Musings of Aunty on Why Ageing Isn't All That Bad

I’m not going to perpetuate the lie that the three-fourths of a century that I’ve just slid into, is nothing more than just a number. It’s NOT! Granted, I’m considered “fortunate” to have made it this far and for which, I am genuinely grateful to the Powers-That-Be.

At 50, one gets squirmy, but the inevitable seems yet, afar. But at 75, every extra year is a bonus, and this one is getting a little too close for comfort.

Although, I can certainly pretend to embrace the ageing process and its accompanying unnerving package: dull taste buds; sluggish digestion; wrinkles; white, wispy, and wiry hair; unsupportive legs; buckling knees; interrupted sleep; itchy skin; loose teeth; bleeding gums; aches and pains; dimming eyesight; impaired hearing; and a foggy memory (just to name a few!).

The wisdom accumulated over decades seems to count for little to youngsters or for crossing the death-defying Sukhumvit, or treasure-hunting through the ever-expanding supermarkets. Online shopping remains a resounding NO-can-do for me.

But there are scarier possibilities, ones that threaten to erode what little self-respect remains: becoming entirely dependent on another for basic daily needs, and, worse still, reaching a point where familiar faces no longer come with familiar names.

Nonetheless, no matter how mediocre our lives may have been, we nurse a desire to live beyond our physical selves, through our children and their children’s children by leaving a memorable legacy.

But with no remarkable accomplishments à la Florence Nightingale or Marie Curie, there’s zero notable posthumous footprints. But then again, what is legacy, if not the ego trying to last beyond its mortal existence; after which it really matters not how one is remembered, whether fondly or vilely.

Would I, could I, have done things differently I don’t know, ‘cause there’s no rewind button to life; it moves onward and forward.

To be fair, everybody does their very best, given their age and circumstances, and this, under extreme duress to stay within the society’s mold expected from you as daughter, as sister, wife, mum, mum-in-law, or nanee/dadee.

However, in all sincerity, even the best of us cannot appease everyone. Even Maa Sita failed! Also, at the end of the day, what’s done is done and one is answerable only to oneself and to the Maker.

There’s a dawning of a mental maturity, bringing with it a gentle acceptance and appreciation of oneself, including glaring flaws, grave blunders made along the way, and the inevitable ones I’ll commit as long as there’s breath.

The years of youth and middle age full of vitality and enthusiasm which should have been for experiencing a life stretching ahead; being newlywed, first-time parents, making a place into a home; were unfortunately, spent walking on eggshells, worrying about being “proper” and chasing one’s own tail to become a “somebody”.

Meanwhile, life whizzed by in a blur and all the small miracles that constitute life went by unseen and unappreciated.

So, from now, I’ll gaze out at the polluted and hazy skyline, without looking at the time and take in the roar of the traffic merge with the aliveness of the surroundings.

However, despite making it this far, the singular purpose of any one life, whether my own, my parents, my kith and kin, my offspring, or even the world at large, remains a enigma.

Nothing adds up; nothing makes sense; and yet it does. Were we put here just to entertain the Maker with our tears, laughter, and foolish ego?

Perhaps, this is a universal and timeless paradox that’ll forever remain unfathomable!