The Old Of Bhubaneswar

Foreplay:

In the 21 years of my existence, I still have not solidified my take on ageing and old people. Let me break it down:

Old age as a concept: This pisses me off. Simply because I’m afraid of being frail, irrelevant and leakier than a Bhubaneshwar Municipal Corporation tanker. I think about the way I treat my PC Game CDs and the fact that someone else might treat me like that in the future makes me want to pull a Hitler (Suicide you scumbag, not killing Jews. Kosher Meals and Hummus FTW!) Which is why I’d like to die young. Not only because it seems more romantic (try debating that with a Haitian) but also because there is a better chance of people remembering you as compared to people wondering WTF that dude is still alive? (Refer most Bollywood movie endings with a 45-minute death speech) And in case I don’t die young, I’ve decided to voluntarily check myself into a spare room for other homeless men (aka old age home) with the money I save during my productive years. That’s because I know if I have ever kids, they will be assholes. (Proof – my personality + evolutionary direction as observed in today’s young people)

And then there are old people. Most old people I have observed have little practical application in society. Sure they are the harbingers of history, contribute intellectually while they can (and in the case of Khushwant Singh, de-virginise half the teenage hotties of Punjab) and play distinct socio-cultural roles (Babysitting while the kids are away. Negotiating with the neighbourhood vegetable man, feeding the strays and act as the Acting chairperson at their grandson/granddaughters weddings etc). But more often than not, in many families, they start becoming a liability after a point (Subjective – can be when the money runs out, the limbs aren’t nimble, health catches up etc). 

And herein lies the hypocrisy, I would never ever say this about my own family, and I doubt anyone else would too – but as a group they are perhaps one of the most purposefully neglected groups in society. Especially if they don’t have a trust fund. All I know is, I don’t want to be one to mind when I grow up. India is still a young country, and we have a right to be high on our exuberance – but the thought of what will happen when our society grey’s ala present day Japan is more mind-boggling than Paul Adams’s bowling action.

I don’t know if our culture and values (bullshit – I still don’t know how they got so much time to fuck in between fighting the Mahabharata) will manage to make ageing a more “pleasant” experience and our young people take better care of us once  – but I do know most of us, when we’re old, will be thoroughly useless.

And that brings me to the actual post, types of Old people in Bhubeneswar

The Kartikeyan: The Kartikeyan is the guy who still likes to prove that he can do things on his own by driving on the mean old streets of Old Town. The car in question is invariably a Maruti 800 where Kartikeyan’s hands have to be stuck on the steering wheel with Super Glue. His glasses resemble a 50 MM Lens in a Nikon D40 and makes for a peculiar sight as his torso is .73mm from the wheel thanks to the driving seat being pulled as far up as the car’s hood. You can honk as much as you want – but the Kartikeyan wouldn’t be able to hear a Krasnopol shell if it exploded behind his ass. This leads to extended traffic jams where newspaper delivery boys  show him the finger (which he mistakes as a reference to extreme heat) and decide they’re better off as Mayawati statue sculptors and head for U.P henceforth.

The Stallone: The Stallone can be found in almost every neighbourhood park early morning, sometimes with his friend The Schwarzenegger. He believes that constant working out and participation in laughter clubs will increase his lifespan by a couple of years. All it really does however, is make it easier to lift him while putting him on a stretcher and/or ventilator. The Stallone also constantly pisses off The Pitts and Cruises of the jogging track by not swerving fast enough and hurting their lap time. He also has the best network amongst the neighbourhood and keeps track of everyone’s household situation better than the presswallah. Always endearing, The Stallone also has the maximum attendance at his eventual funeral.

The Cruella Deville: NEVER EVER EVER trust an old woman with facial hair. Every old woman who I have met with a beard / moustache has turned out to be a major home wrecker. It makes sense. If she doesn’t care about hair growing out of her double chin, why would she care about your opinion or your life? Maybe its for the added effect of looking cruel, but she is the one person who will create enough conspiracy theories to put Rehman Malik to shame. Apart from the women with facial hair, also avoid those who have Henna dyed orange hair. It will NOT end well. (Before you hit the comment button – friends’ family, not mine)

The Woman Who Never Dies: Every neighbourhood has a woman who never dies. Her sole job is to complain about being old and reminding everyone about how old she is. She then promptly tells her 3 servants to get her a pillow, a cup of chai and turn on the TV respectively. She then continues to outlive the pope, the re-unification of Yugoslavia and cockroaches after a nuclear war with Pakistan. Sometimes, to give people hope of her death, she likes being whizzed around in a wheelchair. This especially happens close to weddings of close relatives or family friends where the wheelchair makes her the centre of attention and creates an impenetrable force field where no one is allowed to joke about her or hope for her to pop it. 39% of these women are proven to have facial hair as well.

The Kim Jong Il – The Kim Jong Il puts the dick in dictator. He is normally friends with the woman who never dies whom he considers a kindred spirit and would have totally fucked had they met when they were younger. The Kim Jong Il will take your ass if you park your car in front of his house, lodge an FIR against the Dominos delivery boy if he accidentally presses the wrong bell and consistently harass the Electricity and Water boards in case there is a cut of any sort. He is also every courier boy’s worst nightmare and cannot vote because he chased the Voter ID registrar out with his 5.1 Dolby Surround shouting and carbon fibre walking stick.

The Camp David: The Camp David is the mediator in chief of the neighbourhood. Widely considered fair and balanced, the Camp David is called upon to solve neighbourhood disputes, find brides and grooms for ugly kids and make political predictions. Best known for mooching off other households tea and lemonade, conveniently using hindsight to alter prior predictions and for forcing kids to touch his feet even if they don’t want to. Normally very religious and complains to your parents if you forget to pay him a minimal level of respect – thus proving religious people have no sense of humour.

The Fish Out of Water: Any Telugu in a Oriya neighbourhood and vice versa. The former cant get enough money for the Pongal celebrations and the latter for Rath Yatra celebration. Thus, they live their miserable fuck existence thinking about what could have been before eventually dying where other residents’ attendance becomes an example of India’s secular spirit.

What other kinds do you know? Anyone referencing Baghban will be condemned to death via firing squad.