Spending sixty years in rented or government accommodation, that was my life. Childhood was spent with siblings and parents. At that time, we used to shift from city to city. The nomadic life was stabilized when I got a job in Central Government and came to know that rest of the working life would be spent in one city only.
I retired a month ago. I obtained membership in a group housing society because when life is spent in only one city, buying a flat was a compelling part of life. Many of our office colleagues had joined the society and used to pay over the years for the desired flat. Payments were made sometime from the salary, sometimes taking a loan from the office and at other times utilizing the accumulated balance of the Provident Fund balance.
Buying a flat like in this mode was certainly cheaper than buying a built-up house, and easier than the option of buying a land and constructing your house on that. It took almost ten years to finish the flats. For that reason, when I finally got the allotment of the flat just six months prior to retirement, I had the consolation that now I will not have to wander around in rented accommodations. Now, I can stay in my own house.
And I shifted to his house one month before retirement so that there should not be any problem in the finalization of retirement benefits. Now, it was two months since I was staying there when the incident took place.
Most of the owners were either retired like me or were awaiting retirement shortly. In many flats, there was the second generation which was young. Some of the 2nd generations were serving, and some were still in the grinding wheels of studies. There were some owners who were out of the grinding wheels of the jobs like me; their second generation had gone far away from the grinding wheel of this family. Some were in the same city, away from the burden and discipline (though some called it exploitation) of parents, and some were picked up by the commercial wheel of earnings, thrown away in faraway cities, a couple of them even beyond the national borders, beyond the seas.
By the way, the real crux of the story is something else, and I ventured into a different arena. Let us go forward.
In the parks inside the society, and at all places where few people could gather, there used to be gathering of retired people all around. They had lots of gossips, from the world over, tailored according to their interests. I was staying in Flat number 53. It was already two months I have shifted, a family shifted in Flat number 52. The head of the family was freed by his office for about five years. He had worked in Mumbai in some high profile post in the private sector and after retirement, stayed with his son in Mumbai for another five years, before descending on this Flat number 52. He was too proud of himself. When I offered him tea and some breakfast as a good neighbor when they were still settling in, he got offended and retorted that he was not habituated to such mediocre breakfast. They had already placed orders for their breakfast with some big brand. I returned to my own area, thinking, will have some heavy snacks in the evening, as the item was perfect for my consumption.
His ego and pride isolated himself. Some of the younger oldies like me had given him a nickname, Mr. Captain. And unfortunately, the name somehow found an entry, pass through his eardrums, into his processor, and stored in his RAM. He used to come out of his house, walk straight out of the premises of the society, and while returning, went straight to his flat. Though on a couple of occasions, he joined some small groups of oldies. But he recited so many poems in his own praise that others started blaming themselves for not having impaired hearing. And then feeling offended by reactions, our Mr. Captain would start looking for some other front to conquer.
On a day just like that, Mr. Captain came out of his flat, looked at some of the groups in such condemnation as if he was distributing prasad to children running after him in front of a Hanuman Temple on Tuesday and walked away straight. He saw an elderly oldy, who must be more than 80, one of the senior-most in the society. He was probably waiting for his compatriots for the session of the day. Although at 80, his body and aura were imposing, and attractive. Mr. Captain also got attracted to him and sat beside him. With the preliminary introduction itself, Mr. Captain could know that this body and aura were the result of the career of an Army Officer and thought that he had got someone of his stature. He started talking and vomited his grievances against the social environment unabated.
"I shifted here under compulsion. I have never lived in such cramped societies in my life. You also might be feeling regret in staying here, because as an Army Officer, you must have lived in large bungalows with sprawling lawns. How disgusting is to stay here where you do not get a single person to whom you can talk nicely." After digesting many statements like this, the senior oldy retorted and gave his sermon to Mr. Captain.
"Look, gentleman, after retirement, all of us are like fuse bulbs. When we were good, everyone used to look at us for our wattage, power, and light we could spread. Now, all of us are like fuse bulbs, and it will be better for you sooner you accept this fact, better it will be to your own advantage. If one fuse bulbs strike another, both will break, it is necessary to understand this thing."
This small sermon shook Mr. Captain totally, and within three days, he too became '52 wale bhai' like all others. And we also forgot his nickname with time.
June 12,2020
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