Humour, despair and a lot more in nineties

It must have been just by chance that the preceding week, I had an encounter with four sets of nonagenarians in the age bracket of 90 to 95 years. With all of them, it was a one-sided banter in a voice gone timid and feeble. I not only had to listen carefully but also had to assure them that I was genuinely interested in what they told me.

Well, it began with an uncle of mine who retired as a police officer. When I paid him a visit along with my wife, my aunt and he received us in the drawing room, gathering all the strength they seemed to have in being able to stand on their feet, saying in unison,“We haven’t yet grown so old!” followed by a grin on their faces. Uncle being a wonderful story-teller in his hey-days was still the same. But this time he talked only about his making it to the longest jump in a sports event in his village. He talked about many other indulgences, recalling his boyhood, while my aunt kept telling him not to bore us too much.

Though I don’t drink during the day, yet I couldn’t say no to uncle’s offering me a mug of beer, to say cheers with him, with his trembling hands. When we left, the couple seemed to be conveying that we made their day.

The following day, I received a call from retired chief secretary SD Bhambri, 92, for a favour if I could help him deposit his revolver in an armoury. I promised to help when I sensed he wanted to prolong the conversation. On the phone, he continued in a baritone that he did his masters in English way back in 1945. He recalled his competition with his class fellow, “One Miss Aaya!” who he outscored in merit.

We met the next day at a function when he carried a bunch of Mirza Ghalib’s couplets calligraphed by him to be distributed among the audience. I saw him wait till his turn to speak was announced. He slouched in the chair and dozed off, mouth thrown open upward like a child. He then presented the best picture I ever saw of a man looking so lovable.

At the same event I met Kedarnath ‘Kedar’, a noted poet of Chandigarh, who asked me to guess his age. I said that it could be somewhere around 70. Then with a renewed lustre in his eyes and an accentuated, aspirated “Naahinthee-thoo” he floored me.

Another nonagenarian couple we met was in Ratan Chacha and Durga Chachi. This man’s humour never lets you down, nor him, in his near audacious witticisms towards life. He has a near deaf left ear and doesn’t get tired of telling Durga Chachi that it was good that she slept on his left side, thus making it clear to her that he doesn’t give a damn to her nagging. She being a sober woman all her life has heard his stories a million times. The beauty is that she laughs at the same old joke afresh to humour him; so do I. Old people are a delightful company, you see.

SHE BEING A SOBER WOMAN ALL HER LIFE HAS HEARD HIS STORIES A MILLION TIMES. THE BEAUTY IS SHE LAUGHS AT THE SAME OLD JOKE AFRESH TO HUMOUR HIM; SO DO I