Anitcipatory Retirement Blues

What can I say, here I was, walking the air nicely like the cartoon network character I talk about when I came upon this post and plummetted downwards AAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE.  I am totally freaked out – am reminded of ex’s caustic remark when I was home for a long period on maternity leave.  He told me ever so sweetly “Get yourself a job – any job.  Dammit I’ll pay your employer salary to keep you busy”.  All I did was clean his cupboard and give away all his old clothes.  Oh yeah, I also fumigated the entire house, cleaned the kitchen etc etc.  The thing is – I’ve got to keep busy.  I can not sit and do nothing at a stretch.  It makes me bitchy and temperamental.  I also like earning money (who doesnt heh!) and being independent. 

I think that this so-called retirement concept is total bullshit.  A mother never retires and neither does a housewife – and they do more laborious stuff than a normal office worker.  Even actors dont retire, they become Moms and Dads and such like stuff.  So why should we? 

In our culture, age is respected.  Greying hair and daughter in laws/grandchildren give us the aura of wisdom (never mind if we colour our hair and go ahead and blog about boobs and wrestling heh!) I feel that we should be given a chance to work until we are ready to call quits.  Of course I have no retirement plans or funds (I never plan) though I have a vague idea of packing bags and baggage and moving to Punjab or Kasauli or someplace cheaper and more friendly than the NCR.

I have seen how the elderly live in the NCR.  Its a lonely life and its boring.  Get up early, go for a walk, bring milk for the family.  Then go to the temple, spend time there, come back with vegetables from the vendor.  Then sit and read the newspaper, watch television, while away time.  Then its lunch.  After lunch, take a nap, wake up and spend time with grandchildren (if the grandchild is in the mood to spend time with you), then evening walk in the park, come back home.  More television and then sleep.  I guess it would kill me, if retirement did not.  I think life in a smaller town or a village would be better – where life is slow and people are more approachable.

I am not even talking about money – I have this belief that if you are educated, you can look after your own needs.  No one ever could make enough to fulfill the greeds any way – so why get into that.  It is things like the fear of being redundant, being irrelevant and lonely that are scaring me.  For many years, I have been at the helm, both at office and at home and this is a feeling that is new to me.

I would welcome inputs from others reading this blog …… what does one do when your employer thinks that you are old and do not have to work, and your family has grown up and does not need you?  How is one to cope with being sidelined after being on centrestage for such a long time?

Growing old is mandatory, growing up …. optional

So another year gone by, and another set of wrinkles to contend with …. sigh!!! The sad part is that the inner me simply refuses to believe that I have grown old become middle aged. Dammit, I refuse to grow old gracefully how so ever much my sons and dil would like me to act my age. I do not know how women my age are supposed to act like – so I guess we have a big big problem. I can not relate to saas bahu serials or the Aastha Chanel. News is okay sometimes … I like watching WWE and ogling at chocolate boy heroes. The only time I am reminded of the fact that I’ll never see 45 again is when my darling boys remind me of it – spoil sports. Cant imagine why I carried them for 9 months each, and then toilet trained them. Should have left them to rot in their soiled diapers.

I dont mind growing old – as if I’ll stop ageing if I mind heh? In my mind’s eye I still look somewhere around 25, so I get a shock when I see my photos. It is like OMG – I cant believe this is me. I guess I better start accepting that this is what I look like, and get it over with. But I still have a lot of life left in me. So I cant sit tamely and embroider or make achars or do whatever women my age are supposed to do.

What is with every one in this youth centric world? Just because a woman reaches a certain age, they start acting as though she can not exert herself or even look after her self outside the kitchen. I went into the office loo and as soon as I locked the door, the darn handle came off in my hand. So I did what any sensible person in my position would do … I finished my business, and then tried to re-attach the handle so that I could walk out. No such luck. So I rang up the housekeeper and explained my predicament. Once he understood what had happened, he was much amused and told me to stay put while he unscrewed the lock. I waited for about 5 minutes and then rang him up again. …….

Me : Sumerji, kya hua

Him : Madamjee, hum ladeej bathroom ke bahar hi hain. Abhi wait kariye (accompanied by many male giggles)

Shit, I wonder, how many people are outside – dont they have work to do???

Well the tone of his voice was so irritating that I took matters in my own hand. I opened the window and tried to climb out into the balcony. As luck would have it, my shoe fell off my foot inside the bathroom. I was standing in the window sill trying to decide whether to jump out regardless … or jump back into the bathroom barefoot (horrors!!!) when the lock got unscrewed and door opened. The man walks in (he is older than me by at least two years) and starts scolding me “Aap ladeej log najuk hote ho. Aap ko is umar mein aise kaam nahin karne chahiye. Your bones will crack or you will hurt yourself somehow!!!” The Haryanavi MCP to the core!! I somehow manage to smile, hop in on one foot, quickly slip the other into the darn shoe and walk out thanking him with poor grace.

Excuse me, I am not NAJUK. I grew up with a whole lot of brothers, real and cousin, and was known to terrorise the entire lot of them and have defeated them many times in boyish games. That was then and this is now I guess …

I can soooo empathise with this lovely quote:

“I refuse to admit I’m more than fifty-two, even if that does make my sons illegitimate” Nancy Astor

Party Time

Last Wednesday there was a party at the boss’s house (palace). Ever wonder why official parties are so …… painful???? You have this classy venue, beautifully decorated, exotic cuisine, expensive booze, but one really has to be soooo prim and propah!!!!!

His Highness and his family were being so nice and gracious doing the rounds. Once I had met the guests I knew, I settled down to my favorite pastime, drinking and watching others. It is such fun.

Friends of His Highness and family were keeping to their sorts (rich and famous) the women checking out every one else’s clothes and jewellery, men checking out every woman’s figure……the union leaders wolfing down the food and drinks as though they had been starving for the last millennium. The lower rung employees happily getting drunk stationed either near the bar or the loo. Then there is us ::::: “the inner circle” or “chamchas”, depending on whether we are in earshot or out of it. We smiled our hellojis and namasteys cordially and then hung around with each other politely. We definitely could not get happily drunk, we certainly did not want to talk shop – and we have precious little else in common. I got rid of them soon and joined Kid#2 and D.I.L.

Of course Kid#2 had got us a lovely table close to the bar. It really is an art There we proceeded to drink seriously. I kid you not, since the Angel of Joy could not be everywhere, God gave us booze. 3 glasses of wine and D.I.L. started missing her husband aka Kid#1. She got emotional and sleepy (don’t ask me how she managed to do that) and had to be dropped home. Kid#2 took her home and I managed to get myself 2 LITs and a whole lot of snacks…….

Of course after all that I needed to visit the washroom. Since I know the palace very well, I walked inside hoping to find an unoccupied loo. No such luck. So I sat down on a sofa in one of the rooms waiting for the loo door to open. I was quite happy, I had my glass in my hand and was watching the party from the French windows and the loo opened and out came one very senior person I know accompanied by his subordinate’s wife. I think for me the party began right then!!!! Till then it was an official do in which I had to be present. I gave them a happy drunk smile, and they smiled guiltily hoping that what I had seen had not registered. So I spared them further embarrassment and rushed into the washroom and came out – finished my LIT. I swear to God till then I was just buzzing. Then I got rollickingly drunk – and it was not my fault. It was the fault of my imagination and the couple that I had witnessed.

By the time Kid#2 came back to the party, I think I could not even walk straight. He had dinner and I had an Irish Coffee. It was a miracle that I could walk straight, and wish the royalty goodnight and thank them for the wonderful party. We were served cigars at the party and we smuggled some home with us. Once home, I let my hair down lit a cigar and started singing “Mauja hi mauja” and doing bhangra in the front yard. Poor Kid#2, he was so annoyed!!!! Two drunk women is a bit much to handle for him. Aaaah kiddo, you’ll learn. Consider this good practice for the rest of your life.