I was with my mother at a literary event, she'd been invited to read some of her poems there and I just accompanied her like the good daughter (to be read as photographer) I am. There I met this old lady who got me thinking about things I'd rather barf than think about. The real stuff, you know.
She was a reputed poetess herself but had been at the event to accompany her husband. Turns out the couple were really into Hindi literature. We were all required to stay in the dormitory provided, so naturally everyone had the time to talk to everyone. I think I spent a maximum of fifteen minutes talking to her, but those few minutes were really the highlight of the entire event for me.
She was simple; white hair, plain khadi saree, lying in her bed, too old and in pain to be moving around freely. We started talking because of my mother's god-level ability to strike up a conversation with literally anyone. Literary events like this one are her expertise for a reason.
The reason that coaxed me into talking to the old lady was for we were kind of same. The general public at the event was of my mother's age, old but young enough to not be called old. अधेड़ उम्र is the word for it. I was the only Gen-Z there and the lady was the only Gen-X there. Naturally, we clicked.
The moment I started talking to her, I knew I'd learn something. About life, people, literature, I wasn't certain. But I knew I'd learn and learn I did. We were similar, way more similar than I'd have thought in the beginning. Our favourite subject in school was maths, we had a mutual understanding that this was enough of a reason for us to be superior than others.
We talked about our interests, ambitions; weird talking about ambitions with an old lady, yes, but that, amongst some other things, made me write the article you're reading. We talked, albeit for a short time but one thing just stuck with me from that conversation.
She talked about how at every party she attended, be it the farewell of her or her BA, she made sure everyone at the party was tended to. How she'd talk to everyone, knew everyone, made everyone feel included and I couldn't help but think that she's still doing the same. Making everyone feel included, and yet no one was doing the same for her.
Apart from the snippets of conversations she had with the women in the dormitory, and the occasional banter with her husband, I didn't see anyone initiating a conversation with her. Making her feel included. Maybe that was why I was so comfortable with her even though I hate talking to strangers.
I thought about a million things when I noticed her interactions for the rest of the day. I thought about how old habits die hard, how people can be mean without knowing, how people just get ignored and are okay with it. I thought about how much of me, as a person, I see in the old lady and how much that thought disturbs me.
Her friends from school aren't in contact with her anymore. No one remembers how she went out of her way to help them, to talk to them. And that fact was enough for me to learn something about perspectives. How a group of people might mean everything to you but you might just be a face in the crowd for them. Your efforts may be praised by some but chances are, you'd be ignored by most.
Another speaker at the event was telling her story to the organisor there and I happened to eavesdrop. She talked about how her house in Ahemdabad was being captured illegally by some people because the owner, her brother and his wife, died during Covid. How she had to live in an ashram for over two years now, the ashram people just counting down her days in the world.
This makes everyone think, I'm sure. People in one's life play such an important role, more than you'd give them the credit to. I hate humans and am one of those who believe that people don't matter when you're determined to achieve something. But real life stories like these make me doubt because these women must've also felt invincible in their glory days yet look where that got them, no?
No. Again, this is about perspectives and people. To me, both of these women seem unsuccessful, both in life and people. They seem like they didn't get what they deserved for the efforts they put in their lives and the people in them. But if you asked them, they think the complete opposite of it.
When the organisor and my mother symphathized with the two women respectively, their answer was almost the same. "दया चाहिए होती तो अपनी चिता में जाती, यहाँ तो अपने हक का साहित्य सुनने और सुनाने आईं हूं।"
See? Perspectives and people.
Long story short, real life confrontations like these happen with everyone. And at some point, everyone is bound to question their future given some person's experience. But, from what I learned from the old lady, what really matters is your own opinion of yourself and how much you value and respect your presence and time.
Our future depends on what we desire and how far we're willing to go for it but how we grow old depends on how we live in the present and how much importance we give to our life, instead of the people in it.
So, let's grow old together and treat ourselves right, yeah?
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