It has been I think three years since I saw the wrinkle gather around my home. No, the paint didn’t come off the walls, neither did the walls crack up. But, the people in my house are getting old or their body certainly is.
I spend my weekdays around three creatures they call senior. Where am I on weekends? I choose to be out sharing a drink with the younger breed who speak lightly and hear well. At home for the rest of the five working days of my week, I really take a lot of time, mostly painstakingly screaming around the house to make myself and my words to be heard. And, in the bargain, my tone is judged upon. So instead of thinking that I might be yelling it out to their nearly dead ears, my 90 year old grandma, my 65 year old pappa and 60 year old amma, think I am screaming at them.
And, right now as I write this I am sweating profusely because though I write quietly, within my mind I am still speaking at the same range with which I speak at home, which means “in a disturbingly high volume”. No wonder then that when my brother visits us from his serene ‘Gora’ settings of Michigan, he thinks I am yelling around. I am sorry my lovelies who put up with me but I am living this life for three years now. I cannot snap out of it! No! I cannot!I have tried meditating, but then I hear my dad crack his knuckles and I open my eyes to reality and enquire if his bones are fine.
Yes! they- the seniors at home have created a loud and panic-stricken character out of me. But, I love them for having made me more patient and having made me more of a human. Now, I search for wrinkled faces in a crowded train compartment, so that I can offer them my seat. I check for a fragile face within the crowd and smile at them. You may ask why. And that is because in this huge city packed with ambitions and aspirations, the young and old is very lonely. Some kids living off the street all alone while some white wooly-haired uncle stares into nothingness from his worldly window. Life is at display for him, but when he turns back at his ‘home’, all he sees are immobile non-living things staring back at him.
I know a human being cannot have everything in life, but if God gives them the ripe age, send them the caretakers and helpers they call ‘kids’.
Lastly, I love the old faces that look at me because every crease on their face speaks of a life truly lived. 🙂