Midlife Euphoria Day 49: Gliding into Senior Hood

Writing about this topic may freak out a few but I passionately believe we need to be prepared and skilled to face the inevitable fate of all …… senior life. With age, bones tend to shrink in size, weakening them and making them more susceptible to fractures. Muscles lose strength, endurance and flexibility – factors that can affect your coordination, stability and balance. What do we envisage when we think of old age? Wheelchairs, walkers, walking sticks, hearing aids, inflexibility, speech distortion, lower mental ability. Sounds dreadful but it is a reality that we must face.

Having said this, I have met remarkable veterans who are leading quality lives in their eighties. They can function normally, though a little gently, have worthy friends and continue to enjoy a game of cards, golf, social gatherings, concerts and parties. What sets them apart from the ones who are struggling for day-to-day existence? Well, the kind of malady one is facing is an especially crucial factor no doubt, but how you approach these looming years is also of great consequence.

Of late, I have witnessed quite a few old people having falls and then never being able to recover from them and move on. Most of these people were dynamic, inspirational and spirited, people I looked up to. To see them deteriorate so rapidly after a mere fall is heartbreaking. When you give up on one function of your body, it goes into a decline and gradually downswings other operations.

My father was one such person. He was my hero, ideal and mentor. A fitness freak, he played tennis, was an ace swimmer and then turned to yoga. But in his senior years all he could do was walk. After the age of eighty, he started losing his balance a bit. I asked him to use a walking stick. He got truly angry and retorted, “Why, have I become so old that I need a stick?” I told him that he was old, and needed a walking stick. He would not hear about it. I got him a swanky walking stick and implored him to use it as it would function as a third leg in times of need and prevent a fall. He was intelligent enough (a topper in engineering from Roorkee University, which has the status of an IIT now) to understand the importance of three legs versus two but refused to use it. I tried teaching him to use one, but it was awkward for him. He carried a stick with him but held it in his armpit. It was more of a deterrent than help. His decline started with a fall, which led him to being confined indoors and slowly giving up all other functions. It made me extremely sad to see a brilliant, spirited person reduced to nothing.

On the other hand, I once saw a middle-aged man almost running with a walker. I looked at him in wonder. I followed him, and when he stopped asked him how he could be so skillful in operating the walker despite his plastered leg. According to him, it was all a matter of practice. If my father had mastered the technique at a younger age, he may not have had any difficulty using a walker or walking stick when he really needed to.

Inspired by this example, I started practicing using a walking stick in my sixties. It was knotty to say the least. One had to keep the length of the walking stick to one’s optimal height. While going uphill, one had to bend a bit, pressing down with the stick; and the technique was different while going uphill. Someone saw me use a stick and laughed asking why I was using one. My proud retort was to learn how to use it without a hassle when I need it. Now even though I do not need to use a stick, I carry one. It is helpful on rough terrain and effective when going uphill and downhill. It is also useful to keep stray dogs away. Most importantly, I have lost my inhibition to be seen with a walking stick.

I seriously feel that at the age of sixty, we should all induct ourselves into an orientation to get a feel of some these basic appliances that we may need to use later in life. Nowadays there are extremely sophisticated walkers with wheels, and you can virtually run once you have mastered the procedure. Similarly, wheelchairs are so user-friendly that you may never feel handicapped. Walking sticks come in various shapes and sizes. There are the three-pronged ones which can stand on their own. You can get ones with a seat on which you can rest when tired. Moreover, a smart walking stick carried with a panache can be a style icon.

The counter argument to this view is why we can’t learn this when required. My understanding and what I have observed in the past is that when the misfortune occurs, one is completely engrossed in dealing with the shock, pain, medicines, dressings and physician visits. So much so that one cannot concentrate on mastering the most important element to elevate one’s mindset and make one feel as near normal as possible. Everything seems like an effort, and learning a new skill becomes agonizing. One tries, and tends to give up easily because of lack of motivation and a shattered spirit. Well-wishers appeal to you to try but you pay no heed. Your temperament may become disagreeable, and sympathizers gradually surrender. On the other hand, if one has been introduced to the appliance at an earlier stage, it would be much easier to embrace it.

The same goes for hearing aids. I have seen many elders complain about the discomfort of their use. The very thought of wearing one is putting off. But now there are very efficient and sleek looking machines that are not even visible, yet amazingly effective. Similarly, if one has been introduced to them well before their need, one would be far more consenting.

When mobility becomes particularly challenging, one should cultivate a few sedentary interests too, since people live long lives these days. Recently, I was lying in bed for five days due to an acute backache. In a state of agony, I thought I would be bored stiff. On the contrary, I was joyfully preoccupied. I watched television, thanks to OTT platforms, played online bridge, which is a passion, played online Scrabble, attended to emails and entertained myself with Instagram and WhatsApp without any guilt and ridicule from my family. It was a win-win situation.

A sobering thought. I feel I can slip into old age quite easily.

Midlife Euphoria Day 48: When I Met My Phantom Bridge Partner

I am a bridge enthusiast. For those who do not know what bridge is, it is a card game played by four players in two competing partnerships with partners sitting opposite each other around a table.

I learnt the game when I was a teenager from my father who was a keen bridge player. I used to watch him play and was impressed by the discipline and concentration the game entailed. I marvelled at the deliberation with which my father and his friends played and the animated conversation that followed. Sometimes, they would discuss a particular hand days after the game. How can a card game be so riveting that one can remember each detail with such clarity days later? I was intrigued to say the least. I asked my father if he would teach me this fascinating game. I needed four players in-house, and fortunately my two brothers agreed to pitch in.

The following Sunday, my father called us all and asked us to bring along a paper and a pencil. We sat around his square bridge table with two brand new packs of playing cards. The initiation started by learning a bridge convention called phony clubs, or strong clubs intermediate diamonds. It sounded impressive. He then rattled off numerous rules that follow the convention and we took notes copiously. It all seemed a bit overwhelming but exciting. After that, he emphasized bridge etiquette. While dealing, you had to extend your left hand to the opponent for him to cut the pack and then you dealt the cards clockwise. The “dummy” (one player in every game who puts his cards on the table for the partner to play) could not speak while the game was on. You could not advise or discuss with your partner while the game was on. There were lots of dos and don’ts which we had to keep in mind besides playing the dealt cards. We then played a couple of hands with all our cards facing up and made the bids, consulting my father and the notes we had taken painstakingly.

The session ended after an hour, and I was on cloud nine. The next class was scheduled for the coming Sunday with the promise that we learn the rules. My elder brother made a face…. more homework! I was like a woman possessed. I wanted to mug up every golden word from my notes to perfection. My two brothers did not seem that enthusiastic. However, they also brushed up enough to play the next Sunday.

Come the time for the next game, I was nervous but extremely excited. My brothers were also there, ready to participate quite eagerly. The game started on a very calm note. My father was quite pleased with the “homework” we had put in. We were allowed to consult our notes every now and then. Things were moving smoothly. Abruptly, I heard my father declare that the session was over. I looked bewildered! My father, in no uncertain words, said he had to terminate the session as we were not following the decorum seriously. We were constantly stretching out our wrong hand to the opponent to cut the cards. It seemed like a “no offence”. But there was no arguing with my father, and we had to disperse prematurely. A very disappointing end to a wonderful session that had begun so slickly.

Once on our own, my brother declared my father a dictator. Why should protocols be so important? After all, it is just a friendly game amongst family members. I agreed with him and felt my father was a bit harsh in this matter but was not going to jeopardize further lessons. I sided with him to their great displeasure. I was labelled a “chamchi” or someone who has excessive willingness to please the boss. I took the slur in my stride to continue with my unabashed fascination for the game.

After this, my brothers were not as regular as I was. I had to rope in my mother to fill in for them. Eventually, I absorbed the game enough to play independently, though bridge is a game where learning never really ends, and practice makes one as perfect as can be.

I have been playing ever since, sometimes more frequently than others. When the kids were young, it was less as one likes to play when there is absolute peace to concentrate. I thank my father every day for this wonderful gift that he passed on to me. Once the kids flew out of the nest, I was able to play more regularly.

However, the game has evolved over time. There are more conventions that people play. There is American Standard, Precision, Bergen, cue bid, Goren, Acol and several others. Having said that, if you know the basics, it is not overly complicated to play the others.

I want to emphasize that reaching midlife gave me more opportunity to play this wonderful game serenely. My husband also became my partner in crime. We enjoyed several sessions with friends playing, progressing and discussing the game. All was well till Covid enveloped the entire world in its grip. The clubs closed, outings stopped and so did bridge. It was the darkest period for bridge buffs.

But there is a positive aspect to every dark shadow. Online bridge became a rage overnight. One was a bit wary playing with a virtual partner but after a while, one took to it. We became members of a group in which you could play for the entire day at your convenience. My husband did not take to this electronic virtual game. I had to seek a partner. We would keep switching partners, playing with strangers. If one found someone compatible, one liked to play with him/her more often. Most of us had peculiar IDs like Cucoocap, Xtrasmart, Staplers, Taxman, Apollo and so on.

I found golfer50 very compatible. We played together a lot. Initially, we would bicker about certain bids (there is a column where you can communicate with players virtually), keeping the propriety of the game intact. Soon, we were seeking each other to play tournaments virtually jointly. After about two years, we exchanged phone numbers. The first time I called, I was surprised to hear a female voice on the other end. All this while, I was under the impression that my friend golfer50 was a man. After recovering from the first blow, we chatted amicably and decided to play at a fixed time.

It was a wonderful rapport. We talked only about the game. The conversations on WhatsApp were short and to the point, making our understanding of the game more proficient. It was like having a pen friend from the yesteryears. Whenever one received a letter from a pen friend overseas or a far-off city, it permeated an adrenal rush. It opened a gate to a new wonder world for us. Travelling overseas or otherwise was uncommon. The exchange of information was also exciting because of the time lag in between.

Time elapsed. It had been four years that Suman, my phantom partner (golfer50), and I have been playing together without ever setting eyes on each other. We live in twin towns and over the years, I met a few people who knew her. She had also met a few who knew me. Finally, this year we decided to register for a bridge tournament which had to be played in person. I was excited – not so much for the tournament – more because I was finally going to meet my ghost partner. Can you believe it that at the nth hour we had to withdraw from the tournament because Suman was indisposed? I was devastated to say the least. We were not destined to meet.

Fate gave us another chance when Suman invited me to play a tournament in person. I kept my fingers crossed. When I entered the tournament arena, I heard Suman. I could recognize her voice and could have walked up to her with my eyes closed – but with my eyes wide open I could not make her out. It was a spooky experience. Finally, we met, and it was simply exhilarating. I knew immediately that she was the one I was expecting to meet and much more. We got on like a house on fire. I cherish her friendship and the camaraderie we share.

Talking to a healthy 80-year-old once, I was amazed to learn that he is an ardent bridge player and a golfer. He started pursuing these passions in his midlife – the golden period of our life when you are free from household affairs. The children are grown up and the household runs on smooth wheels. You can nurture your ardours to the fullest. You have the time, patience, and most of all, the penchant. Life is like a dream. The combination of golf and bridge is deadly. One keeps you physically fit and the other provides mental stimulation. The beauty is that you can conduct both these fabulous activities all your life competing at your own pace. True midlife euphoria!