Second Innings
Senior citizens of Kolkata are finding love, getting married and starting new relationships in their golden years
The phone rings. Ratish Bhattacharya fixes his hearing aid firmly, his anticipation evident. The 93-year-old, who finds it hard to follow conversations even while wearing his aid, is looking forward to a “hello” from a female voice. A “hello” that can light up the creases of his aged features. A bit nervous, but very amused, he grins and even blushes a little as he gets ready to quote a favourite poet of his youth, Robert Browning: “Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be.”
Ratish is just one of the many elderly folk who are ready to start a second innings with a new companion. Thikana Shimla (or Address Shimla), originally a residential club and hospice for senior citizens near Kolkata, has emerged as a new kind of matchmaker and is bringing together lonely hearts, age 50 years and over. The name is a tribute to the favourite romantic retreat for couples in Bengal since the 19th century, and the organisation had 50 seniors registering with them within a month of kicking off the special service. In December last year, it held a senior citizen’s matrimonial meet in Kolkata, a first for the city.
WHAT SENIORS WANT
It’s a novel form of matchmaking, but not completely new, says Amitava De Sarkar, the man who started Thikana Shimla. He got the idea from Natubhai Patel, who runs a similar organisation, Vina Mulya Amulya Seva, in Ahmedabad. “When I arranged social gatherings for senior citizens, I saw them completely charged,” he recalls. “Many
of them felt the need for a friend or a companion of the opposite sex and coaxed me into organising more events where they would get the chance to mingle.” Women registering with him typically look for men who are “understanding, caring, positive-minded, with active grey cells”, he says. Men mostly seek dignified, decent women, who will cater to their physical needs. “One application, by a 93-year-old man, mentioned that he was interested in sex,” says De Sarkar, who is busy these days organising trips for elderly couples to the low-lying islands skirting the Bay of Bengal, the Sunderbans.
I DESERVE HAPPINESS
Eighty-two-year-old widower Nikhil Chandra Dutta, who keeps himself active by hitting the gym or swimming or bonding with his friends over endless cuppas of tea, says he feels his age when he sits at the dinner table alone. His daughter Uma, a software professional who is required to work long hours, says that his solitude distresses her too. Dutta’s wife, Manjula, his companion for 49 years, died when the couple were only a few months away from celebrating their golden anniversary. Three years have passed, and Dutta says he misses the meticulousness with which she would take care of him: reminding him where he had put this or that, giving him his eye drops, or cueing him whenever he forgot names, faces or appointments. He also missed having a friend he could share his innermost secrets, worries and anxieties with, but above everything else, he needed someone who would be a patient listener, unlike children, who have no time for aged parents.
Then, Dutta chanced upon an organisation arranging a ‘matrimonial meet’ in the city to help elderly singles find soulmates. Dressed in his best suit, he stepped out on a Sunday afternoon to find a woman who could be his friend, and if destiny would have it, perhaps even his wife. One who would share his wanderlust, ready with a rucksack. Prospective mates might find it difficult to keep pace with Nikhil’s passions—from popular science to taking pictures to performing informal magic shows for children and even fishing—but he says he’ll be besotted if his lady love can speak German. He says he hasn’t spoken the language in a long time, and looks forward to saying “Ich liebe dich (I love you)”, over a candle-lit dinner. “My mother gave him a good life and I will be happy if he again finds someone who makes him happy,” says Uma.
Many elderly folk suffer from loneliness. The reasons are varied—some have lost their spouses to old age and found no room in their children’s busy lives, while others might not have been married to begin with. Many speak of the need for a companion, to fill the emotional, intellectual and physical void. Some need security. “Being single in a small town is not easy,” says fifty-something Madhabi Mitra. “My daughters are married, and I am a grandma, yet I suffered leering and unwanted advances.” Her daughters and sons-in-law insisted that she marry again. With their help, she found a new partner, marrying 64-year-old Purnendu, after a few months of courtship.
Jayasree Mukherjee, 67, on the other hand, has fought personal battles for 36 long years, which included a troubled marriage, a hostile husband and in-laws, and the task of bringing up her only child. She now wants to take it easy. “A lot of men want to be ‘friendly’, but I know what their intentions are,” she says. “If I choose someone, it will be a pragmatic choice, where both economy and emotion will come into play.” Her first priority is that her future companion be of sound health: “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life carting my man in and out of hospitals. If I get married again, it will be because I want to be happy and pass the last leg of my life in peace.” Fiercely independent, she will also expect her man to appreciate and respect her freedom.
RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
“I am a romantic at heart. And falling in love is a wonderful experience,” says sixty-something Bina Bhattacharjee. But that doesn’t mean throwing caution to the wind. “I cannot be impulsive or rash at my age,” she adds. “I would rather be patient for that one ‘Mr Right’.” She’s not wrong. There have
been cases of women being dumped after a few dating sessions. “When a 60-plus woman is looking for a relationship, the first thing I have to ensure is security,” says De Sarkar. That’s why the CVs of female members of his organisation do not carry contact numbers or addresses. There are other dos and don’ts as well. Anyone interested in seeing a CV has to contact De Sarkar. And the whole exercise of dating and mingling happens only if the other party takes a similar interest. De Sarkar keeps regular contact with female applicants and a tab on how the men behave with them. The rules forbid one from taking a date home and straight to the bedroom. “The sanctity of the home needs to be maintained,” De Sarkar keeps telling them. He also ensures that a man transfers a good amount of money to the account of his love interest. “That way, he’ll think twice before deserting her after a physical relationship,” he says.
AND LOVE BLOOMS
Despite scepticism, fear of societal reaction and inhibitions, some relationships are blossoming. Purnendu and Madhabi first met at a railway station in Chinsurah, 39 kilometres from Kolkata. Purnendu had a bad tummy that day, but did not want to skip the first meeting. “I told Madhabi over the phone that I was unwell, and she cooked rice with poppy seeds for me, which is good for the stomach. I knew at that moment that Madhabi was the one for me. I was struck by her caring nature,” Purnendu recalls. Like love-struck newlyweds, the two can be seen at the various lovers’ joints in the city, walking hand-in-hand on scenic tracks along the Ganga.
De Sarkar is planning to project the Mitra couple as a success story for those who are dithering over taking the plunge. “My friends keep teasing me. They ask if I have found a bride for myself,” Dutta says. “I tell them that while I can think of marriage at this age, they will need to get their dentures fixed even to savour my wedding meal.” Jayasree apprehends that some initial resistance might come from her son, but she is confident that the organisation will hold counselling sessions to win over sceptical family members.
Ratish Bhattacharya’s grandchildren are married and settled in life. If the grand old man of 93 years desires an educated, cultured and attractive companion, there’s no harm. Ratish sees no wrong in flaunting a stick in one hand and arm candy on the other. He’s going to script a new story—life begins at 90.
It’s the festival season. The city is awash with lights. Jayasree has hit the streets, alone. The parade of couples, snugly holding onto each other, makes her slightly sad. The corner of her eyes moisten, the pangs of loneliness gnaw at her heart. This time of the season would have been all the merrier had she found her companion. As she stands before the altar of Jesus in St Paul’s cathedral, she mumbles one wish: no more lonely Christmases from next year on.