Old Man and I

     A couple of years after I retired and settled in my flat, once an old man visited me. That was almost one score and five years ago.

I - Who are you?

Old Man - I'm an old man. You may say, "The" Old Man.

I - I can see that. But what do you want? Why the "The"?

OM - I'm here to stay with you. Specifically for you. Hence the definite article.

I - Hey, how's that? How do you just walk in and say that?

OM - That's how it is.

I - What do you mean?

OM - Oh. I don't need any special invitation, space or comfort. I'll live in your body. No issue.

I - Is that so? It's funny!

OM - That's how it is. But it's not funny. I mean, it's no joke.

I - What’s the idea? You want to make me an old man like you?

OM - Yes, of course. Now you get it. That's the law of nature, isn't it?  You have to change. You have to be old.

I – Oh, yea? How do you intend it? 

OM - Slowly, one by one. No Hurry. You are lucky, you have some more time.

I - I'll resist.

OM – Wow! That's what everyone thinks. But none can resist ageing.

I – Ok. Let me hear how you’ll go about it. Step by step.

OM - Didn't you get diabetes long ago?

I - Yes. That anger hasn't gone away yet.  In the first place, isn't that goddamned thing meant for the rich? Why me? If so, where's the money accompanying it?

OM - (with a smile). That's your stupid knowledge. One of the stupid stories told by your forefathers; that diabetes and money are tied together. May I tell you a little story?

I - Tell me.

OM – OK, listen. Wasn’t Lord Krishna fond of butter?  Do you know why?

I - Why?

OM – He had piles, that’s why.

I – What! What nonsense!

OM - You see, young man, whenever Lord Vishnu takes an avatar, Gods of diseases (you didn't know that there are deities for diseases as well, did you?) beg Vishnu to take them with Him. Vishnu chooses one. So, it was piles for Krishna.

I - Oh, I see.  It's the first time I've heard this. Okay. Well, I've got diabetes. So that, must be it?

OM - Oh, no! We're really a team.  Each one will get into action on his turn. Mr. Diabetes got you early. My job is to ensure the correct and timely execution of my team members. It's all a service, isn't it? I will live within you and oversee the whole operation.

I - You mean you are a parasite?  Such a cheapie?

OM - Hey, no, not exactly. In fact, you will slowly become me. 

I - (I didn't really understand, this impersonation game, but wanted to know his program). So, you mean there are more changes in store?

OM - Yes. For starters, the hair on your head and beard will slowly turn grey...

I - That doesn't matter. There's a style to it. And some dignity. I don't  mind it.

OM - You're going to have a pot belly...

I - (I laughed disdainfully). No way! What the Hell! I have been and am so thin, agile, athletic and fit; how can I ever have a pot belly? Pot bellies are for the lazy, inactive idiots. My steel body of a thoroughbred sportsman is my pride.

OM - That's your arrogance. Let a couple of years pass. We’ll see. It doesn't matter if you walk or run ten kilometers every day. If you are destined for a pot belly, which you are, you’ll bloody well have it.

I - Oh yea! We’ll see. There you’re going to be wrong for sure. What's the rest?

OM - I shouldn't tell you everything like this. We also have our professional secrets. You've read the Official Secrets Act, right?  But anyway, since you can’t do a fig about what is in store for you, I'll let you in on some things. Forewarned is forearmed and all is not applicable in my realm. Listen…

I - We’ll see. I am listening.

OM - A heart condition, joint pains, muscular pains, that is, aches and pains in general, inability to walk even a hundred feet, difficulty in picking up the fallen soap, inability to pull on the socks, panting while climbing even one flight of stairs, and so on, are all in store for you, my dear. You get my drift, right?

I - OMG! That's a truckload of things! All unpleasant and unwanted.

OM - Wait. When I see all this self-confidence and arrogance and nonchalance in you, I feel a mix of mirth and sorrow. Anyway, open your body doors. Too long have I been waiting outside. A member of my team, who's somewhat important and who doesn't listen to others, would be visiting you sooner than later. He transports himself on a sturdy buffalo, carrying a rope. Till then we can be happy, talking, laughing and joking and enjoying a couple of tots the evenings. Don't ever be afraid that you'll be alone.  Others may leave you, but I'll be with you, till that black, broad-chested self-willed fellow’s visit on the buffalo. After that, you will be on your own.

When I heard all this, I was stunned.  Looking at his body, though frail, his expressions, his speech, his controlled glee, I realized that there was no point in arguing with him. It was clear that he was obstinate, though pleasant. He was here to stay!

Anyway, he can only play with my body, I surmised. I was happy that my mind would be in mint condition. But I did wonder if there was anyone in his team to damage that too. But I dared not ask. Why remind him? Why invite more? I would be having enough already.

So, now the Old Man and I are living in harmony, in a frightfully friendly relationship, talking, joking, laughing, slapping each other’s thighs in between and sipping our chota pegs regularly. Both of us have become good friends.  He never says how long he'll be there in me.  Whenever I broach the subject however politely, he deftly side-steps. I do not insist. After all, it's not polite to ask a guest how long he would stay.

As of now, all is well.