I have heard a proverb. Think before you speak and consult an old man before you write. So before I started writing this article I had tried to consult men and women above fifty. I can find many men. I am yet to hear from a lady above fifty.
Well. If our life is a curve, first rising and then falling, then we, the men and women in fifties, are on the wrong side of it—the slope side. And mind well, every slope is dangerous. Before two days I met one of my friends in garden, flinging his newly purchased stick. I asked him, ''How do you really feel? I mean you're 57. Tell me honestly.''
''Honestly, I feel like a newborn baby. I've got no hair, I have no teeth, and I just start crying without reason.'' That must be the trademark of this group of gentlemen and gentle women, not the crying in fact but speaking about everything with high profile anger. However you don’t need be extra talented for knowing your age. When the hair start thinning, teeth start falling, and the ladies start trusting you, then you have past fifty: take it granted.
I always keep phone diary. Pink colour. In our ancient immobile days (when there was no mobile phones), I sometimes forgot my money wallet, but never the tele-diary. You cannot call a friend with currency notes in your pocket. But you can manage borrowing, in case of need, if you have your friends’ numbers in hand. So still I keep a small diary, 1981 model. But its contents have drastically changed now. Before ten years there were names starting with Mr. or Mrs. and even Miss. (It was the time, yaar.) Now most of the diarised numbers are well qualified, but ending with MD and MBBS. (Image Courtesy Wikimedia Commons)
