Musings of a
Superannuated Man in America
Webster defines ‘retired’ as someone
who is ‘no longer working because of age’.
To my mind, the word ‘retired’ stands
for a person who was tired earlier and is now tired
again, i.e re-tired. He was tired working for a
living ten hours or more every day and is tired
now having nothing much to work for except to keep
on living.
Retirement for such a person is a period in search
of a purpose, a transition from being a player to
a spectator – just a speck in the multitude
watching the game.
Years back when I elected to retire, as the atmosphere
of my last place of work did not suit me at all,
I decided that I would rather retread than retire
in the Webster’s term. Retiring from service,
I assured myself, did not mean that one had to retire
from life itself. I refused to be vocationally celibate,
regarded as an ancient, spent force, or a player
of a role-less role.
I had, let me admit, no idea as to what I was going
to do. But, I was unwilling to accept that retirement
meant an absence of ideas about what to do with
oneself.
I found myself blessed with something I had desperately
lacked throughout the 36 years of bureaucratic bondage:
Time. Free time used to be the exclusive province
of the country’s aristocracy – the ‘waderas’,
tribal chiefs, and absentee land barons - the real
rulers and owners of the country behind the facade
of democracy!
I found it in my legitimate possession; the time
I had hoarded over 36 years of working life. It
was now at my disposal totally. Retirement struck
me as a weekend that never ends, a perennial feast,
a year-round vacation.
It was something I had earned by faithful and devoted
service, a form of graduation into a new phase of
life, a second spring.
I had also a strong feeling of liberation: of the
absence of deadlines and work-related stress, of
the end to the early morning wake-up alarms, of
the absence of the moronic meetings -- of being
my own man and not the property of my bosses.
I was unwilling to share the proclamation of Scott
Fitzgerald that there was no second act in life.
There is, and I was ready for the second act. Leisure
and disengagement wouldn’t make me dormant,
I assured myself.
Cicero wrote centuries back, ‘Each season
of life has an advantage peculiarly its own to be
garnered each at the proper time’. In a somewhat
similar vein, former US President Jimmy Carter has
observed, ‘The retirement years are a time
to define, or redefine, a successful life, both
in retrospect and for our remaining years’,
adding that this future definition is ‘likely
to be quite different from that of our younger years.’
In my younger years, life struck me like a vast
cornucopia full to the brim with opportunities,
a buffet of career options to sample various offerings
to decide on the choice suiting one’s taste.
No hill was too high to climb, no river deep enough
to deter swimming across. The buoyancy and exuberance
of youth egged me on to accept challenges, overcome
hurdles and keep pushing forward.
Retirement placed the facts of life in a different
perspective. Obstacles became more ponderous, and
experience forced the acceptance of an increasing
range of limitations. I could scarcely shake off
the feeling of emotional and physical vulnerability.
Yet, I maintained that it was a much awaited and
anticipated time, and I must treat it as the second
chance to explore life’s varied opportunities
instead of dissipating it in brooding over the past
and its unfulfilled dreams.
What opportunities did life offer to a person like
me? My colleagues who had retired earlier were of
no help, as all of them were sitting at home waiting
for someone to seek their advice on subjects they
were considered authorities while still in service.
No one sought their authoritative advice! They were
no doubt honest, hardworking, and knew well their
respective fields
Times had, however, changed and a new set of values
had been inspired by the Benazir-Sharif ruling duo.
Inspiration, indeed, comes invariably from the top.
Asif Zardari had put it succinctly: making money
is a pleasant pastime, he had philosophized. Consulting
my senior colleagues would thus have been embarrassing
for them. They were not his ilk.
Why not consult my wife, I thought, as I had always
valued her pragmatic approach to things.
‘Why not start with washing the dishes since
the domestic help is on a two-week visit to her
village’. Pragmatic from her perspective but
unpleasant and tiresome from mine. I told her so,
and pointed out to her that I had been cut out for
more important tasks.
‘You may like to join our knitting and crocheting
club,’ she advised impishly. Don’t be
silly, I protested. I want to spend my time on some
creative, innovative activity, something to be remembered
by. ‘Then, try to become a sculptor or an
artist’, she advised.
‘Please stop kidding me, I am consulting you
as I value your practical approach to things.’
‘Then join me in the kitchen and learn the
preparation of a few dishes, that is creative’.
Yes, all right, I said to keep her upbeat particularly
as she had started suffering episodes of dizziness
not diagnosed till then.
Why not consult some books on the subject in the
library, I thought. Glancing through several books
relevant to my search, I discovered that much of
the writers’ and intellectuals’ energy
had gone into simply denying the prospect of aging.
There were many books on topics such as Stop Aging
Now, The End of Aging, or on How to Remain Youthful.
I found that even the most advanced people, the
Americans, lacked a compelling vision for later
life.
An entrepreneur exploited the void by building a
new habitat called Sun City in the desert of Arizona.
It catered to the creature comforts of the elderly
and was imaginatively called Sun City. Literature
about this place talked eloquently about the activities
provided for the residents. They could rush from
one activity to another to block out the void and
emptiness of their lives.
No doubt, activity has its virtues, but a life built
around activity for activity’s sake can be
insipid, tasteless and ultimately boring, particularly
for people who had gone from success to success
in the earlier period.
Age-segregated cities and condominiums treat the
oldsters as human contraband, I had discovered on
arrival in the US years back.
I had reached the US for the treatment of my wife.
Little did I know that she was suffering from an
incurable brain-stem degeneration. I had to attend
to her day and night for five years. Matter of fact,
the entire family was involved in this. She passed
away a few years back, but she is present, more
often than not, in my thoughts. I hear her whisper:
‘What is this nonsense about the second chance,
the second spring. Why don’t you reconcile
to your lot and thank God for all the blessings
he has showered upon you.’ Yes, I would indeed,
I promised.
Retirement appears now as the plateau of life with
an inescapable horizon all around and so close by.
- arifhussaini@hotmail.com
