A PERSONAL MEMOIR

A PERSONAL MEMOIR

How did I become a diarist? I guess it was in my genes! My grandfather had been in British colonial service, and we had a whole cupboard of diaries he had filled. After his time, I still remember my granny urging my dad who held them to destroy the diaries which he did.  What they contained and why they had to be destroyed I will never know! An attractive new diary came to me at the start of a new year, and instinct made me take up maintaining it!

I will begin with an unusual entry in my diary in a July when I was 27: ‘I had a meeting with a stranger this day. I had boarded a train in the railway station in the city of Madras. The train would leave in about 20 minutes. I was in a window seat facing the crowded platform and watched the happenings from where I sat. I did notice the burly man with a caste mark on his forehead seated on a bench on the platform. Suddenly he gets up and walking up to me whispers a question “Are you the son of lawyer JG?” I nod.

He says “The resemblance is striking! I knew your father very well. He was my lawyer. He could’ve mentioned my name to you. I’m Pundit Keshav Lal.”

 I now recalled my father having mentioned to me that Lal was a very good astrologer. I said “I’m glad you remembered my father and spoke to me about him. He had told me about your being an accurate predictor of the future.”

Lal said “Your father helped me recover monies and property from thieving relatives of mine.”

“Are you also travelling by this train?”

“No. I came here to see off a relative. My chauffeur has probably gone for a cup of tea. I was seated there waiting for him. There, I see him coming.”

“Mr.Lal I would like to consult you. I’m now on a business trip prior to travelling to England. I hope to be back in Madras in October when I’ll fix up an appointment and meet you.”

Lal said with a laugh “I would’ve been glad to study your details and talk to you about your future. Unfortunately I’m scheduled to leave this world in August”

Lal appeared healthy and I was sure he would be around in October. He wished me goodbye and left. I had many problems facing me and I thought a consultation with Lal would be worthwhile.’

*

My diary entry of 18^th August reads: ‘I was in Wales with my brother and returned to London this morning. I was startled to read the following obit in the newspaper: “Celebrated astrologer Pundit Keshav Lal passed away in Madras on 16^th August following a stroke he had suffered two days before.” Excellent astrology! Lal had the ability to forecast his end and had the courage to face it!’

*

I go through my diaries and read the following entry:  ‘Today is my 50^th birthday. I have inducted my son into my business. He is more qualified than me, and knowing his business acumen, l am sure our firm will grow and prosper. I have this day received several birthday messages from relatives and friends. There was also a routine message from a life assurance company asking me about taking out insurance on my life. I had already done that, but then I wanted to see how my health fared: I fixed up an appointment with my doctor.’

Entry of 4 days later: ‘Today I got my first intimation of mortality. After tests the doctor says “Your blood sugar is very high.”

I said “That means I’ve diabetes.”

He nods and says “It’s a lifestyle disease. Our bodies aren’t designed for modern life. We’re more suited to the ancestral environment.”

My having diabetes saddened me, and seeing my fallen face he added “Don’t worry too much. You’ll cope with the ailment since all other measurable physical parameters of your body touching on diabetes, are within limits. Regularly take the medicines I prescribe, diet as I suggest, and follow my exercise regimen and you’ll be fine. Remember nobody dies of diabetes.”

I was sceptical and said “It’s a chronic disease which everyone is afraid of.”

“ No need to be. I say again. Nobody dies of diabetes. It’s only the complications that could be fatal.”

His reply didn’t cheer me up a lot, but I have started following the recommended medical advice immediately.’

*

My diary reads: ‘I turned 60 yesterday. My son had arranged a Hindu religious ceremony followed by a feast for the occasion. It was attended by our kinfolk and family friends. Our high priest who presided at the function, became my mentor. He presented me a religious book and advised me to read up on certain scriptures. I have made a start.’

*

As I peruse my diaries, I find I had left several dates incomplete. Then comes this entry: ’I heard that Negi, a long time friend, had passed away in distant New Delhi. I was moved. I knew his wife had predeceased him. His only son had not done well in life. I spoke to his son on the phone consoling him. Growing old is one of the most difficult facets in the art of living. Apart from physical deterioration, age has a bad reputation: It makes me aware of the approaching end, of diminishing vigour, of infirmities and lack of resistance to physical strain. It is shadowed by the inevitable shrinkage of the circle of friends and acquaintances, and by an increasing knowledge of the tragedies and failures of many in life. We all wish we won’t grow old. But what is the alternative? We must die young! Someone has likened our passage through life to a train journey. We all get off at some point sooner or later. The one who over-lives is left alone’

*

 I see writing my diary had become an irregular habit! Instead of daily entries, there are summaries over dates probably due to laziness or indifference. I resume producing matter from my diary: ‘I have totally withdrawn from the business I had founded as I was tired of running it. Not knowing how to spend time, I have started reading books and playing bridge on the net, besides going for long walks.’

*

My diary reads: ’I have turned 75 this day and it was celebrated with great éclat! My nephew who had come from abroad for the occasion presented me a wrist watch – a famous Swiss make. He said “Uncle, I’ve deliberately chosen a watch with a large dial so that the numerals would be clear to you. I hope you like it.” When I tried it on, I found it was too weighty on my wrist and I had to give it away to someone else on the sly! When we become old, we become thin and fragile! Another problem I faced in aging was the waste of energy in putting on my clothes. For instance I mechanically draw on my vest wrong as I don’t study the sides. They could have colour coded them such that it would be needless for me to repeat donning the garment right a second time. I wished my pyjama top had been supplied with the top button larger than the rest to easily align the sides. It was left to my granddaughter to align the sides correctly almost every time! I had once suggested to a garment seller the possible improvements that could be effected in garments to make them easier for use by old people. I told him “There’re shops selling garments for children and even for pregnant women. A shop to accommodate the needs of geriatric folk would surely pay off.” He had remained unmoved!  

A month later comes this entry: ‘After 75, hydraulics in the body with bladder and kidneys non-co-operating, has made bodily elimination embarrassing and difficult. Besides swallowing pills, I have taken to sitting at home watching TV.’

*

A wayward later entry in diary: ’I just read in an article in the newspaper that as we grow older and senescence sets in, everything will fade like seeing and hearing, but first of all laughter. Luckily I haven’t lost it yet, and with appropriate prostheses all other faculties are in fairly good shape. However I encounter problems with my ancient wisdom and the intelligent gadgets which had come home through my family. I had trouble with my mobile again this day, and my grand-daughter attempts to set it right. I must say that I got partially educated in the use of the phone! I am ashamed of my incompetence with use of household gadgets. I am chided by my granddaughter who says “Gramp you didn’t hit the timer on the microwave” or “Unless you download the APPS you can’t send the reply” or “Unless you close the lid securely, the washing machine won’t start” I have got used to such admonition, and have learnt to live with it! As I age I realise I have become increasingly and embarrassingly irrelevant to a reality I can scarcely comprehend!’

*

Here is the last record from my diary written after I became an octogenarian: ‘I find it too taxing to write the diary and have decided to give it up though it has helped me to pass time. Time pass is definitely difficult while aging as boredom sets in. The German philosopher Martin Heidegger has said boredom is awareness of time passing. One way of tolerating existence is to lose oneself in nostalgia. I often think about the time I was a freelance journalist writing regularly for newspapers/magazines, and of course in literary spaces hosted on the net. I look back on my published books. The hubris in my thinking is due to the kudos some of my writing received, and the few monetary prizes I had won. The thoughts are self-fulfilling. With no friends to move with, I suffer from emotional claustrophobia. I can communicate only with family members who give me daily support, besides the confidence to face the debilities and suffering which threaten a foreshortened future. A last word: What satisfies me is mentally giving thanks to those who walked into my life making it better. I also similarly thank those who walked out of my life and made it amazing! (A bit of aspersion, isn’t it?!) Coming to the end, I quote what someone said who was old and suffering when asked about his health “Very soon you must ask my neighbour!”’  

END