The newspaper boy

The gentle octogenarian who came up the hard way. A warmly described encounter from reader Ambuja Narayan

“Please do come Wednesday next 11.30 AM. We will be more than happy to talk to you and spend some pleasant time,” says the surprised voice on the telephone. Being no person of importance today he wonders why someone is seeking an interview with an octogenarian. But then his voice doesn’t conceal the excitement to have some chatty company in their otherwise boring and long days. Nevertheless, he needs to consult his wife for confirming the appointment. After a short pause, a sweet voice takes over to say that I am most welcome to have a cup of coffee with them.

Come Wednesday, arriving promptly at the fixed time at the given address, the security guy at the entrance of the apartment complex checks my credentials and escorts me to the apartment. The front double door squeaks open after ‘look see’ through the peep-hole. “Sorry for all the protocol . But we need to be careful you see,” says a warmly dressed, handsome face behind his bifocals. Just beside him a petite and smiling face with a well-shaped red bindi, sparkling diamond ear studs and jasmine flowers on her salt and pepper coloured small bun, registers that the couple is just made for each other.

The sitting room seems cozy with cushioned cane furniture, leg rests and the day’s newspaper, colourful magazines and telephone at a hand’s reach. A totally relaxed feeling creeps through me as I settle down. “Sit near my wife, she is a bit hearing impaired,” says the sharp looking gentleman offering me a seat next to her reclining chair. As I look around, family portraits of the much living and ancestors speaks volumes about their large family roots. While black and whites are surely of the seniors, coloured portraits suggest children and grandchildren in foreign countries. My interest in viewing the old portraits in elegant antique frames opens our conversation.

“See that’s me . One among the nine of a school teacher father,” says the voice behind me, drawing my attention to a bright-eyed ,

mischievous lad of about eight in a black coat. “That coat was a pass on from my elder brother just two years older than me.” Nostalgia

brings mixed feelings but the couple are light-hearted about it now.

“Yes, we have come a long and hard way, which has made us so gritty and contented in our twilight years. As a 13-year-old, I was a part-time newspaper boy cycling up and down the streets at the crack of dawn, breaking news in our neighbourhood. I could complete my work in time to gobble my breakfast and carry my lunch pack of ‘Mosaru anna’ (dahi bath) and dash off to school, just in time.. In,fact, I used to drop the day’s newspaper to my wife’s household too but had no plans of taking her as my life partner. As my luck would have it, my marriage just developed,” admits the hubby with a twinkle in his eyes while his spouse blushes, suddenly feeling young at heart.

As I move to the coloured portraits, it’s time for coffee. The man of the house is chivalrous enough to brew fresh coffee for the three of us while we ladies carry on with our pleasantries. Picking up the coloured portraits of two plump smiling faces, I can guess they are recent pictures of their grandkids, both smiling straight into our faces. “It’s 4,2 ka 1 for each of them you see,” says the grandma and I try to decode the formula. She explains; Two sets of grandparents, two parents and one kid each of our son and daughter. We needn’t worry about sibling rivalry at all. Tucked away abroad they have the world at their feet. But then they do not know the fun and joy of giving, sharing and living among sisters and brothers in a large family , She is quick to add that their two grandkids are the two precious gems in the family.

Fresh coffee aroma pervades the room changing the tone of the conversation. Surely not the traffic woes or garbage but the more

relevant stock market plunge. Taking pity on elders like us, often asked questions are, has the ripple effect of the economic

meltdown made our lives harder? Will the dollar remittances from our children slow down, leaving us in desperation? Can we survive without monetary support from our kids , says the chirpy old man.

“Having worked here we are shrewd enough to be properly tucked in a circle of our own secure world. On the other hand, we are at times concerned about the plight of our youngsters who have to change their lifestyles , see less money and come to terms with frugal living. Youngsters who confront their parents and ask, is it a sin to earn lot of money, might understand the ill effects of new money.”

“We wonder how they will tighten their belts,” he says. “Will our education and value systems help them to cope ? Will

they appreciate their old school teacher who molded the young before they left for greener pastures? Perhaps the double income kids

will come down to eating idlis, anna saaru instead of Pizza and ice cream. Trips to Toys ‘R’ US and the heaps of toys would thin down

and families would spend more quality time together.”

That’s what we look forward to in our evening years anyway, chorus the couple. Our Wednesday meetings become a regular feature and such lively chit-chats open new vistas for thought and action.