I am 74. Agreed, I am in the evening of my life and I should prepare myself for that ‘eventual’ flight or plight (pun intended please). But I am at a loss why people around scare me over it, off and on, and want me to quicken drafting my exit plans? Every other post that I get nowadays from my peers, contemporaries, known and unknown well-wishers caution me (frighten me, rather) to be ready for that final call, to board the vehicle to that ‘unknown destination’. Even my otherwise sober evening walk friend (himself 76) warns me that after 70, it is ‘bonus’. Why? What if I outlive all those around, who are too ‘concerned’ about me?

And then, I am updated 24/7 by my trusted social media contacts why those who are 70-plus should always not be ignorant of a possible ‘knock’ from Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s, lurking around the house corners. Then a close relation cautions me not to bolt from inside while in the rest room (Thank God, no one said keep the door open or even remove the door altogether to be on the safest side while bathing). And that I should put on my clothes only sitting. That I should sip water from the tumbler cautiously, one gulp an hour, for keeping the risks associated with speedy consumption at bay.

But why do you all pound me with your dos and dont’s when I have never complained about any discomfort? Let me live on my own till ‘that’ moment arrives. Why do you push me into that ‘hellhole’ (word courtesy, recent outburst of Uncle Sam against China and India) before I am due? I recall when our former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi promised the nation in 1990 itself that he would take us all to the 21st century, some witty Opposition leader quipping why he should take us there when it would come on its own. I also ask all those who bulldoze me with ‘beware’ premonitions, why do you advance my ‘moment’?

My family lawyer reminds me about the pending issue of drafting of my will (final testament). To silence him, I paid him the charges upfront to keep him in good humour. Even my family doctor, who is of my age, counsels me to avoid going out unnecessarily except walking to his clinic to settle the monthly routine telephonic consultancy bills. To top all this torture, my family priest reminds my son to keep him informed of my welfare from time to time (rather about my ‘continuance of living’ or ‘otherwise’), ‘in the priest’s own interests’.

The other day when I ‘walked’ merrily into my regular pharmacist’s shop, he conveyed he was now selling ‘extra large size adult diapers’, and also ‘most ultramodern user-friendly’ walking sticks’ that would alert my wife if at all I fall anywhere in my own house’, if I need them anytime in future. It is like those life insurance agents canvassing business, putting fear into us for no reason when we are in the prime of our lives.

Tired of these innuendos, whenever I switch on the TV, someone sermons me why should I not waste the remainder of my life in earthly material pursuits and why I should get ready for that one and final last journey. Oh! My God! I never told you I am tired of living or hurrying my ‘leaving’. Allow me to live till it is time set for me on this planet. Let whatever wants to come, arrive. Why do you rush me through my ‘inevitable’ round, before time?

Thank God, I am not a celebrity or even remotely known outside my immediate neighbourhood. Otherwise, media would have readied my swansong and anthem, not to lag behind in the race, in declaring that they are the ‘me-first’ to report. Let me rest in peace in my swinging chair for this evening, now. I beg all ‘those’ to spare me for now.

pushpasaran@yahoo.co.in