Calling it a day

Where will you head when retirement beckons?

My cousin is on a bit of a high these days. Both literally and metaphorically. Her dream house in the mountains, with a spectacular view from every window, is finally coming together. The woodwork is done, the plumbing works, the furniture is in place, the curtains have been hung, and the kitchen is on its way to being fully functional.

This is where she intends to retire when her work is finally done. Living blissfully among the clouds, breathing the fresh mountain air, cooking the vegetables she grows in her own back garden, going for long walks, spending endless afternoons reading and drinking green tea.

It sounds like an idyllic retirement, doesn’t it? Well, I guess it does to most people. But when she showed me the pictures of the house and the view – both amazingly beautiful – and told me of her plan, the first thought that popped into my head was: “Where is the nearest hospital?”

No, of course, I didn’t actually say that out loud. That’s not the kind of thing you say when someone you love announces the fulfillment of the dream of a lifetime. Stamping down on that voice in my head, I went through all the pictures and told her how spectacular it looked – and it truly did.

But all the while I was making the right noises I was thinking about logistics. How long it would take to get to a doctor? How she would negotiate the steep climb up if – well okay, when – her knees went? Instead of voicing these concerns, however, I restricted myself to encouraging her to persuade her sister and brother-in-law (both doctors) to buy a house nearby so that they could serve the tiny community’s medical needs.

Yes, I know, I sound like a complete nutcase. But the truth is that when I think of my own retirement plans, the one thing that takes precedence over all else is the proximity of medical facilities. I would never dream of moving to a faraway village in the hills, no matter how lovely, if I wasn’t sure that there was a good hospital a short ambulance ride away.

The other thing that I am obsessed about is having a single-level house. I have done my share of duplex living, trudging up and down from bedroom to living room and back again. But as my knees begin to twinge every time I walk down a staircase and my heart rate goes up when I walk back up, I have come to realize that I can’t keep this up for long. In another two decades I will need a living space that allows me to shuffle slowly from one room to another, without negotiating any steps along the way.

And where would I like this home to be located? Well, having being born and bred in one big city and lived in several others, I know that country pleasures are not for me. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy a trip to the beach as much as the next person. I love to take a break in the mountains when the heat in the plains gets too much. I read, I sleep, I take long walks, I revel in the natural beauty, I unwind, I detox, I distress. I slow my life down, tune out the static so that I can hear myself think. I get in touch with myself.

But after a week of this enforced calm, I start to get itchy. The quiet seems to weigh heavy upon me. I start to miss the energy and excitement of the big city. I begin to long for a visit to the cinema, a quick trip to the shops, eating out at my favourite restaurants, meeting up with friends, catching an exhibition, attending a music recital, or just sitting at a coffee shop, sipping an excellent cappuccino and watching the world go by.

All of which leads me to believe that I would not enjoy a retirement spent in the mountains or beside a beach. The truth is that I only ever feel truly alive while living in a big city. A city that keeps me engaged through night and day, through the seasons, and indeed, through the years.

A city where there are enough public spaces where I can spend an hour or two with friends, with a good book, or even by myself. A city dotted with museums and monuments, where you can drop by when you want a sense of the past that shapes our present. A city that hosts everything from plays, art exhibitions, musical evenings to seminars and international conferences, to keep your brain stimulated in the best possible way. A city with enough beautiful green areas so that taking a walk doesn’t seem like drudgery. A city that is safe enough for a single woman to negotiate on her own, no matter how late she is getting back home.

At the moment, the city that best fits the bill is Delhi – with its verdant Lodhi Garden, its amazing monuments like Purana Qila and Humayun’s Tomb, and the full menu of programmes at such venues as India International Centre and Habitat Centre. The only area where it falls short is on women’s safety. But with luck, by the time I am old and doddering, that problem will be sorted out.

Until then, I live on a hope and a prayer in my one-level apartment, a stone’s throw away from the All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS). And take comfort in the fact that at least medical help is only a (very) short ambulance ride away.

  

No offence, but...

Yes, we all say that on occasion, but rarely, if ever, do we mean it – and maybe that’s not such a bad thing

Have you noticed how whenever someone wants to say something offensive, they start off with, “No offence, but…”? How when they mean to sound really disrespectful, they preface their remarks with, “With due respect…”? And that when they want to pass judgement on you, they kick off with, “Not to be judgemental, but…”? We’ve all done this little dance before being offensive, disrespectful or judgemental (or all three) and on the whole we tend to get away with it, because most people are too shamed, scared or polite to call us out.

But, more to the point, what all of this assumes is that being offensive, disrespectful or judgemental about people is plain wrong and we need to put in a quick disclaimer before saying anything that falls in those categories. Well, I am beginning to think that this is where we go wrong; in getting all defensive about our opinions because we feel that might cause offence, be deemed rude or come across as plain judgemental. There really is no need to apologise for any of the above. If we believe in a moral code, and live by certain principles, then there will always be times when we are offended by some people or by certain situations, and it is far from disrespectful to sit in judgement on such occasions.

Speaking for myself, these are just some of the situations in which I reserve the right to be judgemental about people – without caring whether I am offending anyone or, indeed, being less than respectful.

·       If I see another family party sitting down to enjoy an expensive meal in a fancy restaurant while the maid/nanny stands beside the table trying to restore order among the fractious children on the table. Ditto, lazy, feckless parents who refuse to discipline their children as they run around and create mayhem in public spaces. Or those who bring their bawling infants out for a late-night movie when the little mites should be tucked up in bed and fast asleep.

·       I know money can’t buy class, but there is something super-annoying when those who drive in uber-expensive cars, roll down the window at the traffic light to throw out litter, spit on the road, and then shout at the street children who are begging for some money to buy dinner, for dirtying their lovely car with their grimy hands.

·       Men who think that they are paying you a huge compliment when they call you ‘sweetie’ ‘honey’ ‘darling’ ‘babe’ or those who refer to grown-up women as ‘girls’. It’s not cute. It’s not endearing. It’s not acceptable. And you really need to stop, or else…

·       When people are queueing up in an orderly fashion at a bank, at airport check-in, or at security, you need to join the queue. Not at any point where you can squeeze yourself in but right at the back where the queue ends. Don’t tell me that you stepped out to make a quick phone call. Stop insisting that you were always standing behind that woman in the red kurta. And don’t claim that your flight is leaving and you need to be let through NOW. You are lying, you lying scumbag. Now get yourself right at the back, and wait like the rest of us.

·       Surely by now, you’ve seen enough hospital dramas on television to know that you are not supposed to use mobile phones in and around intensive care areas in a hospital. It’s not just about preserving peace and quiet for the patients but also to ensure that the phone signals don’t interfere with the life-saving equipment that is in use. So, while it won’t kill you to turn off your mobile, you may well end up killing someone if you don’t. If you really need to make – or take – that call, step outside.

·       I am all for praying to your particular God, but must you do so in the dead of night or at the crack of dawn, while using a loudspeaker for good measure? You do know that He (or She) can hear you perfectly well without those amplified sound waves, don’t you? But if you turn off that infernal loudspeaker, you may earn the blessings of your neighbours as well.

·       If you are above the age of 10, there really is no excuse for kicking the back of my seat throughout the flight. Or waiting till I doze off before you put your entire weight on my backrest, as you propel yourself out of your seat, so that you can wake me up on your way to the loo. There is a special place in hell for folks like you. And I hope you get a taste of it at the baggage belt itself, when you discover that your suitcase has been dispatched to the wrong destination.