It was August 3, 1966. I was in standard XI, when my headmaster informed me that my elder brother had died in a traffic accident. At that moment, I decided to become a doctor and save the world. It was November 1972. As a 4 year MBBS student, I was again informed that my eldest brother had died of a head injury. That night I decided to become a neurosurgeon. It was Jan 1975.
Like my classmates, I was toying with the idea of going abroad for higher education. Had my father opposed this, I would probably have taken the next flight. Interested only in my future, he left the decision to me. But how could I leave behind my parents, who had lost two grown-up sons? It was unthinkable. The next three decades were therefore spent under their tutelage, along with my widowed sister-in-law, her two little children and later my widowed sister. This was truly a joint family.
Did living in this milieu curb my personal growth? Was my individuality lost? Did my wife become only a subservient daughter-in-law? Not wanting to hurt the feelings of others, have we not denied ourselves something which we were pining for? If only we had been living on our own? Whose life was it anyway?
However thin a slice is cut, it still has two sides. What about the other side? Not a day passed when I did not relate to my parents what transpired in the hospital. At 80, my father, a retired government officer, went through my PhD thesis. My wife, my little children and everyone at home played a major role in the physical compilation of the five copies, perhaps the degree should have gone to “KG and family.” But then how thrilling was this demonstration of bonhomie and camaraderie and, from a selfish point of view, how useful! Had I been living alone, I certainly would not have had a finger in every pie! As I was always living under a banyan tree, I had many people to fall back upon whenever and wherever I wanted. It did mean some sacrifices but then is that not what life is all about — tradeoffs and compromises? “You win some and lose some,” but in the end you certainly come out best.
I always had instant access to nine decades of unadulterated wisdom. The truth often hurt. After all, youth is rebellious. It took me several years and even decades to understand that the old man was always right. My mother had never been to college, but she had obviously acquired a Nobel in the University of Life.
The grandparents were a mellowing influence, with the youngsters imbibing age-old truths and wisdoms. More interesting was the reverse. My father became addicted to cricket. My nephew, a brilliant banker, enthralled his grandfather with serious discussions of e commerce and the implications of the WTO. Quite often, the banker has come out second best!
The moral support one gets and the happiness of staying in a joint family offset the occasional pinpricks. Old-age homes are the result of irreconcilable differences of opinion between the elders and the middle-aged children. It makes economic sense to run one joint family, instead of three nuclear families. Worldwide, there is a tendency for mergers! Age doesn't mean a thing. The best tunes are played on the oldest fiddles. Old scotch is always at a premium. Tears come to my eyes when I recollect my 87-year-old father-in-law stating, “Why do you look at your watch when I am talking, why are you always in a hurry,” 30 minutes before he breathed his last.
I was “old fashioned” enough to spend my whole life in a joint family. As a 55-year old, I gave my 93-year-old father a shave and a bath and both of us enjoyed every minute of it. I had been “modern” enough to want my children to go to the Promised Land. Will history repeat itself? Only time will tell whether the birds have flown away keeping the cage-keepers waiting.
(The author, a Chennai-based neurosurgeon, is an adjunct professor at IIT Madras, Anna University and the Dr. MGR Medical University, Tamil Nadu. His email ID is drganapathy@apollohospitals.com)
