Adult to senior. One touch.

This was a big one. I turned ‘senior’. It opens up a lot of benefits. Other than that, I was thinking … what else is there, really?

The thoughts took me back to my childhood days. Back to Trichur. My grandparents’ house, at the edge of the Municipality of Trichur. A beautiful home in a place called Poonkunnam, wedged between the Shankarankulangara and Siva temples. Just the three of us. Life was peaceful.

We had few visitors at the time. There were (doctor) colleagues of my grandparents and the Justice Uncle and his wife. I always ran to open the gates for them. I remember the car. A Morris Minor, I think, with the trafficators — those little levers with a faint glow that popped out from both sides of the car. I was fascinated by those semaphore indicators.

B’day lunch

My grandmother always asked me what I wanted for my birthday. Every year she got the standard reply: kurukkiya kalan. Of course, all the other items were there too, on a plantain leaf freshly cut from the backyard.

The best part was the money that came in. In the 1960s, anything more than a rupee was a big deal. I averaged around ₹60 or so. My grandmother opened a bank account and tried to teach me the value of savings.

There wasn’t much of an avenue for spending the money. I wonder if younger generations can even believe that.

The best I could do was wait for the Trichur Pooram — the grand festival that took over the whole town — and ask my grandfather for something. But he would always end up paying for it himself.

I still love kurukkiya kalan. I know making it now is too much effort. But my wife has surprised me a few times. 

At the time people my age had three birthdays. If a child did not turn five by 1 June, they had to wait out the year and could only get school admission the following year. Enterprising parents and grandparents — I suspect partly to get these pesky kids out of the house — came up with a plan.

Three birthdays!

I’m not sure about birth certificates at the time. If one existed, my grandmother must have burned it to a crisp. She pre-poned my date of birth to 1 June. So from that perspective, I entered the world early, with three birthdays; the official date of birth, the actual date of birth, and the naal pirannal.

Soon after I got married, I explained this strange phenomenon to my beautiful wife. For a few years, she dutifully followed the tradition that had been dinned into her.

Over the years she got the idea that I was having too much fun. The extra birthdays got cut off, one by one. Now only the actual birthday gets celebrated. My faint pleas go ignored.

This birthday, I got wishes from all over. WhatsApp has made that easy. All the near and dear ones called. The previous day, we met at a friend’s place; I couldn’t quite keep it from them that my birthday was the next day. What would they think if they found out later? The hostess already had a cake!

On the day itself, we went downtown to my cousin and brother-in-law’s place. There was a surprise waiting: more family members had joined the party. The younger generation! Oh, to be young again.

Time becomes precious

At 65, every second of life becomes precious. The memories even more so. Before they get lost. So I captured it all — a photo with every individual family member. And a hug.

When my cousin and brother-in-law dropped us off at the train station, he reminded me about the senior’s discount and took me to the supervisor on duty.

I held out the Presto card (the train and bus pass) on my phone. The supervisor on duty had the power to create! Like Michelangelo’s ‘Creation of Adam’, her device touched my iPhone. I watched the words on the Presto card change from ‘Adult’ to ‘Senior’.

That was when I let out a deep sigh. Reality bites. And chews.

Photo by Jen Theodore, Unsplash