A changing India needs to think of a grand plan for its grandparents

Window Seat

Old people are the closest to my heart, but I can’t handle my emotions when I go to an old age home. I am a coward, I think.”

A friend messaged me this when she got to know of my planned drive down to a place that houses 50 senior citizens, some of them even super-seniors, 85 years of age and above.

Many of us have that mushy spot in our hearts for the elders; that which melts us when we see an old woman at the traffic signal putting her hands out; that which makes our eyes moist when we see a man, all wrinkles, smiling at us through his crinkling eyes.

We adore grandparents more than parents. We admire the old for traits that have gone missing in us, secretly relieved that we don’t have to live up to those ideals – “Oh that generation and their discipline.” “What willpower, man! Once my grandmother decides on something, that’s it.”

We are in awe of the kind and scale of work we have seen them accomplish when they were younger. “Those women cooked, pounded, served, washed, walked so much. That’s why they are so healthy. Where did they have our mixi-gixi, washing machines, cars, this, that?”

If that elder is someone who you look after, mild murmurs begin. “She is so set in her habits and diets, we can’t change that even one bit.” “He keeps on saying the same thing over and over. How much patience can I have? I am also getting old, no?”

When fondness begins to turn into frustration, we don’t realise. But in a rapidly shrinking nuclear family and a house where even the youngest needs her ‘space’, the oldest is the one that begins to feel like an occupier. Illnesses start to appear, from mild ‘sugar’ and BP to debilitating ailments. Expenses shoot up: meds, diapers, attendants. In between, a partner passes on; the parent begins to feel lonely. Social outings seem a chore. One day, a walker comes by courier; the walks to the park get fewer. And then stop. The park friends are now on WhatsApp – if the parent is smart(on the)phone type. But real company is missing -- the children have enough on their own hands, the grandkids have the iPhone on theirs.

A new question enters the picture: Am I a burden?

A dilemma more pressing if the parent is not a pensioner, or the spouse of one. If there is more than one daughter or son, the ‘rotation’ begins. At first, the novelty feels good, the change. The other house, too, can’t wait to welcome her or him. But when the ‘can’t wait’ is for the elder to leave, that’s when these words begin circulation: Old-age home.

For a country that has held its hiriyaru in the highest regard, for a culture where even until a few decades back the decision of the family’s eldest was the final, the concept of banishing your old into some place is a shocker. Even if you are genuinely unable to care for your parents or in-laws, sending them away is a stigma.

The West has warmed up to the concept of a care home. The US has what it calls ‘guardianship’ for its elders; where a court steps in to appoint a person to look after a person when s/he loses capacity for self-care. But at least 45 of the 50 states of the US have reported many cases of neglect, abuse and exploitation by the guardian.

In India, data says the life expectancy of those above 70 has increased by 18%. The need now is to ensure that the quality of life of that elder doesn’t fall drastically. Many working people, some barely in their 40s, have now begun to save up for their retirement homes.

Meanwhile, my trip to the old-age home was anything but sad. Yes, the background of why those old people had landed there was. But a few had come there by choice, to pay and be independent. I sang for them, they told me jokes. There was even a love story brewing, the caretakers told me with a laugh, of a 64-year-old granny spending more time with a gentleman touching 75. At least now, they could do what they wished, without waiting for ‘badon ka asheervad’.