"Hmmm... Aren't you going to work today?"
"Errr... It's Sunday."
"I know. But why don't you go to work today?"
"Because it's..."
Okay, you get the drift. This is a typical Sunday conversation between Mom and Dad. They are one of those typical Indian couples where the wife pampers the husband to the point where he can't do anything by himself, and then she complains that he can't do anything by himself. So on Sundays, when the whole world is relaxing, Mom's work doubles. Every half an hour, Dad wants either the newspaper, or a glass of water, or his glasses, or his slippers, or the remote control, and so on. And like all men, he is not equipped to see that all the stuff is right there in front of him.
And so the cycle continues, and so do Mom's brave attempts.
"Hmmm... why don't you go out and do some gardening?"
"It's mid-afternoon. It's hot."
"I know. But why don't you go out and do some gardening?"
"Because it's..."
Dad retired on 30th June after spending his entire working life in the same bank (do people do that anymore?). At times I can't believe my Dad has retired. I feel as if this doesn't make him old, this actually makes me old. Dad can never be old, he's always going to be this energetic guy going on his morning walks, and writing his columns, and gardening, and not to forget driving Mom crazy.
I sent him an sms today. "I'm writing a post on your retirement. Do you remember when you joined the bank?" The reply came in 10 seconds flat. "29 Sep 1973."
Holy cow.
1973. I looked it up. The year of Bobby and Zanjeer and Abhimaan and Anamika. (Yeah, this is how I "look up" things.) That sure was a very long time ago. 36 years straight. In the same bank. And we get restless and demand a long service award after completing two years in a company. How did they do that? How did they not get bored?
In a way, I guess it was because of the frequent transfers he had. There was always something happening. When I think of the frequency with which I was yanked out of one school and placed in another, I wonder how I coped. In the early years, I remember crying. I missed my friends, my teachers, my schools. I would write long letters to Grandpa listing all the things I hated about my new schools. He would, in turn, completely overlook the plot and mark up all the grammatical errors I had made with a a red pen and go through it word by word when I met him during the summer holidays. Sheesh.
And just when my letters would start carrying a little less anguish and a little more acceptance of the new place, school, teachers and friends, Dad's transfer order would arrive. Time to pack up. Time to move on. Time to start afresh.
In hindsight, it wasn't that bad. It taught me a lot of things, the most important one being -- nothing is forever. Perhaps, in a way, that also helped me pack my bags and move to a strange land at the age of 18, all by myself, with not a clue whatsoever of what the future held. It was just a natural progression of the change I was very used to.
But I wonder how Dad will cope with the new change in his life now. How will he take to being at home all day? Maybe he'll just fill the house with plants. Now that he's going to his own "I built it with my own hands" house, this green-fingered artist has the whole backyard as his canvas. Aside from the coconut trees growing there, he also has the bonsais he had made himself (yeah, he literally "made" the bonsais, and some of them are decades old). I remember him instructing the truckwala who ferried our stuff from one city to another, "Bhaiya, mere paudhon ko kuchh nahin hona chahiye. Ho sakey toh ek aadmi ko peechhe baitha do, pakadke rakhega." After we reached the new place, Mom would do a stocktake of how many pieces of cutlery she had lost to said Bhaiya's crazy driving, while Dad would do a close inspection of whether any leaf had changed in colour or direction during the arduous journey.
He sure was as devoted to his plants as he was to his bank. I remember one of those annoying uncles who crack really bad jokes (everyone has one of those, don't they?), "Sir, bank toh aapki doosri biwi hai! Heh heh heh!" while Mom and I rolled our eyes at each other and Dad smiled politely. But I'm glad I got that trait from him. That deep regard for work. I have been ridiculed because I truly deeply believe in 'Work is workship'. I know we don't stay in one company all our lives anymore so the sense of loyalty is different. But I have found a workaround. To shift that sense of loyalty from the organisation or the people, to the work itself. The actual work that you do. No matter who you are, no matter where you are, no matter what you do, and no matter how long you have been doing it. To take something up and do a good job of it. To a certain extent, that actually takes care of all the other negativities at the workplace that bog us down on a daily basis.
So, for someone like Dad (and me too), sitting at home doing nothing is not really an option. It's horrifying, in fact. We get too fidgety. In fact, a month ago he had asked me, "Can you go inside the Internet and find me a retiree-level job?" I like how he talks about "going inside the Internet". To him, the Internet is something that people go into and things come out of, like how last year "worms were coming out of his inbox" (virus attack in his office computer).
So Dad, maybe this could be one of the things for you to do -- go inside the Internet and learn more about it. Forget the retiree-level job. For now at least. Stay at home. But don't drive Mom nuts. The remote control is right there in front of you. Where it always is.
And if I could give you one advice on how to make the best of your retirement, it's this.
Start a blog.
