LIFE BEGINS AT SEVENTY-ONE
For her. And, for him, at seventy-two.
At seventy-two, I would be gone, perhaps. Even Gandhi looked so old at that age.
That is the age, when so many spend their time singing lullabies for their great grand children. That is the age, when some hurry up with their Wills, and some end up in old-age homes. But, this couple has great plans for their future. Their life begins, now.
She has just delivered a baby girl ... and, she yearns to have a son, too. Maybe, in two years from now.
He is ecstatic; just on cloud nine. To have this gift of life, he had to spend a fortune. A farmer from a remote village that he is, he had to mortgage his fields to fund their dream: of bearing their own child. They are not only proud of their feat, they are confident of paying off their debt, and bringing up their children.
Their life begins, now.
I am, almost, fifty-one. I have one son who is, soon, going to be seventeen. "One is more than enough ... too much!" I am liar, if I don't share how I feel sometimes. I am more consumed by the thoughts of his education, the cost of bringing him up, my mortgage payments, my dwindling income, my endless bills, my retirement, my old age, my health insurance, my final days ... And, I don't have to tell you, that all these thoughts consume me, like a hell-fire, in spite of my so called 'awareness'. Yes, in spite of my extensive exposure to reading, writing, teaching and preaching. I am still scared to keep my foot forward.
The ground may cave in! My heart freezes.
Life beckons for this couple at seventy-one and seventy-two.
"Who will take care of their children, say after another ten years from now?" A side of my brain asks.
"They, themselves," another side responds. "They 'see' a great future beyond that, too."
"Future beyond that?"
"Yes, to see that future, my heart must yearn for a baby, just as this village couple's did."
Oh, that innocence, that trust, that zest ... that never-say-old spirit! My heart yearns for a pilgrimage to their village, if not for a baby.
"Long live you ... whose life begins, now. At seventy-one and seventy-two."
GERALD D'CUNHA
At seventy-two, I would be gone, perhaps. Even Gandhi looked so old at that age.
That is the age, when so many spend their time singing lullabies for their great grand children. That is the age, when some hurry up with their Wills, and some end up in old-age homes. But, this couple has great plans for their future. Their life begins, now.
She has just delivered a baby girl ... and, she yearns to have a son, too. Maybe, in two years from now.
He is ecstatic; just on cloud nine. To have this gift of life, he had to spend a fortune. A farmer from a remote village that he is, he had to mortgage his fields to fund their dream: of bearing their own child. They are not only proud of their feat, they are confident of paying off their debt, and bringing up their children.
Their life begins, now.
I am, almost, fifty-one. I have one son who is, soon, going to be seventeen. "One is more than enough ... too much!" I am liar, if I don't share how I feel sometimes. I am more consumed by the thoughts of his education, the cost of bringing him up, my mortgage payments, my dwindling income, my endless bills, my retirement, my old age, my health insurance, my final days ... And, I don't have to tell you, that all these thoughts consume me, like a hell-fire, in spite of my so called 'awareness'. Yes, in spite of my extensive exposure to reading, writing, teaching and preaching. I am still scared to keep my foot forward.
The ground may cave in! My heart freezes.
Life beckons for this couple at seventy-one and seventy-two.
"Who will take care of their children, say after another ten years from now?" A side of my brain asks.
"They, themselves," another side responds. "They 'see' a great future beyond that, too."
"Future beyond that?"
"Yes, to see that future, my heart must yearn for a baby, just as this village couple's did."
Oh, that innocence, that trust, that zest ... that never-say-old spirit! My heart yearns for a pilgrimage to their village, if not for a baby.
"Long live you ... whose life begins, now. At seventy-one and seventy-two."
GERALD D'CUNHA
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