SENIOR CITIZENS

SENIOR CITIZENS 

Short Fiction - A Story 

By 

VIKRAM KARVE 

 

From my Creative Writing Archives: A story I wrote a few years ago

 

“I want to go home!” the father, a redoubtable intrepid tough looking old man, around seventy, shouts emphatically at his son, "I have had a terrible time out here for the last one month that you dumped us here."  

 

“Please Baba. Don’t create a scene,” the son, an effeminate looking man in his mid-forties, says softly.  

 

“What do you mean don’t create a scene?” the old man shouts even louder, waving his walking stick in a menacing manner.

  

“Please calm down! Everyone is looking at us!” an old woman, in her mid-sixties, pleads with her husband.  

 

“Let them look! Let everyone see what an ungrateful son is doing to his poor old parents,” the old man says loudly, looking all around. 

 

“Ungrateful?” the son winces.  

 

“Yes, ungrateful! That’s what you are. We did everything for you; educated you, brought you up. And now you throw us out of our house into this bloody choultry.”  

 

“Choultry! You call this a choultry! Please Baba. This is a luxury township for Senior Citizens,” the son says.  

 

“It’s okay,” the old woman consoles her husband, “we will somehow manage in this Old Age Home.” 

 

“Mama, please!” the son implores in exasperation, “How many times have I told you. This is not an Old Age Home. It’s such a beautiful exclusive township for Senior Citizens to enjoy a happy and active life. And I’ve bought you a premium cottage – the best available here.”  

 

The mother looks at her son, and then at her husband, trapped between the two, not knowing what to say as both are right in their own way. So she says gently to her husband, “Try to understand. We’ll adjust here. See how scenic and green this place is. See there – what a lovely garden.”  

 

“I prefer Nana-Nani Park at Chowpatty. All my friends are there,” the old man says.  

 

“You’ll make friends here too,” she says.  

 

“Friends! These half-dead highbrow snobs?” the old man says mockingly.  

 

“Okay,” the son intervenes, “you both can take long walks. The air is so pure and refreshing at this hill station.”  

 

“Listen you impertinent kid!," the old man shouts at his son, "Don’t try all this on me. I’ve been walking for the last fifty years on Marine Drive and that is where I intend walking the rest of my life till my dying day.” 

Then the old man turns to his wife and says peremptorily to her, “You pack our bags and let’s go back to Mumbai. We are not staying here in this godforsaken place!”  

 

“Try and adjust,” his wife beseeches him, “you’ll like the place. Look at the facilities here – there’s a modern health club, gym, library, recreation: everything is here.”  

 

“Gym? You want me to do body building at this age? Library? You know that after my cataract I can hardly read the newspaper! And I can get all the recreation I need watching the sea at the Chowpatty and walking with my lifelong friends on Marine Drive.”  

 

“Please Baba, don’t be obstinate,” begs his son. “This place is so good for your health. They give you such delicious nourishing food here.” 

 

“Delicious? Nourishing? The bloody sterile stuff tastes like hospital food. I can’t stand it – where will I get Sardar’s Pav Bhaji, Kyani’s Kheema Pav, Vinay’s Misal, Satam’s Vada Pav, Delhi Durbar’s Biryani, Sarvi’s Boti Kababs, Noor Mohammadi's Nihari, Fish in Anantashram in Khotachi Wadi next door…”  

 

“Please Baba! All you can think of is horrible oily spicy street-food which you should not eat at your age! With your cholesterol and sugar levels, you’ll die if you continue eating that stuff.”  

 

“I’d rather die of a heart attack in Mumbai enjoying the good food I like rather than suffer a slow death here trying to eat this insipid tasteless nonsense,” the old man shouts at his son, then looks at his wife and commands, “Listen. Just pack up. We are not staying here like glorified slaves in this golden cage. One month here in this godforsaken place has made me almost mad. We are going right back to our house in Girgaum to live with dignity!”  

 

“Please Baba. Don’t be difficult. I have to leave for America tonight,” the son pleads desperately. “I’m trying to do the best possible for you. You know the huge amount of money I have paid in advance to book this luxurious place for you?” 

 

“You go back to your family in America. I am going back to my house in Girgaum. That’s final!” the old man affirms to his son. 

Then the old man looks at his wife and says, “You want to come along? Or should I go back to Mumbai alone?”  

 

“Mama, please tell him,” the son says looking at his mother.  

 

The old woman looks lovingly at her husband, puts her hand on his arm and says softly, “Please try to understand. We have no choice. We have to live here. There is no house in Girgaum. Our tenement chawl has been sold to a builder. They are building a commercial complex there.”  

 

“What?” the old man looks at his wife as if he is pole-axed, “you too!”

And suddenly the old man's defences crumble and he disintegrates; no longer is he the strong indefatigable redoubtable tough man he was a few moments ago - he seems to have lost his spirit, his strength, his dignity, his self-esteem, even his will to live!

There is a drastic and unbelievable metamorphosis in the old man's personality as he meekly holds his wife’s hand for support, and, totally defeated, his heart and soul totally broken, the old man obediently walks with his wife towards their cottage where they both, along with many other Senior Citizens, will spend the last days of their lives, lonely, unwanted, waiting for death.  

VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright © Vikram Karve 2010
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

VIKRAM KARVE educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU, The Lawrence School Lovedale, and Bishop's School Pune, is an Electronics and Communications Engineer by profession, a Human Resource Manager and Trainer by occupation, a Teacher by vocation, a Creative Writer by inclination and a Foodie by passion. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles in magazines and journals for many years before the advent of blogging. His delicious foodie blogs have been compiled in a book "Appetite for a Stroll". Vikram lives in Pune with his family and pet Doberman girl Sherry, with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

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