Jagoji – Let's Wake Up  
Conversation with a Loner

My husband works with a multinational company and very recently we relocated to Brussels, Belgium. Europe, as I had imagined was even more picturesque. For the first few days my mind refused to attend to household chores, but to only capture the lush green surrounding. Our apartment is in the hill top and the view from the balcony is simply breathtaking. It was like a dream come true.

By 8 o’clock on the weekdays my son and husband leaves for school and office respectively. One of the most inherent activities of my household chores is to go to the supermarket. I could easily stock pile the essentials from the supermarket for a week but the regular visit to the market satisfies both, the urge for a walk and also meet new people. The aging population of Europe is no more a hearsay it’s a fact known to all, and Brussels also is not an exception. The morning hours, specially, the supermarket is flocked with elderly natives. In my home country I hardly get to see elderly people jostling in the hustle bustle. I always feel thrilled to see these lovely old men and women dressed impeccably, doing errands of their household everyday. Since language is a big barrier I have never splurged into conversation with them. But occasional smile and body language is enough to communicate with them. Especially I have noticed their urge to communicate when they see my 5 years old son.

It was my son’s birthday and my endeavor to bake a cake for my son went futile so I had to resort to the supermarket to buy a birthday cake for my son. It was that day I met this elderly gentleman Mr. Jones (deliberately I have not disclosed his name), who asked me details about the huge cake, like for whom did I buy, how old is my son….. He then abruptly asked me to blind guess his age. He looked quite upright and I unquestionably guessed that he was around 65 or so…. He laughed at me and said the day before he celebrated his 55th marriage anniversary and that he is 85 years old. I was taken aback! Anyway, our conversation continued as we were heading the same direction. I learnt that his wife is suffering from Alzheimer and is bed ridden and he takes care of everything. He has two daughters leading their respective lives. He walked me to my doorstep, and as a gesture of courtesy I invited him over for my son’s birthday party. To my utmost expectation he refused, sighting his wife’s illness but promised to drop by sometime for a cup of coffee. I met him quite often in the same supermarket and we would sit in the coffee shop and chat long hours exchanging our cultural information.

And then, almost for a week I did not see him. His absence raised a number of anxious queries in me. I couldn’t resist but rang his doorbell. It was answered by Mr. Jones himself and he was overjoyed to see me. With a warm welcome he took me inside and introduced me to his ailing wife. I was pondering whether to accept the fact that she is ill as she looked as fresh as the tulips I had taken for her. Mr. Jones said that, suddenly her condition deteriorated and so he had to take her to the hospital urgently. I sat with them for sometime and went back home with a pitiful mind.

He cheerfully resumed to our supermarket rendezvous. A month passed by, we became even more friendly and his occasional visit to my house was warmly received by my son and husband too. He would complain very often about his chest pain and said that very soon he will go and see the doctor. Noticing his absence I took it for granted that his wife was probably ill. I paid a customary visit to his house on a Sunday morning, and this time the doorbell was answered by his daughter (whose photograph I had seen). I came to know from her that Mr. Jones heart condition deteriorated so much that he had to opt for a mild surgery without notice. Reckoning that I forgot to ask the name of the hospital (as I was sure that he would remain there for few days) I went again the next day. To my utmost horror a limping Mr. Jones answered the door. I felt guilty of my innocent act of ringing the doorbell. Upon questioning he informed that he underwent operation on Saturday and that his daughter was kind enough to spend a couple of days at his place to take care of her mother. I tried to restrain but couldn’t help asking who would take care of him? To my unexpected question the answer was a feeble smile and ‘my dear lovely lady we are alone’ My throat was chocked with emotion to hear his answer. Owing to a mammoth cultural difference, I was little apprehensive to offer any help, but I assured him of our presence in his need. My mind dragged me to the Jones couple a number of times and I loved to see them devouring the less spicy Indian food I had prepared for them. Both my husband and I were distressed to perceive their pitiful state.

Few days back Mrs. Jones died and poor Mr. Jones checked into an old home with fond memory of his wife. I met the lonely Mr. Jones in the old home and we had a broad conversation. He narrated his bitter and sweet moments in life. What touched me is his grief-stricken though that old age is inevitable for all and that old people become redundant in this covetous society. That was the last time I met him and although I would love to spend moments with him yet I don’t intend to do so as I was getting very involved with his inconsolable situation.

That day the tête-à-tête with Mr. Jones left an everlasting perception on my mind. In their early years the Jones couple was very important for the institution called family. The erosion of their life also caused decay in their family ties. Staying in the other part of the world I was under the impression of the age old belief that grass is greener on the other side, but this incident shook me to wake up to the realization of the overwhelming conviction of the imminent old age irrespective of place and race.   

– Jayati Chowdhury
October 24, 2004

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