Forgetting to remember

Raj Kadyan

Old age and its negatives are inevitable. Forgetfulness is one of these. There was a time when I could go to the market and buy 10 items, remembering them all. Then I started writing them. These days, the wife also reminds me to carry the list, as I am exiting the door.

Vision enhancers are an easy solution for sight rectification, but there’s no such gadget for hearing. The hearing aids flooding the market are only a psychological tool. Every time I go to the audiologist with a complaint, he tells me my hearing has further declined since my last visit. I find myself avoiding conversations, becoming a recluse.

Experts tell us that memory is still there but its recall becomes sloppy with age. I can agree. I was the youngest among six siblings. When he was old, my father got my name in the third or fourth attempt. But the fact that he got all our names correctly though in a mixed order, meant his brain was fine.

Memory has other peculiarities. I can vividly recall how Newton discovered gravity or how and when Napoleon lost at Waterloo. But I often forget my email password.

The number of times one misplaces daily use items would go into double digits. A real ‘smart’ phone should have spectacles and hearing aid built into it. If it can also throw in a shaver, its popularity would soar.

We recently spent a fortnight in Mumbai with our daughter’s family, to coincide with Ganesh Chaturthi. ‘Quality time’, as the elder granddaughter calls it, though I believe after 75, every living minute is quality time.

When here, I take a few walking rounds of the block every evening. The younger granddaughter joins me on her cycle. Over time, my walking speed has become slower while her cycling is getting faster. The other day, I walked out with the laces of my right shoe still untied. But happily, I realised it during the first round itself. ‘Not bad,’ I said to myself.

One day, I decided to remember everything very deliberately. And what better day than Ganesh Chaturthi?

The son-in-law is devoutly religious. A great décor was created indoors for the festive occasion. I was the last to shuffle in, the family was already in prayer when I did. With my auditory deficit, I could barely follow the hymns. I did some introspection. I consciously went over where I had kept my glasses, the phone, the watch, pen and the like. I was determined to beat the age on this festive day. ‘The fact that I remember I am forgetting, itself is positive for memory,’ I told myself. It lifted my spirits.

As I stood with my eyes closed and hands folded, appropriate to the occasion, I felt a tug on my lapel. ‘Nana,’ she said with the guileless simplicity of a 10-year-old, ‘You are wearing your T-shirt inside out.’

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