It happened in the space of just the last two months. To three of my school buddies, all belonging to a cozy, little WhatsApp group of a small, inner circle of friends who had met in school about 50 years ago. Ravinder, a strapping Jat retired from the IAF as a Squadron Leader suddenly complained of chest pain one night and was taken to the nearest hospital in Chandigarh. He succumbed the next day. His wife messaged the news to our group a day or two later, catching us completely unawares. We hadn’t quite recovered from the shock when a couple of weeks later Upendra, a journalist who had been ailing for some time, was taken to the ICU of a Delhi hospital by his son. The boy (well, a young man in his 30s, actually) kept us updated of his dad’s condition over the next few days. But Uppi didn’t make it back home. Last month Anil, an architect, was making naughty jokes on WhatsApp, causing us to chuckle and cackle in e-moji replies. A couple of days later, his daughter informed our group that he was gone. Just like that. We came to know later that he was rushed to hospital suddenly following a severe lung infection, where he had a cardiac arrest in the ICU.
Then there were four. Sarveen, a sea batchmate of my age, collapsed at the dinner table at a friends’ reunion in Mumbai. He died that night in hospital.
Saying goodbye this soon feels wrong, very wrong. 65 is no age to go. Or is it? Who knows? Who knows anything these days? But it certainly makes one pause and reflect. What now? Where does one go from here? How much is one allowed to dream of the future that lies ahead? How much time do we have left at 65?
Friends are the family we choose. They are the go-to people just a call away when we need to talk of things we cannot discuss with our spouses. Childhood friends have an inseparable bond because of the memories we have together. When we’d meet in small groups, it was amazing how quickly the ice would be broken though we don’t meet that often. It was the shared memories that broke the ice. And the ice cubes tinkling in our tumblers of single malts made their own contribution!
I’ve always believed that age is just a number, if your physical, mental and financial health are good. But now my faith is a little shaken. There’s this morbid thought that flits across my mind whenever I meet a friend or neighbour of my age or thereabouts—is this the last time I’ll be talking to this person ? Who’s next among us?
Can’t help it. The three deaths of my friends, one after the other, have shaken me. And Sarveen’s too.
Well, I think it is time to step back and take stock. Yes, it’s fair to assume that those of my age group have less time to live than the time they have lived so far. Our lives have more past than future. So let’s live the future as best we can. Travel, laugh, play, and spend time with people we like. Enjoy the little pleasures of life.
You may have heard of the expression ‘Life is a bowl of cherries’, right? Well, for us past our middle age, it’s time to stop gobbling the fruit, and begin to taste the few left slowly, intensely. Let us savour each cherry for its sweet and juicy taste, with that touch of tartness, as if it’s the last cherry we’ll get to taste. Let’s take our time over each, since there are not many cherries left in our bowls.
To delete the names of the dear departed eventually from our WhatsApp group of participants felt terrible. We left it to our Admin to bell the cat. Well, someone had to do it. We didn’t know which family member of the dear departed would be monitoring our chats, which are not meant for all and sundry. But aside from that, these friends are not really gone. Their spirit lives on in our memories.
In the meantime, I would want friends and acquaintances in their glorious 60s and above to enjoy the remainder of their lives with gusto. Don’t waste the remaining cherries!
As Confucius said, ‘We have two lives. The second begins when you realize you only have one.’
Beetashok Chatterjee is the author of ‘Driftwood’, a collection of stories about Life at Sea and ‘The People Tree’, another collection of stories about ordinary people with extraordinary experiences. A retired merchant ship’s captain by profession, this old sea dog lives in New Delhi with his memories of living more than 40 years on the waves.
His books are available on Amazon. Click here.
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