24 Jan Embracing Our Elders
As far back as I can recall I wanted to be old. Daadi called me an “old soul”, someone who had been here before, experiencing life for a second time around. She was a devout Muslim, but growing up in India surrounded by Hindus and Sikhs, their cultural norms seeped into her Soul, widening her spiritual being to encompass more than one view of the Spirit. Even though she rarely discussed it, I sense she was a firm believer in reincarnation, the rebirth of the Soul into a new body.
“Samita, we need another player for taash,” one of the elders called out. “Join us.”
Maybe it was because I was running around the estate – barefoot once again – enjoying the cool earth under my feet, allowing it to cake into my tiny, jagged nails and on my brown, scrawny legs. The ancient mud felt right on my skin, as if the land itself was saying, “Carry me with you. The primal dirt will serve you well in new lands, seeking new fortunes, but under the warmth of the setting sun and the light of the moon you will always have me to warm your heart.”
Maybe it was because I would plead with the caretakers to be silent, placing a finger to my lips – a universal gesture for a secret – climbing up trees, shaking the fruit to the ground, and gobbling it up until my stomach protruded with discomfort. Maybe my cousins, at that time all boys, were tired of my non-stop energy and pursuit of exploration and exuberance that they retreated to their bedrooms to nap or read or be out of my path.
For all the reasons listed above and numerous more, Daada and Daadi, my paternal grandparents; Chotee and Bhari, my great-aunts; Zulfiquar Daada, one of several great-uncles; and Jaffrey Daadi, another great-aunt, regularly would ask me to join in on a game of cards. Taash intrigued me less than the opportunity to be invited into the inner-sanctum of the elder community. Me? A four year old child was being summoned by not one, but six elders!
“Taash intrigued me less than the opportunity to be invited into the inner-sanctum of the elder community.”
“Gee, gee!” I yelled in enthusiasm forgetting about not raising my voice to anyone older than I.
This was a chance to see and hear some excitement. Jaffrey Daadi had a foul-mouth, swearing at every mistake and win, with the same amount of gusto. She had tobacco-stained teeth and constantly had a wad of paan, a leaf smeared with lime paste and nuts, tucked into one cheek that showed no signs of dissolving. She was Daada, Chotee and Bhari’s first cousin, in fact, they were all cousins except for Daadi who married into the family.
Six very willing instructors, all with teaching styles of their own, matched my eagerness. Daada, spoke very little, watched more, let in a bit of humor at his own expense, and hollered out loud when Jaffrey Daadi started cussing at all the ancestors that predeceased her. Chotee and Bhari would try – to no avail, to calm down their cousin by distracting her or working through the issue; the two sisters were educators so it made sense that they affirmed Jaffrey Daadi’s frustration and directed her towards a healthier understanding. Zulfaquar Daada, with a constant frown on his face, the yin to Daada’s yang, exuded an air of villainous retribution if he didn’t win or if his partner made them both lose. Lastly Daadi, who rarely spoke, could count an entire deck of cards in her head without breaking a sweat, and taught me that how a person plays cards shows all you need to know about her.
Over and over again, from an estate in Karachi to homes in Chicago and Rialto, elders welcomed me to their traditions. Sacred teachings, not necessarily religious doctrines, but ways to live were shared and consumed with pure hunger. Customs passed through oral traditions, a moral compass to guide me in life, and integrity down to the marrow of my bones still serves me to this day. The Elders are all gone but I am still here.
I realized the other day that I am not anyone’s granddaughter. Everyone, including my grandparent’s in-laws, whom I met later in life, has traveled on, their bodies no longer residing in this realm. I cried huge tears, gobs of snot running down my nose as if I had just lost all the humans that have ever held a role as grandparent in my life because – for the first time – I realized I was no longer a grandchild.
Titles give us security. We are born as a son or daughter to parents. If we choose, we can become parents ourselves, staking our own hut within the security of the compound. Belonging to someone gives us a tethering to a village that resides deep within our ancient DNA; a primordial call for safety and security. But what happens when those elders are gone, when parts of our society do not regard aging as sacred or valued, and when the amount of time lived on this Earth is something we should be ashamed to share?
I am aging – plain and simple. The wrinkles are emerging but I refer to them as laugh lines because I do laugh a lot. Gravity is a force that’s been around since…well, the Big Bang, so I’m not fighting that science (or any fact based education for that matter). Sometimes, crinkles and creaks welcome me during the dawn, and a few aches have decided to say hello that I do not focus on. I am embracing it – all of it.
Maybe I’m not supposed to be acknowledging such things. Maybe I should hide my faults, steer clear of any and all conversations regarding my age or my body, and dismiss myself. Maybe I’m supposed to invest hundreds or thousands of dollars into a billion dollar industry to make me youthful and looking like an ingénue. Maybe I’m to remain small, not living to my fullest potential because that’s what a segment of society finds comfort in because that’s all they have been taught. But I won’t.
“I won’t believe that as I age, I have less worth, that only persons young and bright and slim and tight have value.”
I won’t believe that as I age, I have less worth, that only persons young and bright and slim and tight have value. You’ve got the wrong woman here. I have worked way too hard to be 45 and to be beautiful, finally shining as me – genuinely 100% me.
None of this has to do with my physical self. I do my best to treat my body as a temple: healthy food, physical activity, and meditation, but I have genetic factors contributing to my build, so the brown, round curves are not going away. The “twin skin”, excess stretchy tummy area from carrying twins to term and delivering them is still there, as are the stretch marks, as are my sons who will be 17 years of age next month.
The mirror can show me what it wants, but I will believe in something beyond what I see. I will believe in the connection that was made when I was welcomed into this Village by Puppa and Umme as their daughter. I will believe in my Elders, my human family that has allowed me the opportunity to be fully me. I will believe in aging with dignity. I will believe in becoming an Elder in an ever-expanding village. I will believe in wisdom, truth and love. I will believe in the Divine. I will believe in myself.
There’s beauty in aging and wisdom in moments spent on this planet.
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