<p>I’m scared of getting old. Some may scoff at hearing this; some may call it irrational and ridiculous. Some may even twirl their fingers near their heads in the almost universal sign that signifies lunacy. My friends, if they read this, may laugh and say – buddy, you are already old!</p>.<p>I recollect when I was in my 8th or 9th grade, our teacher had asked each of us how long we would like to live. I don’t recall what answers my classmates gave but I remember my response all too well. Till the age of forty, I told her, much to her astonishment. When she asked me why forty, I replied – forty is old! I don’t know but maybe this anxiety of mine was already prevalent back then. </p>.<p>Of course, forty for me has come and gone and I’m still walking around on mother earth. As mentioned earlier, maybe this dread of getting old was deep-rooted and with me from my youth or, maybe it came later. However, I do know that by the time I was in my thirties I definitely had this worry. Initially, this fear was not apparent but as the years went by it crystallised and became all too real. The apprehension was that of becoming dependent. Of having to rely on someone to provide that which I could not provide for myself. I had been taking care of myself ever since I left home in my early twenties and I considered myself absolutely independent. The terror was of losing that independence. </p>.<p>For me, reliance on others can be put into two large buckets – financial and physiological. I’m confident I’ve prepared enough not to have to depend on someone else for the financial part, but it is the latter that absolutely terrifies me. And most of them cause one to lose control of one’s mental and physical abilities. Putting one at the mercy of someone else.</p>.<p>Couple of years ago, my uncle (someone as independent as I am) suffered a brain stroke, which left him semi-paralysed. Immediately, his life completely changed. Gone was the man who loved and managed to do everything himself. Overnight, he had to look to others for help for almost every physical function.</p>.<p>Yes, growing old is a part of life you might say. And I agree it is, but given a choice that is the part of life I would rather not experience.</p>
<p>I’m scared of getting old. Some may scoff at hearing this; some may call it irrational and ridiculous. Some may even twirl their fingers near their heads in the almost universal sign that signifies lunacy. My friends, if they read this, may laugh and say – buddy, you are already old!</p>.<p>I recollect when I was in my 8th or 9th grade, our teacher had asked each of us how long we would like to live. I don’t recall what answers my classmates gave but I remember my response all too well. Till the age of forty, I told her, much to her astonishment. When she asked me why forty, I replied – forty is old! I don’t know but maybe this anxiety of mine was already prevalent back then. </p>.<p>Of course, forty for me has come and gone and I’m still walking around on mother earth. As mentioned earlier, maybe this dread of getting old was deep-rooted and with me from my youth or, maybe it came later. However, I do know that by the time I was in my thirties I definitely had this worry. Initially, this fear was not apparent but as the years went by it crystallised and became all too real. The apprehension was that of becoming dependent. Of having to rely on someone to provide that which I could not provide for myself. I had been taking care of myself ever since I left home in my early twenties and I considered myself absolutely independent. The terror was of losing that independence. </p>.<p>For me, reliance on others can be put into two large buckets – financial and physiological. I’m confident I’ve prepared enough not to have to depend on someone else for the financial part, but it is the latter that absolutely terrifies me. And most of them cause one to lose control of one’s mental and physical abilities. Putting one at the mercy of someone else.</p>.<p>Couple of years ago, my uncle (someone as independent as I am) suffered a brain stroke, which left him semi-paralysed. Immediately, his life completely changed. Gone was the man who loved and managed to do everything himself. Overnight, he had to look to others for help for almost every physical function.</p>.<p>Yes, growing old is a part of life you might say. And I agree it is, but given a choice that is the part of life I would rather not experience.</p>