The story of life by
Gaurav
How long will I live? This is a question my 95-year-old
uncle asked me the other day. He still man- ages to walk to the fields, with a
stick, twice a day. He still per- forms his morning pooja. But he eats far too
little; can't hear a word; and feels a lot weaker than before. He will live to
a 100, his son adds. Makes me wonder what would happen to us if we lived that
long.
Does one tire of living,
often ask myself. I have witnessed how fondly my 80-year- old grandmother would
relish her food. And how eager she was about good food. A common thread across
many elders I have known, is the fondness for food. And then the attachment for
tiny material objects; the penchant for hoarding; the adamance about where they
would live; the steadfastness for daily routines; the eagerness for
information, bordering on gossip and so many such little quirks. It would seem
to me that people don't tire of their desires. Not easily.
What if I also became one such elder? Craving chocolate ice
cream at midnight and unwilling to sleep without my favourite pillow? How would
manage to pull through a day without meeting people or having conversations?
How would I stay in a house without a balcony that looks into the sky? Or
without a bird that would chirp in the morning? Or flowers and greens that fill
my yard? Oh, that list is so long. Would not being able to shorten It make my
old age unbearable? What would happen and how would those years be?
I nurture a
romantic notion. Of a tiny house in a small village. With a large yard full of
trees. And a cow in the yard; a tom cat prowling about and a dog at my feet. I imagine
a house in which anyone who wants to come in is welcome. To stay, to eat, to
talk and to lead a simple life of just food, books, music and the charm of the
vast outdoors. A house without locks as it has no hoards. And a life telling
stories to little children. Teaching them some math and literature. And feeding
them all the milk, yogurt and ghee that the cows give. Or is that still too
long a list of desires with too many specifications?
I always argue that old age must involve abdication. Of most
worldly possessions and pleasures. But I do not see examples of that happening
around me. I do not see even the earlier generation giving up worldly possessions.
I mostly see fear, secrecy, bitterness, complaint, and many negative emotions
that hinge on expectations and disappointments. Then I see stinging loneliness.
Even those who have resigned to a quiet life, seem burdened by the lackluster
everyday existence. My plans are dismissed as too surreal when cross checked
against these realities. So here is my list of questions about old age.
Consider them as points to ponder.
First, is there a
point where one stops bothering about income and expense? Will these questions
nag one to death? After retirement, the first 10 years may be spent on trying
to still earn an income; the next 10 may be spent on ensuring expenses are in
line. What after that? Wouldn't there be a situation of lesser expense? Would
one not feel old enough to spend and use the corpus? Should old age always be
spent counting pennies?
Second, would age enable becoming minimalistic? There is so
much one can do without. At some point one must stop acquiring things. Why does
one keep buying and hoarding? Is it a psychological response to feeing lonely?
If needs are limited, expenses are limited, and anxiety about money is also
lesser. What does it take to say no to stuff, and to be con- tent with what is
already there?
Third, why postpone
giving to the day when one is no more? What happens if one systematically gives
away little things at first, and slowly progresses to bigger things? Keep say
30% of your wealth for yourself, and give away all else? Wouldn't that be
enough to see one through? Shouldn't the act of simplifying one's finances
begin soon after retirement and get tighter as years roll?
Fourth, how does one
develop a network that is outside the family and nurture it? Like minded
friends undoubtedly add to the joys of life, especially at old age. But one
must also be in touch with youth. For the sheer energy, freshness, fearlessness
and unbounded joy that children and youth bring, they must be part of an elder's
life. Age bestows perspective and appreciation that enriches the lives of the
young in no small measure. In these days of distant grandchildren, how does one
bring these joys into one's life?
Fifth, how does one deal with limited mobility? Of a life
without travel? Or even the joys of a long walk or trek? How does one reconcile
with the same piece of sky each day? Money can't buy the joys that our own
aging frames cannot enjoy. Is being relegated to passive television and social
media the only solace? Will vicarious pleasure replace real experiences? How
does one cope with the lack of new experiences? Or is that longing also
something to be frowned upon?
Sixth, is there a point when one looks within, becomes
quieter from that introspection, and exhibits gratitude rather than
entitlement? How does that come about? Why is old age filled with noisy
complaints, bitter accusations, and resenting withdrawal when nothing else
works? What does it take for truth about one's mortality to prevail as a
humbling presence? This attitude may not be about money, or is it? Retirement
planning is so overtly focused on adequacy of income and wealth to care about
these questions. When one's immediate family lives too far away, and when one
knows that the loving spouse will also depart one day, how does one pre- pare
for life? How does one minimise the scope of activities to just a few? How does
one allocate money for what matters-relationships, conversations. Or how does
one allocate money for what must be done bequest, charity. And how does one
order one's life to clutch to the last strands of meaningful existence, even as
the body and limbs are winding down. I am keen to know if personal finance
offers any answers.
thank you..!
