Old love

As an epilogue to my musings in the end of my review on Love in the Time of Cholera, I’ve been meaning to reflect on old love – that is, the love between old people. We’ve heard about the passionate fire of youth, and the jaded hormonal dillusionment of middle age, but rarely do we hear of the comfort and security of old people (is some moral police going to correct me by stating that the correct term is “youthfully challenged” or something?) with each other, as a result of the intimacy and knowledge of each other developed over years of struggle, difficulty and moral, physical, psychological and economic crises. They have matured and realized that the path is long and hard, and that the worst (or the best? Maybe best for one and worst for the other) is yet to come, in the form of death, be it after a long difficult period of ill-health or stealthy in one’s sleep. Maybe it’s not glamourous enough to portray old age, but I really wish they did, because I am always moved to tears about the emotions of old people towards their offspring (Khamoshi for instance), or towards each other as their nest empties.

Here are my two favourite on-screen depictions of old love:
- In that SUV/minivan ad (was it Qualis?) in which the entire joint family is returning from somewhere, and the granddad starts singing some old romantic song to the grandmom and she whacks him, whispering that they’ll hear (and the mom in front can see them in the rearview mirror and she’s smiling in embarrassment), and he replies that everyone’s asleep, and one of the grandkids pipes up, with her eyes closed “Haan dadi, hum sab so rahe hain” (Yes, grandma, we’re all sleeping) and everyone starts laughing…. The grandmom leaning into the granddad’s shoulder in an old-fashioned blush, covering her mouth with her hand.

- In Asha Bhonsle’s video of “Aaj Jaane ki Zid Na Karo”: The whole video consists of episodes between different people, of separation – a young couple fighting, a daughter crying because she doesn’t want her daddy to leave for work, a woman driving back after dropping her significant other to the airport, and my favourite, an old couple at home: the man in a rocking chair reading the papers, while the woman is in her caftan sorting something on the bureau. Something happens and suddenly the newspaper flutters out of the man’s hands and he clutches his heart, and the woman turns around in fear and rushes towards him in panic, kneeling by him, and he turns, and the camera focuses on individual sepia portraits of them when they were young on another bureau (you know those old-fashioned Christian/parsi houses with no mantelpieces but lots of chests of mahogany drawers on which pictures and showpieces are kept). And then he slowly loosens his grip on his chest and his breathing becomes easier as he looks at his wife, and takes her face in his hands and she’s crying and clutches his hands on her face (my eyes are welling up as I read this –this is so embarrassing at office!)

There’s also that Maxlife (I think) insurance ad of the cute enthu old couple taking walks on the beach and slowdancing against the backdrop of a beautiful sunset. Of course, there’s that scene in DDLJ (Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge to all you rock-dwellers) in which Amrish Puri starts singing “O meri Zohra Zabeen” to Farida Jalal… so cute! And OF COURSE there’s Baghbaan – how could one forget that testimony to great love and familiarity and eternal romance (and Amitabh singing Meri Makhna – so much more awww!-inspiring than stupid ‘Miraksam’ in Waqt or the Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham songs)! And Viruddh, in a more realistic way.


I know it all seems very idealized but I really think it’s the attitude, of BOTH people involved, along with the fermentation process (which will be long and torturesome, involving careers, in-laws, kids, and decisions relating to all three, not easy because they’re personal!) that makes a marriage mature like fine wine into a smooth, full-bodied relationship. (Yesterday I saw Anuradha and Anand Mahindra, successful, good-looking corporate couple, she the publisher of Verve and he scion of Mahindra group of companies, and they were with another couple. Anand requested a Hindi song and they went to the dance floor and started dancing and looked so happy! And they’re both past 50! It was so cute! Even I wanna be like that! *wistful whine*)

Life isn’t easy. We have to accept that fact, like we do life itself, with equanimity. I often think of my mother’s parents. My grandmother was an only, strictly-brought up daughter from a small town, married into the social whirlwind of Bombay, where she learnt how to play cards and chop betel nuts, things she’d never been allowed to do. She experienced her first taxi ride during her middle age, clutching her hands tightly against the back of the seat, not trusting the driver. She had 5 diverse children and experienced the death of a couple in her lifetime. She, an introverted complement for my vivacious grandfather, managed everything smoothly and silently. After my grandfather’s retirement, she’d get annoyed at his trying to apply his management experience into the running of her home, erstwhile left to her skills completely. When she got her heart-attack, and then breast cancer, that was the first time I witnessed my grandfather, battered by India’s destiny, misfortune and old age himself, cry at the prospect of losing her, saying that he could not go on without her. His wish came true. He died first, and she remained, still quiet, a shadow of her former self, following him less than a year later, 2 days after she had had the entire family, great-grandchild included, at her home for dinner. At that dinner too, she had seemed in a place beyond the banality of our reunion conversation.

My parents too, have settled into an easy banter with each other that’s no longer competitive. They still have fights about the issues they’ve been fighting about for the last 30-something years, but each is comfortable in his/her own domain and they joke with each other. It’s comfortable when the air isn’t pervaded by tension. Of course, sometimes my sister and I must step in when each stubbornly sticks to his/her point of view, momentarily forgetting the other’s issues and weaknesses, mediate them into a dialogue. It’s cute, and enlightening to be an outsider.

I think old love is magnificient, and I think it’s worth running the race for that feeling of fulfillment at the end, to create and at the same time discover that humsafar (I love that word - fellow traveler on the path of life – hum-safar – traveller close to my heart). Maybe you truly don’t know what you have till it’s gone. You know that verse we’ve all heard in different variations, “You come before me in all other aspects, but in death let me go first, because I cannot imagine living life without you”. I had never thought it was selfish till I read it somewhere - even that verse, that professes a need for someone so great that life is not worth living without them is about oneself – about one’s selfish desire to have someone, to be able to die before him/her, without a thought as to what the other will do after one’s death.

I hope one day to meet the man I want to fight with and fight for, who I can one day reassure that I won’t go before him, so he never has to live without me.

I hope I meet the man who never wants to live without me (who I also don’t want to live without)!

*Sigh*. I guess it’s a chance we all take.