Predeath

Of late, I've started living in mortal dread of death. Well, not death itself, but all that precedes it. Irreversible degenerative afflictions leading to a state of dependency on others, having to leave in a state of unpreparedness, and leaving a dirty footprint, are all the pre-death issues that terrify me more than death itself.

Topping the list is easily the deadly possibility that despite my regular visits to the gym, accompanied by a near obsessive compulsive attention to diet, I'm still scared that one day, I might turn into a vegetable myself. I hate to think that it is within the realm of possibility, even though a glance at the mirror suggests the probability is remote, that I may end up in bed, not being able to move my limbs or worse still, my lips, and be dependent on others to feed, clothe and shave me. Some may think that it's a privilege to be cared for by following generations, but I'd rather my kids went about their business as usual, and washed their kids' asses than mine. And I just can't live with the thought that when it's time to pull the plug, it will be my children who will be faced with the unpleasant task. Hell why put them through this--it's simpler to write down instructions for the doctor myself. What if Euthanasia is not legalised in India by then? Well, if doctors also decide to turn incorruptible at the same time, the simple answer would be to go to a country where it is. So there: my first resolution for the rest of my days is made--the only thing left is to put pen to paper and notarise or otherwise legalise it, before dementia sets in, and I forget.

Which brings me to the wider issue of what a dear friend termed 'preparing for death' during the course of a recent discussion. To many, the notion that one can, or ought to, prepare for this eventuality, much like one prepares for higher studies, marriage, or a child, is absurd. Why, I ask? Is it really that stupid to prepare for the ONE eventuality that is ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN? Why is writing a will not cool, when buying insurance is? It's a bit late now, but had I realised this simple truth earlier, I might even have considered venturing into this potential business--I can even see the brand possibilities for something like 'How to leave with a smile (and without a wallet)'. More I think about it, the more I'm convinced--just consider at a conservative estimate, that two thirds of all who die (and there are around a hundred of them who oblige, every minute), leave behind unaccounted property, bank accounts, pets, and occasionally, mistresses. Doesn't say much about the most intelligent animal on two legs, you'll have to admit, but then until he evolves, one man’s misfortune will continue to be another’s opportunity. So, whether ‘death preparers’ becomes as valid a career option as ‘tax preparer’ or not, I promise to take matters into my hands soon enough, and not be caught on the back foot when the googly is bowled at me.

Finally, I argue, if one has to leave, as everyone must, one day, why raise smoke and noise on the way out? I admit I've dirtied the earth enough with my filthy carbon footprint during my lifetime, and can’t justify leaving a trail after I leave. And though the Hindu system of disposing of their dead is supposed to be ‘hygienic’, it certainly isn’t green. Right from the piles of wood required for the pyre, to the clouds of smoke emitted into the skies, to the ashes that are immersed in rivers, the colour of death is decidedly more grey than green. Which is why I must insist on being pushed gently into an electric crematorium, when it’s time. Having survived numerous shocks in my life, some mild and others not so mild, I daresay I’ll be reasonably prepared for the bigger one, hopefully because it’ll be my last one.

Of suspicious types

It happens. Contrary to what rationality suggests, and what your parents tried to tell you for ages, you tend to fall prey to it. Despite your best efforts to not judge people without full knowledge, you tend to slot them into those who you can trust and those you can’t. “I really like him,” to “This is going to be a disaster,” to “Uh oh, maybe it’ll get better if I continue to smile,” are the instinctive dialogues you have with your judgment as you encounter people everyday. And as Malcolm Gladwell maintains, it all happens in the blink of an eye.

As I grow older and hopefully wiser, I’ve been trying to figure out if this is a carefully learnt and evolved tendency based upon circumstance and an informed understanding of human behaviour, or just plain old shooting from the gut. I have to confess that I’m still largely unsure.

Is there a pattern to my reactions? Are there specific personality types I dislike? Is there something about how people look, what they wear, or what their names are? Or has it something to do with the way they greet me or say their goodbyes that raises my hackles? The answer is: I simply don’t know!

What I can say is that there are certain types that come to mind as I write, that qualify for an instant loss of trust. See if you can make out a pattern here, or identify with any of them from your own experiences.

Those unknowns who send you friend requests on Facebook
Agreed that Fb is a ‘social tool’ and many would like to exploit it to its full, especially as long as it’s free, but this is like accosting strangers on the road and insisting that they shake hands with you, smile, and drive you to their homes to meet their family and friends. Thanks, but no thanks!

Those who drive Wagon-Rs
I’m OK with the snobbery of the glitterati, who are limousine-driven from party to party. I will even stand the brashness of the alpha male who glowers at the lesser mortals from his oversized SUV. What I can’t seem to understand is the person who drives a Wagon-R. I mean, which right-minded member of the human species would drive that, that thing? Resultantly, I rapidly put distance between my car and Wagon-Rs, whenever I chance upon one on the streets.

Those who open their letters with ‘hope this finds you in the best of health and spirits…’
Maybe it was OK once upon a time in the leisurely pen-to-paper era, but today? Whenever I see such an opening, it seems to me a. the writer has too much time b. is waffling till he finds the appropriate words, or worse, c. is completely confused about the effect of booze on health.

Those who drive without shoes, or slippers
It is said that after God made man, he made footwear for woman, not because he wanted her to walk or run, but to use as a tool for preening and self-defence. At least when shoes or chappals are not used for such noble purposes, they ought to be worn while driving. Surprises me how many women fling off their fancy footwear and hit the pedals with their petite, pedicured feet. Trust a woman driving without shoes, sandals or slippers? No way!

Those who call you ji, or sir
Maybe it’s a hangover that persists from the Raj, but to me it’s always a bit demeaning to be called ‘sir’ by other human beings, particularly when they’re old enough to know better. On the other hand, though proponents of tehzeeb might be forgiven for suffixing a ‘ji’ when they address you, the same can’t be said about the sundry telecallers who bugger your existence every waking hour by intruding your private space with a sugar coated ‘ji’. By far the biggest culprits, however, are the overzealous types who simply combine the two and call you ‘sirjee’ to cajole you into agreeing with them!

Those who wear safari suits, or white shoes
This has to be a latent distrust born out of over-exposure to Bollywood and its clichés. It’s not true that the days of the safari-suit villain and the jumping-jackass in pointy-white shoes hero, are gone. You still encounter them in sundry public-sector offices or at fashion-weeks. But boy, will they ever get my sympathies or a lick of my lollipop? Not likely!

Those who yak away at the treadmill
There’s a misapprehension, particularly among women of a certain age and size that chatting while walking or running on the treadmill helps burn calories faster. When specially created and focused glares fail to work, I normally shut my eyes and start running faster, in the equally erroneous belief that the extra release of endorphins will have the miraculous effect of shutting them up.

I knew I was 50 when

The fact that I’m reacting to my 50th birthday that passed away in the last week of November now, is only one symptom of what age does to you. If, indeed this is a ‘golden’ milestone, then surely, there’s more to the sunset than just its colour! At this poignant juncture, which happily coincides with the turn of a calendar year as well, do you remember the brilliant brightness of the day that’s gone past, or build a shiny edifice for the one that’s to follow? Do you sink deep into the darkness that’s about to fall or remember how you lifted yourself from the nightmares you’ve been through?

Whatever one’s style of pontification, one can’t escape certain realisations and truths about life at this point. So, I knew I was 50 when:

1. I didn’t get up on my birthday expecting everyone to be really nice to me just because I happened to be one of the thousands who was born that particular day.
2. I calculated that, being the optimist that I am, I’m still younger than many of my class-fellows from school.
3. I found that I’d started noticing attractive women 35 years or older.
4. My girlfriend started treating me more like a buddy and her kids, like a grand-daddy.
5. ‘Just Do It’ began to sound more like a sexual imperative than a call to good health.
6. I felt convinced that since there was no scientific or for that matter even historical basis for the claim 'naughty at forty' I could seriously have 'naughty at fifty' as my inspiration for the next decade.
7. I finally started treating my wife as my buddy, even though I can no longer eat her ‘mooli-ka-parathas’ because they’re not a patch on my mother’s.
8. I began eating 4 and 6-egg omelettes in a bid to quickly finish the quota destined for me.
9. I stopped answering all texts on occasions like Diwali and Christmas as my contribution to puncturing the self-esteem of those moronic Service Providers.
10. I no longer jumped 2 steps at a time to get to my second-floor bedroom, yet spent double the time walking on the treadmill than the year before.
11. I basically figured out the difference between proteins and carbs, and bad
carbs and worse carbs.
12. I understood that because matter is convertible, I’ll eventually lose weight when I turn into gas, but I’m hoping it won’t be too pungent and obnoxious.
13. My knees started aching after a half-day climb in the hills.
14. My bar was stocked full of the choicest alcohol, yet I couldn't partake any of it for fear of upsetting my gym instructor.
15. I finally got the toned body that I wanted, albeit after a delay of some 25 years, but which nevertheless helps me hide some of them.
16. I started ruffling up my hair and puffing out my chest every time I glanced at my reflection, in a vain attempt to catch my own attention.
17. I began wearing tight jeans, T-shirts and sneakers with a vengeance that surprised even myself.
18. I figured that I could no longer drive non-stop, all day and night, much as I fancied.
19. I started driving slower than usual, persuaded that my car had equal rights to live through its designated life, too.
20. I finally gave up cursing at other drivers on the road mainly because I ran out of creative expletives.
21. I began to agree that the journey was the real thing, and the destination just a brief pause until the next one.
22. I stopped measuring success in rupees and curves, and started focusing on inches and mass instead.
23. I gave up thinking I was brilliant at any one particular thing, but realized I was moderately good at anything I attempted: a sort of all-trades Jackass.
24. I discovered it’s better to build lives than institutions, and if you’re lucky, yours would be included in that process.
25. I came to grips with the idea of enjoying the moment chiefly because I’d forget if today was yesterday or tomorrow.
26. I started fighting for the remote in a bid to spend quality time with myself.
27. I figured that winning the National Lottery would give me considerably less pleasure than spending an evening with Monica Belluci.
28. I started calling up my boys at least once a day, just to chat up about nothing in particular, only to be told that they were busy, and that I would get a call back.
29. I started hating hospitals like the plague, and decided that the gym, though a bit more tiring, is definitely the better place to spend my remaining time in.
30. I grew a deep distrust of doctors in general and slick-looking, glib-talking, hip-shooting, foreign-returned ones working in upscale hospitals (read hotels) in particular.
31. I wrote down a list of some 10 things to do before I get Alzheimer’s, but haven’t been able to locate that sheet of paper since.
32. I lost the taste for management books and instead enjoyed reading Hinduism’s Seven Spiritual Laws.
33. I admitted that focus is a good deal better than multitasking, unless of course, one’s talking about sex.
34. I figured why Somerset Maugham called life a piece of carpet that you unraveled, one thread at a time.
35. I stopped treating ‘uncle’ and ‘aunty’ as bad words.
36. I realised that the number of friends on my Facebook is not likely to cross the average120, so I might as well give up visions of inching close to the number my kids can boast of.
37. I realised that almost always, my emails and texts contain full words and proper grammar and punctuation, but almost never any emoticons.
38. I gave up remote control of my kids’ lives (well, almost!).
39. I could relax in the back seat of my car while my sons took turns driving it.
40. I started believing we should've had more kids if only to fill up all these damned rooms we've built in our house.
41. I figured it's better to be a nail than a hammer, as it's too tiring to keep hitting someone's head beyond a point.
42. I noticed that though I continue to have the recurring dream where I'm running without any clothes on, my speed is considerably slower.
43. I started missing my parents more than ever.
44. The new four-letter words that crept into my vocabulary included ‘life’ and ‘will’.
45. I discovered that gains became more a factor of relationships than financial investment.
46. I realized vision had almost always to be supported not by good sense but by spectacles.
47. I learnt that it’s better to call up friends to express your love before it’s too late, even if it means leaving a message in their voice-mail box.
48. I discovered that there are now too many Namits around, and that hardly does any good for my self-esteem, going forward.
49. I learnt that 50 is just another number, though not quite like 25.
50. I learnt that reaching 50 was easier than writing this piece, and there’s no way I’ll attempt this exercise when I turn 100.