Just the other day, I heard my grandchildren talking about a certain 11 year old boy with magical powers and a lightning bolt shaped scar saving the world from a nose-less wizard. I suspect it’s made up because perfectly shaped scars are found only in world of pure fiction, although magic I can believe in. This is not the first time I’m hearing how pre-teens and teenagers save the world, with my grandson being obsessed with a certain archer from district 12. The young are the saviours, the adults are the villains but people my age (vehemently labelled old and useless) are either sweet mellow unhelpful grandmother’s in literature portraying the dystopian future. Maybe that is because your stereotyped old woman is suspected to just await the sweet wings of death descend o’er her. People’s denial of death has morphed into their denial of ageing and their denial in acknowledging those going through this process. Everything today is littered with things celebrating the transition into adulthood, as adolescence signifies a better understanding of how the world works. We have coming of age music and movies. Heck! We even have makeup monetizing off of this idea. But if you are as old as me, with one toe in the 1950s (Ah, the sweet days of my youth) and the other in 2018 (ah, the not totally bitter days of my old age) then you need a new understanding of how things work, as the world is not what you know it to be. The adults are as clueless of how our brains work as they are of the teenage brain, unable to relate to these different time periods. I suspect it has something to do with the teenagers’ excess of hormones and our extreme lack of them, ironically causing the same confusion in middle aged adults. In spite of times being drastically different as I’ve witnessed PMs getting executed and governments being toppled yet today the thing that breaks the internet is a Kurdashian posting some picture of herself? Once my 5 year old grandson barged into my TV lounge while I was watching my favourite part in Gone With The Wind when he demanded to watch his program. I told him he’ll have to learn to wait for his turn. The young boy responded with a puzzled look ‘But grandma, you’re very old. You must be almost 35. Are you even allowed the TV?’
I think I reciprocated his puzzlement, as I wasn’t sure whether I was allowed television (I have cataracts) or even if I was, in spirit, the stereotyped 35 year old. In flesh, I’m 88 yet I’m neither your generic grumpy computer illiterate old crone nor the designated rebellious high spirited young-at-heart. Like any alive human, I have parts of both. Thus this is how I ended up writing for this cyber blog, to help educate people on how to accept people of my age and to give a rough idea of how drastically different the world seems from my lens. This will help forming a mutual understanding between today’s era and the era people associate with me, although I breathe in the present as I did in the past (I do admit that it was easier then as my lungs were in better health). I’m here to change not only my views but also the world’s, despite changing-the-world now being the youth’s job. This medium or language might not be something people my age might be extremely comfortable with (neither am I, as it took me almost 3 hours to locate the letters on the keyboard and type this) but this is a testimony of how learning shouldn’t be constricted to a specific age or gender or race. Sometimes even if you have your wits with you, the society pigeonholes you into your assigned place, forcing stagnancy upon an age where further growth might be very hard but not impossible. You’ve read many books about the protagonist being a young Caucasian visionary, but here’s a real life series of an 88 year old Pakistani experiencing today’s era, honouring the coming of old age.
So hold on tight to your dupattas and buckle up! Stay tuned because this Naani is about to have the adventures of a lifetime.
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