life (ignoring the chips and soft drinks) miles away from home, making her proud. Dadu’s expectations are somewhat higher: he wants me to wake up by 6 every morning.
To conclude with two lines from one of my favourite songs, from Ek Phool Do Mali, where the father sings to his child:
“Aaj ungli thaam ke teri, tujhe main chalna sikhlaaun
Kal haath pakadna mera, jab main buddha ho jaaun”
(Today, I enfold your hands and teach you how to walk
Tomorrow, do clasp my hands when I become too old)
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Anirban Saha, winner of our first blogging competition, talks about his grandmother.
My grandmother, Thamma as I used to call her, was perhaps my first friend. When my ...
Anirban Saha, winner of our first blogging competition, talks about his grandmother.
My grandmother, Thamma as I used to call her, was perhaps my first friend. When my mother used to be away with my sister for her music/dance class or perhaps her tuition classes, I sneaked into Thamma’s room and either did my school homework or play chess or listen to stories of Krishna and Chaitanya.
She taught me how to play chess. I loved the way she once explained the role of the queen - to defend the King, the cause and the pride. Had it not been my grandmom, I might not have been introduced to Tagore. She was knowledgeable enough to recite or sing a relevant song in any occasion. A Vaishnav that she was, she was an avid reader of Tagore and Sri Chaitanya. She even named me - Shyam, my didi - Radha and my second-eldest cousin - Gour Hari.
A lady who got married at 11, lost her first child, fought against the acute poverty, built enough confidence in her children to pursue higher education, allow them to go abroad and live their lives. She allegedly never gifted her children any luxury, instead gifted them books. She had her almirah of books and used to read a couple of hours every day even during her last days. She was a stern believer in personal development and freedom of choice. When I could not get admission to a supposedly elite school and my relatives were busy mocking me, Thamma very calmly said - The student studies, school doesn’t. When my ‘mejo jethima’ wanted a divorce after more than 20 years of marriage, she had my grandmother's support.
She had been a very strong character herself, proud of her children, her weak moments include the time in late 1970s, when she asked my father to stay back in Calcutta. Everyone else had relocated. I had hardly seen her express weakness or love. Year 2002, we decided to leave our Gouribari residence and move to Dum dum park. She was left alone with her aid.
The first time I went to my new “home” from school, how I wished the bus took left from Ultadanga and took me back to my grandmother. At times, without informing my mother, I used to go to Thamma.
The last working day before our school closed for summer vacation was May 16th, 2003. I went to my Gouribari residence. The aid was not there. I climbed up the window, managed to push it open and screamed “Thamma open the door!” She woke up hurriedly from her sleep and murmured “Gourhari, have you come?”. I realised that she was expecting my elder cousin. She loved him the most. That day we talked about my upcoming summer vacation and how she used to spend her summers back in her home, now in Bangladesh. She had many trees. She said she missed that here in Calcutta. I left her promising to come back the day the school re-opened on 16th June.
Well, I did go to my Gouribari residence on 16th of June but to only see Thamma for the last time. And perhaps be with her on her last ride. As the only grandson available, I had to be with her till the time my father had to push her into the crematory oven, infront of my eyes.
While going to the nursing home, she recited some Tagore poem and her last wish was to meet ‘Gour Hari’.
Gour Hari, my mejo dada, definitely did not know of this. Else he would have come. He is now the Director of Strategy, Google. Thamma must be so proud somewhere up there blessing all her grandchildren.
I had lost a friend and not till 2008 did I talk properly with anyone. Supporting elders does not necessarily mean giving money for them to survive. One needs to make them feel special by being there with them, live their ideals. They are the ones who helped them become who they are. Think about it.
Want to share your experience? Please mail your story to writetous@supportelders.com with your name
This is how we, at Support Elders, celebrated this special day.
Even at 7 o’clock that morning, it was rather hot and humid. ...
This is how we, at Support Elders, celebrated this special day.
Even at 7 o’clock that morning, it was rather hot and humid. But the date was 1st October 2015, the International Day of Older persons, and the sultry weather could not deter our members and other proactive elderly citizens from participating in the Support Elders Walkathon 2015.
Dr Indrani Chakravarty of Calcutta Metropolitan Institute of Gerontology (CMIG) gave the key note speech, while Mr Debashish Sen, Principal Secretary, Urban Development Department, Government of West Bengal, flagged off the walk. Armed with bottles of water and an ambulance following, should a medical emergency arise, over 250 enthusiastic participants set off on the walkathon from City Centre, Salt Lake. It was encouraging and exciting to see the spirit with which the motley crowd of NCC cadets; members of various NGOs like CMIG, Dignity Foundation, Salt Lake Senior Citizens Association and Remedia Foundation; corporate participants like The South Indian Bank, ATCIS Technologies and Columbia Asia; and Support Elders Members and Staff set off to spread awareness about enhancing the Quality of Life of the elders in the city.
It was a pleasure to see how much the elders had enjoyed participating in the walkathon. And though we gifted mementoes to everyone who completed the Walkathon, we received the biggest award when, one of our members, Mrs Ratna Sen, later told us that participating in the Walkathon had really bolstered her confidence in her abilities, which had slightly flagged since her last knee operation. That was our take away from this day!
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Once upon a time in a land nearby there lived a rich and loving couple. They had two children and loved them dearly.
Let us now move to many decades later…
&...
Once upon a time in a land nearby there lived a rich and loving couple. They had two children and loved them dearly.
Let us now move to many decades later…
He had died two months back. She was devastated. At 80, this was the second tragedy of her life. She had already lost her daughter. She was from an era when a woman’s entire life and being revolved around her husband. That had been her sustenance. Even at that age she would wait on him hand and foot—she would even get him a glass of water albeit often grudgingly, as her old bones creaked. She would continually crib about him watching TV and reading the newspaper instead of talking to her and get bugged with him for messing up the room…
But now he was gone. She was engulfed in a bottomless pit of loneliness, of feeling “not-needed”. Mind you, she was rather rigid in her ways and was soon asked to leave her son’s home (where she had moved in temporarily) on the flimsiest pretext. She moved back to her own home. She felt “discarded”. I watched helplessly. I had spent the most tender years of my life in her care…I could only watch…her social conditioning and sense of independence would not let her move in with me. Thankfully her grandson and granddaughter-in-law looked after her.
She died a year and a half later. I cried unabashedly, for more reasons than, one but I was actually happy for her. She did not deserve that life. Nobody does. Being old is seldom easy but being old, widowed and shunned by your own flesh and blood after the umpteen sacrifices you have made and your endless love…it kills something deep inside. Would you call this abuse? I would. I respect the fact that she never went to stay with her son again. Even when she visited him while he was recuperating after a surgery, she came back the same day. Given the generation she belonged to and her age, it was indeed a big thing. I salute her for I know just how much she loved her son and yearned to be with him, and how lonely she felt inside.
Abuse can come from any quarters. There is no stereotype. Put a stop to it.
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Brigadier Satyesh Nath Bhaduri
I was in the Army and during my Command in Fort William last year, I got a frantic call from a childhood friend of mine. We had not ...
Brigadier Satyesh Nath Bhaduri
I was in the Army and during my Command in Fort William last year, I got a frantic call from a childhood friend of mine. We had not been in touch for a long time. He was with a private concern in Bangalore and due to certain compulsions requested me to visit his ailing mother, who was suffering from dementia. To be honest, I was quite averse to the idea of visiting and comforting someone I hardly knew, especially when I learnt that he had neither appointed a full time maid nor bore her medical expenses. My reluctance was further compounded when my materialistic instincts warned me of this being a fruitless engagement and I felt I had better things to do on holidays or my leisure time rather than attending to someone with whom I could hardly relate to.
Immersed in my personal, social and professional responsibilities, I had almost forgotten the issue till my wife’s repeated reminders compelled me to visit this lady on a gloomy rainy afternoon. Heavy torrential downpour was lashing the city and I had to walk 300 metres through a narrow, flooded lane. I was already in an irritable frame of mind by the time I reached the old lady’s house. So the sight of an old, frail lady sitting on a vintage wooden chair staring blankly ahead did little to lift my mood. She sat facing me for half an hour without any expression, recognition or emotion. While leaving I decided that that would be my first and last visit.
But as they say, man proposes, god disposes...hounded by my wife, I again visited the old lady after a month. Her reaction was the same as in our previous meeting, but I could feel a transformation within me on seeing the helpless lady. Thereafter I began to visit her more often. During one such visit, I felt that for a very brief moment she actually looked at me eagerly--as though she had been waiting for me. Looking around in her small room, I saw a dusty copy of the Mahabharata. I picked it up and started reading it aloud. Maybe it was my imagination but I thought I could sense her straining her ears and making a conscious effort to listen to what I was saying. For the first time, I was filled with remorse and regretted my earlier attitude and actions.
My visits became more regular. I would get sweets or fruits for her, though they usually remained untouched. Soon, during each visit she used to touch my fingers and feel them as if was trying to convey something. During one such meeting, I took her to a nearby park on a wheelchair, which I had procured for her. As I was taking the lady around, a small boy, slipping away from his mother, walked over to us. Placing his tiny hand on hers, he said, “I know how you feel, my mom makes me ride in the stroller too.” I was amazed to see a faint smile on the lady’s face. I can honestly say that no amount of money could have bought the satisfaction which I felt in the park that day.
During my last visit, when the old lady and I were offered tea and biscuits, I saw her dipping a biscuit in her tea and extending it in my direction as if she was offering it to me. I was awestruck by this miraculous change in her. It was a priceless moment. Unfortunately, I could not capture the scene as it happened so suddenly, but it is etched deeply in my mind. A deep realisation dawned on me: bringing about a change in someone’s life, who is in dire need to believe in himself/herself, is so much more satisfying than earning money or chasing an unrealistic, materialistic goal.
I believe change starts with you but it does not start until you do. The greatest gift you can give someone is your time, your attention, your love and care.
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