I was a little apprehensive as my retirement loomed large before me.My friends were equally concerned about me and were lavish with their advice. I was cautioned about the ills of an inactive lifestyle that could soon turn my body into a storehouse of diseases. Don’t become a permanent fixture at home, poking your nose into everything, another one advised. Others told me not to offer unsolicited advice and not to refer to the ‘good old days’ too often.
Then came the retirement proper. It slowly dawned on me, after the initial confusion, that retired life was not that scary after all. I did not mind being the lord of my time after a long period of time-bound servitude. Luckily I live in a place far from metropolitan chaos and my house is surrounded by trees as old as time.
I no more curse the birds that wake me up early in the morning with their din. I enjoy watching squirrels hopping from branch to branch, chasing each other in all seriousness. A chameleon, perhaps mimicking me, sits still for hours; a crow perches on the electric line in front of my house and walks sideways, watching me the entire time.
I can once again enjoy the august company of Shakespeare, Bernard Shaw and Tennyson. When I want a change, there is always Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes and James Bond. I even enjoy a sojourn of the Wild West with the cowboys hurtling across valleys and mountains on their half-tamed horses, shooting down their opponents in a flash.
My grey hair and walking stick even endow me with some privileges. Young people who would otherwise fight over a seat in buses, now graciously offer their seats to me. Old age and superannuation, after all, have their own rewards if one is careful not to tread on other people’s toes.