California dreaming: What the elderly can teach us about 'slowness' in life

The year is still young. It is not yet jaded like its ancestors. It still bursts with the promise that all forms of youth hold. Whether it is a new year, a new piece of clothing or jewellery, or the latest technology, as a collective we have never been more obsessed with newness, with the latest. The allure is obvious. And like most of us, I too, am drawn towards the new and shiny.

But no matter how much newness we incorporate, a void remains. And so, I am trying to strike a balance by removing a great deal of the new stuff and replacing it with a celebration of the old. Simple changes like moving residences from a newly constructed fancy, shiny place to one that's slightly older with more soul, church bells and most importantly, trees that have had the time to grow to their full mature glory. Swapping new music and movies for older ones with more soul, elegance and a slower pace. But most of all, I'm celebrating old people.

I have been obsessed with old people ever since I can remember. Perhaps it comes from having grown up without a sense of roots or the charming influence of grandparents. (Both sets passed away while I was a toddler. Consequently, as a child, I was envious of children who had them.) To me, old people have always been very beautiful. Perhaps it is their kindness and unconditional warmth towards anybody. Perhaps it is their Dalai Lama-like wrinkled smiles. Perhaps it is their eccentricities and mood swings. Perhaps it is their mastery over my very favourite art form - storytelling.

While youth is put upon a pedestal and worshipped, old age is rarely celebrated. I pride myself on having friends who are both decades younger and decades older than me. It is this age gap that helps keep me rooted with both feet firmly on the ground and my head floating in the clouds, dreamy and yet feeling completely alive.


Old people are the best storytellers - after all, they have lived a lot more than the rest of us.

One simple conversation with a senior stranger a decade ago, changed my life. She was a cashier at the local Costco - a wholesale American retailer - and during the course of a simple mundane exchange of hello, how is your day, etc., she said: "It is a great day. Any day that I can get out of bed is a wonderful day." As someone in her early 20s taking her health for granted, this was a life changing moment. It taught me to be grateful for every minute, which eventually evolved into celebrating everyday as if it was a birthday.

Over the years I have learned countless lessons from old people. During the early 2000s I did a bunch of travel and lifestyle stories for international magazines. As I covered vintage charms like the Napa Valley Wine Train or zeppelin rides, I couldn't help but notice just how many of the passengers were delightful old people. During the summers of 2011 and 2012 which I spent in Redwood City, the city's downtown came alive with square dancing. Many of the dancers were senior citizens with bright eyes and infectious smiles. I'd stumble upon groups of senior citizens idyllically playing bocce ball in beautifully sunny Sunnyvale. It seemed to me that more than most, it was this age group that was truly reaping the beautiful weather and bounty of parks in California. Everywhere I looked, they lived every moment to the fullest, while my peers and I ran in rat races, climbed up social and corporate ladders, tired of life's responsibilities and challenges at work.

Perhaps their zest for life was born out of the fact that the inevitability of death was more obvious to them. And it should be to us as well. In today's crazy world of accidents, shooters, wars, diseases, 'The End' could appear anytime in the movie that is one's life. So there is absolutely no excuse left to not live life to the fullest.

A friend who recently moved from Bombay to Mountain View has been bitten by the Californian bugs of wellness and fitness as well. She can't stop raving about her trainer. But I am not sure if she is more bowled over how wonderful her trainer is or how wonderful her trainer is in spite of being seventy years old, and in better health than most young people we know.

That's the thing. While old people are the best storytellers - after all, they have lived a lot more than the rest of us - the ones I have met also seem to be constantly growing themselves through learning. This is different from the trend of recent years of constantly upgrading one's work skills by taking endless courses online or at university extensions. That is fantastic, of course, it keeps us updated just like the latest version of a software or an operating system. It helps us get ahead at work and simply keep our jobs.



But what's different is that they are learning just for the joy of it. Simply because it might be fun and life is actually short. I spend a lot of my time volunteering at a kindergarten, so naturally this reminds me of early childhood when fun was the center of our universe. If we too, were to simply learn for the sake of learning, and not to prove anything or get anywhere, how free learning would be, how joyful and how true to its original spirit.

I am not sure if old people realise this. But for me, this has been one of the most liberating experiences of my life. Countless senior citizens have somehow helped me embrace newness and newer experiences more openly and more fully. Consequently, my life is richer than ever before. I see them volunteering at libraries or rallying at farmers markets for causes like missing children or the city's municipal issues. There is a sense of purity about this, as there is in any form of volunteering.

Lastly, but perhaps the lesson I am most grateful to have learned from the old is the luxury of slowness: of doing things slowly, deliberately, of taking their time. In a society smitten with speed, suffering from heavy symptoms of ADHD, slowness and complete attention are perhaps the greatest luxuries. In a myriad intangible ways, this lesson has impacted every part of my life. And somehow, this sense of slowness has also managed to trickle down to my five-year-old son who is called the calmest child around, often playing with a pebble or a stick for a long time.

It reminds me of how concepts like complete presence, stillness and mindfulness that often come up during meditation sessions. This is the very opposite of Descartes's famous quote: "I think, therefore I am". But maybe nothing - for instance, the act of thinking - needs to be done. Being is just enough.

- The author is a San Francisco-based writer, journalist, vegan cook, Reiki teacher and meditation teacher. She is the co-author of 'Nawazuddin Siddiqui: An Ordinary Life' and a former foreign correspondent with The Economic Times. She can be reached on Twitter @ReadRituparna.

* Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this column are that of the writer. The facts and opinions expressed here do not reflect the views of www.economictimes.com.