Come the 60th birthday, sometimes even a few years earlier, it is mandatory to retire from regular service, though it’s usual for the cranium contents to function well and intelligently for a good many years ahead.
But as Charles Lamb so succinctly put it, ”I’m retired leisure.“ The encomiums by my juniors have stopped reverberating, the garlands have faded, and the gifts lavishly given no doubt, are consigned to the cupboards — for how many pieces of glassware or crystal or plaques can be put on display?
Now it takes me awhile to remember not to jump out of bed at daybreak to get the household organised before I leave for work. It matters little if the maid turns up an hour late for I have time by the bushel to potter around, make a steaming hot cup of coffee and to listen to the koel on the mango tree warbling its paeans for existence. And I leisurely can glance through the newspaper, beyond the headlines.
Still my feet yearn to saunter to my erstwhile workplace of endeavour of 30 years, the files and friendships that once matured into affection.
I walk into the department, now bustling yet quiet as my younger colleagues are now on the treadmill. They greet me with smiles of concern. They inquire about my health as though I’ve been an invalid all my life and forgetting that I bid farewell to them officially only a couple of years ago. Most of them hurriedly pick up their files, to attend seminars or workshops, and say “we must meet soon”. Maybe some deadline or a way of saying sayonara.
Some small talk comes from those who remain. I feel aloof because the chain of interaction is now lost as rookies fumble with their newfound status and work.
So I stroll out, glad to be out before I become too mawkish for my own good. I stroll calmly through the precincts with its potted plants and colourful bushes, realising that they too will have their retirement date when their leaves fall. I sit for a while under the shade of a spreading tree, and revive my mood.
Back home, there are many books to be read, music to listen to, movies to watch, let me see beauty with new eyes, and the hope and everyday joy that retired life cannot destroy.
I’ve decided to live each day as it comes, rain or shine, as I hum to myself the opening lines of the theme song from Dr. Zhivago — there will be songs to sing, I’m now venturing into learning Japanese, calligraphy or Yiddish. The untravelled world gleams from afar for me, so tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new.
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