Act your age!

Under Suspicion (2000)

Director: Stephen Hopkins

https://www.primevideo.com/-/tr/detail/Under-Suspicion/
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This is another character-driven film featuring two Hollywood heavyweights, Gene Hackman and Morgan Freeman. The setting is straightforward. A prominent tax attorney is fully prepared to deliver an important speech at a fundraising event. He is called in for what was meant to be a brief questioning by the local police chief. However, the interview becomes increasingly convoluted. The tax attorney's personal life is laid bare and scrutinised. It becomes so intense that it drains both parties, and the questioning turns into an interrogation. The situation escalates to such a degree that the tax attorney is charged with the murder of two young prostitutes. 

His wife is called in for a separate interview, which further reveals intimate bedroom secrets and close family confidences. The tension escalates dramatically. The tax attorney ultimately confesses to murdering both young girls. Just then, a police officer barges in to announce that the real culprit was caught 'in the act'!

The thought that crossed my mind concerns self-realisation. There is a time and place for everything. Life opens a window of opportunity, but unfortunately, it remains open for only a short duration. We must seize it within that time frame, after which the same window may be closed to someone else. We are not welcome there. In fact, we are told it is utterly wrong.

The protagonist in this film had a healthy attraction to girls during his adolescent years. Perhaps due to his ambition to improve his economic situation or establish his career, romantic relationships were set aside. He dedicated all his efforts to advancing in his career and social standing. Life moved on around him. 

He suddenly cannot return to the dating scene years later and pick up where he left off, pursuing the same adolescent girl he had once been interested in. This is entirely wrong. The protagonist discovered this the hard way. As time passed, along with empowerment and education, things changed. 

One will be in big trouble if they don't act their age. Realise your age and realise that some kind of decorum is expected of you.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

Against the tide?

Vijay 69 (Hindi, 2024)

Director: Akshay Roy

To be sure, there is another movie called Thalapathy 69. That is an untitled, yet-to-be-released 69th film by Tamil movie star Vijay. This 69th venture would be his last, as he has embarked on a full-time career in Tamil Nadu politics.

This is a motivational movie aimed not only at senior citizens but also at the rest of society. 

I vividly remember my father chatting with his friends when I was probably 15. Their common friend had died suddenly after an apparent heart attack. After the expected condolences and the sombre tone of the conversation, somebody cut in to say, "... but he is 54 and is due to retire next year!". It was then perfectly normal for someone past 50 to die. See how things have changed in 40-over years.

Recently, a dear friend, aged 63, succumbed to a coronary event. This happened even when being under the keen watch of a cardiologist. His friends had this say, "63 is not the age to die. He went off too soon."

How much has changed in 45 years? Malaysians have increased their life expectancy and are in better health than the previous generations. Naturally, when they retire from their jobs, anywhere between 55 and 60, they feel their wings have been clipped. Unlike their fathers, who wait for Lord Yama to come a-calling anytime after retirement, they think they have much wisdom and energy to impart to the generation after them. Unfortunately, their downlines are not looking at them as hindrances. The young ones want to prove their worth on their own terms. They want the oldies to take a bow. It is not they are annoyed with them or do not like them hanging around. The elders have their uses, but telling the next generation what to do is not one of them. Things have changed since the time their fathers learnt things.

Hence, the oldies are left to their cocoon, perhaps feeling worthless. Only so much can one interact with their respective better (or other) halves. The desire to fulfil unachieved ambitions or the need to leave a legacy soon pops up. They want to do so much. They think they have so much juice, but everyone around them thinks otherwise. At one point, the senior starts thinking about whether the others are gaslighting him. They would quote this person or that person who dropped dead like a swatted fly. The aura would be created for oldies to be convinced they must sit still at home, waiting to be engulfed by the flames of time.

Against this tide, a small group of madmen arises against the negativities to prove something to themselves. This is the story of Vijay Matthew, a foul-mouth 69-year-old small-time swimming instructor who had just lost his wife to cancer. Still reeling from failing to clinch the gold medal at the national swimming days in his young days, he is a man on a mission. He wants to complete a triathlon at the age of 69. This self-motivating comedic sketch is a joy to watch. Vijay is played by Bollywood veteran Anupam Kher.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

Something to talk about when I am old and grey.

Time is cruel! © DKLA

At the pinnacle of their career, the Beatles must have had an existential crisis. McCartney and Lennon must have wondered how they would be at 64. Their vision of a 64-year old man, from the lenses of a person in the 1960s, must have been quite depressing. With bad teeth, bad eyesight and bald, it must be a picture of melancholy.
 Luckily, growing old in the 21st century is bearable. The 60s is the new 40s. One can still lead a productive life in the senior citizen / geriatric age group provided the bus does not come to pick you up prematurely.

After completing 633 km of cycling from Seoul to Pusan in 5 days, we had a couple days to unwind in Pusan. Immersed in the euphoria of completing our gargantuan task, we thought that our feat must be something that we, the seven of us, would be talking for a long time including reminiscing about it in our twilight years. We would probably be savouring each photo that we took along the way, trying to remember each story attached with it; trying to tell it to anyone who would listen.

At the end of their voyage, if life had been kind, people would have many accomplishments to ponder as their moments in time.

I know a few who talk about a time when they were stoned drunk as their memorable bits to justify their existence. They would brag about their inborn ability to hold their drink and drive home safely with their alcohol levels hitting the ceiling many times over. Or perhaps boast in the glee of a lost weekend of intoxication.
There was once a lady's man who had the charm that would put James Bond to shame. He allegedly had bedded so many women in the prime of his youth. This, he told me unashamedly with pride with a gusto of a record-breaking marathon runner. He even boasted of having two dates on a single night in the same town. Living in the fast lane, walking on eggshells, he ended his night bedding both of them, separately. That must be the zenith of his raison d'être.

Others may find pride in satisfying their gustatory cravings. They claim pride in knowing the tastiest of dishes and culinary servings. They may narrate with passion, their food trails, their exotic spread of palatal teasers and perhaps some unusual delicacies. Well, whatever makes them happy.

I bet these photos may one day carve a smile at the angle of my mouth if ever I were comatose or unarousable.

Serenity max ©FG

Another bridge ©FG

Nature's palette ©FG

Peaceful easy feeling ©FG

Misty taste of Korea ©FG

Shades of blue ©FG

Sunset in Korea ©FG

Picture perfect ©FG

A bike motel ©FG

Busan finishing line ©FG

Our hideout in Busan ©FG

I see you ©FG

Korean garden ©FG

Atop Busan Tower ©FG

Jagalchi Fish Market - can see the original features of the Koreans.©FG

Songdo Beach ©FG

Sunset over at Sangdo ©FG

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

Ageing with Grace

https://mybukz.tumblr.com/post/174902329732/poem-aging-with-grace-by-farouk-gulsa

JUNE 15TH, 2018

WINGSWORLDWEB 

Poem: Aging With Grace by Farouk Gulsara

Photo by Pranav Jain on Unsplash

Ageing with Grace

My mane, my crowning glory,

Once my pride, my joy,

Is now but just a silvery tuft.

My dimples, my charm,

Have lost their twinkle, now just wrinkles.

My charming Bella Donna eyes,

Cataractic, xanthomatous, have lost their glaze.

My neck, so nimble, so supple once,

Now only arthritic, sprouts crackles.

My breasts sprout proud once,

Parturient, now sag, atrophy. The curtain bows.

My female chest so majestic once,

Now left kyphotic and osteoporotic.

My midriff navel tease, sari for cover,

Left now with striae, protuberant and scarred over.

My posterior, an asset, my pride,

Adipose now deposited on both sides.

The thigh, the thunder,

Is flabby without tone, none to wonder.

The feet used to be so petit.

Now their shoes fit Big Foot.

They say it’s worth the goal,

To see one in your own mould,

To deliver, to nurture,

Two seeds for the future.

I shudder, I wonder,

Is it just me, I ponder?

My mind is no more mine,

Which I lost, rearing my kind.

Oh, those lost years,

Now in old folks home. I hold my tears.

My sacrifice, my parenting,

Are they just a passing?

For my benefaction of my gene pool,

I gave my health, my youth, no exception.

Joy and reason of living

Are seeing your offspring growing.

With pride I completed my Dharma,

Hope to escape the cycle of karma. 

FG.

 https://asok22.wixsite.com/real-lesson 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

Aging with Grace...

Look at me,

My mane my crowning glory,

Is wiry silvery tufty.

The charm the dimple,

Has lost its wrinkle, no twinkle.

The eyes which sparkled,

Is cataractic and arched.

The neck so supple,

Used to be so nimble.

The breasts so springy and proud,

Shows its parturient sag.

The female chest so proud,

Kyphotic and osteoporotic.

The naval midriff to exhibit,

Left with striae, protuberant and scarred over. 

Posterior an asset to pride,

Is adiposed with deposition by the side. 

The thigh the thunder,

Is flabby without tone no wonder. 

The feet so petit,

Shoe size big fit.

They say it’s worth it,

To see one in your own mould.

To share, to care,

I shudder to disagree.

My mind is no more mind,

As I lost in rearing my kind. 
Tme has not been kind

As I count my time,

In the old folks home.

Just look at me!-- 

FG.

Forty Portraits in Forty Years

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2014/10/03/magazine/01-brown-sisters-forty-years.html?smid=fb-nytimes&smtyp=cur&bicmp=AD&bicmlukp=WT.mc_id&bicmst=1409232722000&bicmet=1419773522000&_r=1

Photographs by NICHOLAS NIXON

The Brown sisters have been photographed every year since 1975. The latest image in the series is published here for the first time.

.

1975, New Canaan, Conn.

Text by SUSAN MINOT

OCTOBER 3, 2014

Nicholas Nixon was visiting his wife’s family when, “on a whim,” he said, he asked her and her three sisters if he could take their picture. It was summer 1975, and a black-and-white photograph of four young women — elbows casually attenuated, in summer shirts and pants, standing pale and luminous against a velvety background of trees and lawn — was the result. A year later, at the graduation of one of the sisters, while readying a shot of them, he suggested they line up in the same order. After he saw the image, he asked them if they might do it every year. “They seemed O.K. with it,” he said; thus began a project that has spanned almost his whole career. The series, which has been shown around the world over the past four decades, will be on view at the Museum of Modern Art, coinciding with the museum’s publication of the book “The Brown Sisters: Forty Years” in November.

Who are these sisters? We’re never told (though we know their names: from left, Heather, Mimi, Bebe and Laurie; Bebe, of the penetrating gaze, is Nixon’s wife). The human impulse is to look for clues, but soon we dispense with our anthropological scrutiny — Irish? Yankee, quite likely, with their decidedly glamour-neutral attitudes — and our curiosity becomes piqued instead by their undaunted stares. All four sisters almost always look directly at the camera, as if to make contact, even if their gazes are guarded or restrained.

1975, New Canaan, Conn.

1976, Hartford 

1977, Cambridge, Mass. 

1978, Harwich Port, Mass.

1979, Marblehead, Mass.

1980, East Greenwich, R.I. 

1981, Cincinnati 

1982, Ipswich, Mass.

1983, Allston, Mass.

1984, Truro, Mass.

1985, Allston, Mass. 

1986, Cambridge, Mass.

1987, Chatham, Mass. 

1988, Wellesley, Mass.

1989, Cambridge, Mass.

1990, Woodstock, Vt.

1991, Watertown, Mass.

1992, Concord, Mass. 

1993, Boston

1994, Grantham, N.H.

1995, Marblehead, Mass.

1996, Lexington, Mass.

1997, Wellesley Hills, Mass.

1998, Falmouth, Mass.

1999, Brookline, Mass.

2000, Eastham, Mass. 

2001, Brewster, Mass.

2002, Marblehead, Mass.

2003, Ipswich, Mass.

2004, Cataumet, Mass. 

2005, Cataumet, Mass.

2006, Wellesley, Mass.

2007, Cataumet, Mass.

2008, Dallas

2009, Truro, Mass. 

2010, Truro, Mass.

2011, Truro, Mass.

2012, Boston

2013, Truro, Mass.

2014, Wellfleet, Mass.

Whenever a woman is photographed, the issue of her vanity is inevitably raised, but Nixon has finessed this with his choice of natural light, casual manner and unfussy preparation. The sisters never discuss what they are going to wear. Bebe Nixon says simply: “We just wear what we feel like wearing that day.”

Throughout this series, we watch these women age, undergoing life’s most humbling experience. While many of us can, when pressed, name things we are grateful to Time for bestowing upon us, the lines bracketing our mouths and the loosening of our skin are not among them. So while a part of the spirit sinks at the slow appearance of these women’s jowls, another part is lifted: They are not undone by it. We detect more sorrow, perhaps, in the eyes, more weight in the once-fresh brows. But the more we study the images, the more we see that aging does not define these women. Even as the images tell us, in no uncertain terms, that this is what it looks like to grow old, this is the irrefutable truth, we also learn: This is what endurance looks like.

It is the endurance of sisterhood in particular. Nixon, who grew up a single child, says he has always been particularly intrigued by the sisterly unit, and it shows in these images. With each passing year, the sisters seem to present more of a united front. Earlier assertions of their individuality — the arms folded across the chest, the standing apart — give way to a literal leaning on one another, as if independence is no longer such a concern. We see what goes on between the sisters in their bodies, particularly their limbs. A hand clasps a sister’s waist, arms embrace arms or are slung in casual solidarity over a shoulder. A palm steadies another’s neck, reassuring. The cumulative effect is dizzying and powerful. When 36 prints were exhibited in a gallery in Granada, Spain, viewers openly wept.

1981, Cincinnati

1999, Brookline, Mass.

The deepening of the sisters’ relationships extends to the one with Nixon. Each sister has always had the opportunity to weigh in on the annual selection of which shot would represent that year, but in the past 10 years, the process has become much more collaborative. Once, when the sisters were unanimous in a choice that wasn’t the same as Nixon’s, he bowed to their wish. “I have to be fair here,” he said. When his own shadow first appears, falling across the faces — in ’81, ’83 and ’84 — alongside the square of his 8-by-10 camera, you can feel him angling to join in, to be part of the group himself. But in later years, the collaborative bond between him and his subjects shows. The women’s eyes now seem to regard the photographer with a glow of trust and sisterly affection. “We’ve gotten close,” Nixon acknowledges.

As we come to the last pictures, we feel the final inevitability that, as Nixon says, “Everyone won’t be here forever.” The implication hovers in the darkening of the palette and in the figures drawing together, huddling as if to stay afloat. To watch a person change over time can trick us into thinking we share an intimacy, and yet somehow we don’t believe that these poses and expressions are the final reflection of the Brown sisters. The sisters allow us to observe them, but we are not allowed in. The reluctance shows particularly in the early pictures: the wary lowered brow, the pressed line of a mouth. Sometimes a body’s stance or the angle of the jaw is downright grudging. These subjects are not after attention, a rare quality in this age when everyone is not only a photographer but often his own favorite subject. In this, Nixon has pulled off a paradox: The creation of photographs in which privacy is also the subject. The sisters’ privacy has remained of utmost concern to the artist, and it shows in the work. Year after year, up to the last stunning shot with its triumphant shadowy mood, their faces and stances say, Yes, we will give you our image, but nothing else.

2014, Wellfleet, Mass. The latest portrait in this series, published here for the first time.

Nicholas Nixon is a photographer whose work is in the collections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Modern Art, among many others.
Susan Minot is a novelist and short-story writer.

All photographs by Nicholas Nixon/Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco and Pace/MacGill Gallery, New York.
Digital design: Rodrigo De Benito Sanz. Photo editor: Joanna Milter.