Srinivasa Ramanujan became a
wizard at 30. Subramania Bharathi was dead
by 39. Dr.Abdul Kalam became known to
the world when he turned 70. TN Seshan
became a phenomenon when he turned 65.
M.K.Gandhi was not even witness to the non-cooperation movement till he
turned 50, and they say he is a great freedom fighter(!!)
Hundreds one can cite, who became
rich and famous when they were just 45 years old on this planet. Hundreds more, as history witnesses each day,
become legends by themselves when they cross 60. That begs the question - has anything ever
been achieved by a homosapien when he just crosses that milestone of 47 years of
age? Neither 46 nor 48, neither old
enough to be counted one among such tribe who have seen the world, nor young
enough to pretend that the world is yet to see his very best? Neither 46, nor 48, but stuck on that deadly numeral 47?
Who cares for a 47 year old? Name
one soul on earth’s 4500 million year history who achieved something
note-worthy just after having been witness to about 1130 full moons. Such tribe can as well
be destined to junk. Such tribe can as well cease to exist for
reasons of their being notoriously not note-worthy. Unfortunately, I now find myself one among
such tribe, and hence my cribbing, till I reach 48, reaching which, I would
discover newer reasons to crib about.
I don’t need the backing of evidence
of history to convince myself about how worthless a 47 year old married Indian can
feel. I can experience the worthlessness
of it all myself day in and day out.
I get into a bus (you all know, I
can’t drive, I love buses and all that bull-****). I envyingly see the lucky 60 pluses being
offered a seat by the gorgeous, young
female species. Life made further miserable by such species addressing
me ‘uncle’… what the hell, do a few grey hairs and a
just-beginning-to-recede-hairline make one an ‘uncle’? Sure enough, the 60 year olds too are
addressed as ‘uncles’ by this tribe but that damning address is at-least
accompanied by the offer of a seat which I am deprived of.
I try to renew a health insurance – the company
guys politely ask me to undergo sundry medical tests, which a 20 year old
doesn’t need to and a 60 year old need not bother to. I think of applying for a new job - you are
rejected because either you are too old or you are too inexperienced to be
classified a veteran with the requisite skills.
I see this inviting ad in the
papers – “Enna Chennai, cycling polama..”
and immediately a dilemma envelops me – would I be able to endure the 20 km
marathon, what with the ticker inside not giving out clear assurances? (again
a 60 year old need not bother or he is cycling in a separate ‘senior citizen’ category where two
miles equal twenty normal miles). I honestly feel decrepit and weak enough
mentally but the railways charge me 100 percent of the fare while the more
boisterous, “The Hindu-letters to the editor” regular 60 year -young fellas
enjoy a 50% rebate for no apparent reason.
I tell my daughter to do something and she
readily refuses. I tell her not to do
something and she readily disobeys. I
have a lurking feeling that this rebellion of my daughter has got more to do
with my 47 years of age than her being 16 years of age. (Who on earth can take
a 47 year old seriously, not even yourself!)
There are a few more uneasy, unpleasant chores
which cannot possibly be conveniently consummated by a 47 year old Indian male,
which a 25 year old would only be too physically and mentally inclined to
venture into and, equally, a 65 year old would not be much bothering about – as
my fellow 47 year olds would concur readily, any night (or any day, if they
have the time, the inclination or the one-upmanship!)
47 is wretched, 47 is dreadful,
47 is misery. 4+ 7=11=2 and this particular
‘two’ just does not tango. This is that
stage in life where one just realizes, albeit a bit late, that the past could
have been more fruitful and purposeful, if only a re-winding option existed in
life. This is that stage in life where
the future looks bleaker and blackier, and the faintest fear of the fast-approaching
end of it all, going by the name ‘death’, just about lurks every day, much to
one’s discomfiture, even for those who don’t dare admit it. This is that stage where one endeavours to
put up a brave face and barks at the world- “I have seen it all” but inside one’s heart all 47 year olds know
that they have not seen what ought to have been really seen and experienced during
the course of their 47 year old sojourn.
This exactly is the stage when, the diabetes and erratic BP
notwithstanding, one puts up a braver face and yells at the world, ‘…but life
begins at 60…’ It might or it might not,
but do you really wish to endure 59 excruciating cycles of 365 days each to
wait for life to begin afresh at 60?.. Uncomfortable questions, I am addressing at
myself…
In Tamil, there is a saying – 40 vayasil nai gunam – meaning you start
exhibiting qualities of a dog when you are 40 and – 60 vayasil pei gunam – meaning you exhibit devilish traits when you
turn 60. There is no mention of the
qualities one would display when he is just mid-way, say 47. It ought to be certainly somewhere midway between a dog and a devil,
both the extremes not very endearing by themselves. Suffice it to say, he would be barking at all
good things in life that still manage to present before himself at this stage and still be demon-enough to envy all those 60
pluses who do not feel shy of being ‘what they want to be, taking things the
way they come and sipping a Bacardi rum…’
To think that I am just 45 days
away from this dreadful mile-stone! I
shudder at the very thought. I can already feel the ugly appendage
developing at my posterior, which would
go by the nomenclature ‘tail’ and two sharp symmetric protrusions on my
forehead which normally adorn the foreheads of a demon… The spirit is willing
but the flesh just does not permit.
Permit relishing being a 47 year old….
