Longevity, a boon or a curse?

This newspaper cutting has been making its rounds in many social media groups, especially amongst the senior section of our society. Understandably they embrace the silver hair stage of their lives with much trepidation. It is anybody’s guess what the future holds for each of us. We try, however, to patch up all possibilities and pave all roads for a smooth transition to the other side. As mischievous as it always is, Nature will inevitably come up with some loophole that we never expected and, thus, are ill-prepared.

The generation before us, facing an uncertain future, seeing a world war and migrating for survival, saw education and wealth as a foolproof way to prosperity. Having hardly seen anyone pass their sixth decade of life, everything was done in a hurry. They needed to educate their kids, make a territory their legacy, and save for rainy days as they slowly rode into the sunset after having the pleasure of seeing their offsprings produce offspring.

However, they should have considered the push-pull factor from their Newfoundland and their newfound longevity.

Benefiting by leaps and bounds from the stride in medical development, baby boomers are now living to years thought impossible by their parents. Unlike their parent’s world, the world had grown smaller. The world is at their feet for the millennial to step out into. As per taught to them by their parents, migration to a more prosperous land and the validation of their qualification by a white man as success, they naturally migrate overseas, leaving the old people behind.

Unfortunately, we are creatures of habit. The oldies are left behind, not because of inconvenience but for comfort. The oldies feel safe at havens familiar to them. Hence, they stayed back. Sadly the mind ages slower than the body. This spurs many sad thoughts and needs to endure the maladies of loneliness and physical pain.

Humans are the only species on Earth that nurtures their young for such a long time, and conventionally the oldies are cared for in their twilight years. This turn of events is tricky when the old live long lives at a time when the young are struggling to put their mark on their lives. Care homes and assisted living to fill the gap but can only do so much.

Should we complain about living long lives or being uncared for in our geriatric age group? Money can buy love and medical assistance; that is about it.

The mighty Hang Tuah and even the Pandavas, after they felt unwanted after achieving unsurmountable tasks in their lives, decided to wander off into the wilderness of Gunung Ledang and Meru Hills, respectively, to be one with Nature. Just saying….

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More than meets the eye!

Nothing seems like what we hear, read or see. We will never know what is real from fake. We can surely, learn from the experience of others. 

People are left in high esteem when they leave the building sooner than expected. On the other end, if they linger longer than their shelf-life, the legacy they leave behind is not entirely pleasant. The sorry state of the flailing body and declining function of the body is all that is remembered. If all else does not fail, the mental capacity eventually would, and the elder will go by many titles; screwball being one.

That brings us to the case above. Samy Vellu used to be the de facto head of Indian community in Malaysia. Passionately referred to as 'Uncle Sam', he was the darling of the Malaysian media of the 1990s and the butt of many of the political jokes of the day. His awkward pronunciations and his recurrent attributing many of his department's follies to 'act of God' still rings a bell. He had also sarcastically accused many Malaysians of being mentally deranged and need to be hospitalised.

Now it looks like the joke is on him. His son is trying to get an injunction to declare him of unsound mind. Or is it?

Oh, how the general public scorn at the ungrateful son who chose to chose to wash dirty linen in public. The dharma loving generation expresses contempt at the conduct of bringing family secrets to the public eye. All the caring and nurturing by the elders gave him the strength to bite the hand that fed him, they say.

The sceptics, however, would not buy such a story. They assert that it is all part of elaborate legal wrangling to offset certain unaccounted transactions to balance the books. There is a lot more to it than meets the eye.

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Living on borrowed times

Radiopetti (Radio Box, Tamil; 2015)

I used to wonder why the humming of the radio was the constant background of my home as I was growing up. At the first break of dawn, if Appa had the choice and not for Amma's nagging, it would start with the early morning chanting of Subrapaatham and just breeze through the day and night until transmissions ended. Yes, there used to be a time when even broadcasters called it a day, mostly at the stroke of midnight.

At that time, the radio announcers' songs and rants sounded more like a nuisance, as my sisters and I were busily cramping our cranial vaults with facts and notes to regurgitate in the next tests. Nobody could understand Appa's fixation with his cranky radio box, which he later graduated to a transistor radio. It was not that the devices were manufacturing Top 40 hits. Sometimes, only white noise or high-pitched zapping sounds emanate when he tunes in to the short-wave bands from Kuala Lumpur or Singapore. 

But he continued this practice till his dying days...

The delicacies we consumed in childhood taste much better than the same thing available now. At least the memory of it is. It is probably the same reason why old songs mean so much. Every song, food, smell, and sensation that tickles our tastebuds is associated with a particular moment. Every byte of information stored in our grey cells is linked to one specific event in our existence; a fond moment with our loved ones, the yearning for an unfulfilled romance, a blissful time that would never come back or a time when things were simpler.

This low-budget, low-frill, award-winning movie never really made headlines. Only through word of mouth did it come to my attention. 

 Arunachalam, probably in his 60s, spends most of his time relaxing on his lazy chair after retirement, listening to the transmissions from his old diode radio set. Ired by the constant blaring of the radio, his only child, probably in his mid-20s, leaves his paternal home after a tiff, smashing his radio to smithereens. 

Six years later, Arunachalam and his wife spend their time in sheer solitude. The couple is engrossed in their routine. Arunachalam is busy working as a clerk in a cotton mill. His wife, Lakshmi, is happy serving her husband. The memory of their son pops up every now and then. His contact is limited to his occasional phone call. The son is living with his wife and her family elsewhere. For company, they have a fellow tenant downstairs whose husband works overseas and her tantrum-throwing pre-teen son. 

Arunachalam's old radio is only a distant memory. Lakshmi's surprise gift, a transistor radio, rekindled his suppressed memories. The broken diode radio was one of the only remaining assets of Arnachalam's now deceased parents. The rest of the movie highlights the loneliness endured by the senior members of society. After fulfilling their familial duties, unable to keep up with the demands and changes in values of the generations next, they are generally left to fend for themselves. Their life is mired in silence, with an occasional highlight of a visit of a long-lost friend or relative. 

Even if they are financially taken care of, boredom is the basal undertone. Just how much of TV can one indulge? Nostalgia, which has a bad reputation for making people delve into the past rather than looking at the future, is not all that bad. With the curse of a long life, perhaps an unhealthily long life sustained by advances in medical sciences, longevity may be a curse. As if dragging their feet into the twilight of their existence, sweet memories of the past may be the only thing that keeps the bunny going. The presence of crazy friends in their lives goes a long way...

A good movie, 4.5/5.

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Do the thing you do!

Uncle Hooi at his best © The Star

I remember the barrages of concerned pep talks from my family members when they discovered that I, at the tender age of 43, slowly started indulging in competitive distance running. In not so many words, they were obviously trying to tell me that I would just drop dead by the roadside to be found by passersby as if I were just roadkill.

Another old friend, obviously overweight and looking much like Peter Griffin of the 'Family Guy' fame was even generous enough to offer free anaesthetic services as and when I need a knee replacement. 

As a last resort, my family went ahead and gave me a 'stress test - CT angio' combo as a birthday present on my 50th birthday. When the cardiologists gave a clean bill of health after silently cursing under his breath for wasting his precious time from his more deserving patients, they essentially gave up and let Nature take its course. 

This must have been what Fauja Singh must have gone through when he took up serious running at the age of 89. I can imagine how people would have mocked him. How people can be cruel with their words... 

"Living on borrowed times, and he is asking for trouble!"

"What is he doing? Should be playing with his grandchildren."

"He should be making peace with his Maker, not running around like a young bloke"

Uncle Hooi (pic above) is a regular feature at the place my friends and I frequently run on Sunday mornings. Starting his solo run as early as 5 in the morning, without fail, at a steady pace, he would cover a distance of 20km effortlessly at his springy age of 82. He must have been ridiculed behind his back for missing all those late Saturday banters and parties that last till the wee hours of Saturday night- Sunday morning. He must have been labelled as a party pooper for precisely the same reasons.

Fauja Singh, 107, Turbaned Tornado
Photo courtesy santabanta.com.

Others mean well and say things that they think would make change for the better. They feel that it is their God-sent duty to do so. At the end of the day, everybody has to use their God-given faculties to decide what is best for them. When we falter or make a wrong decision (immaterial whether it is in accordance to their advice), they have nothing to offer but sympathy, maybe crocodile tear and perhaps, words of comfort that God works in mysterious ways.

Some enjoy the attention of being sick and like to immerse in the sympathetic display by the loved ones. Others use their disability, perceived disability or faked ailments to garner a soft spot. And a few convince others that they are indeed sick to give their two cents' worth advice, to sell their products, to gaslight them down or just to have a conversation going. For them life is so mundane, they need to irritate someone.


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