On a recent trip to Singapore, I was exercising in a park when a van pulled up. Elderly people climbed out, some in wheelchairs, steadied by young caretakers. Within minutes, chairs stood in neat rows beneath the trees. A young instructor started cheerful music and simple movements. Those who could, stood. Others followed with their hands, laughing and chatting. Ninety minutes later, they left.
I saw the same scene in parks, basements and open spaces across the city. Singapore’s Active Ageing Centres offer exercise, karaoke, crafts, and company. Its neighbourhoods are built with older legs in mind. The country has officially become a super-aged society, and by 2035 more than one in four citizens will be 65 or older.
India is ageing too. We just prefer not to look. Our elderly number more than 150 million, over one in 10 of us. Many depend on their adult children, and about three in four live with a chronic illness.
Like Singapore, we treat caring for parents as a duty. Both countries have laws requiring adult children to support parents. The difference is what stands beside the family. In Singapore, it is the community and the state. In India, the family often stands alone.
And families are stretched. Children migrate for work. Joint households shrink. Couples juggle careers and school runs. Affection is abundant. Capacity is not.
In my neighbourhood, I see elders walking alone or beside paid helpers. Hardly anyone glances their way. Conversations grow shorter and outings fewer, until their world contracts to a single room. Loneliness has become a silent epidemic. Behind closed doors lurks something worse. Elder abuse often goes unreported, because dependence and shame keep victims quiet. We have shelters for the destitute and costly retirement homes for the wealthy. The vast middle is left to manage alone.
It is easy to say the government should do more, and the community should care more. Safer pavements and benches would make stepping outside less daunting. Singapore shows that none of this is complicated. But policy moves slowly, and bodies do not wait for it.
Ageing is inevitable. Growing weaker is optional. Dependence does not have to be destiny. Fauja Singh took up marathon running at 89 and, at 100, was credited with eight world age-group records in a single day. Radhamani Amma of Kerala, in her 70s, holds licences for 11 categories of vehicle, from buses to road rollers, and is seen driving them with ease.
We cannot all be them. But we can all begin. Lift weights. Eat enough protein. Walk daily. Practise balance. These are small, unglamorous habits, and they decide whether old age is lived or merely endured. We owe that to ourselves, and even more to our adult children.
Longevity is a privilege, and not everyone receives it. The elders in that Singapore park had a van come for them. Most of us will wait a long time for ours. I keep thinking of the ones who could stand. They did not stand because of the music. They stood because their bodies still allowed it. That is built years earlier, one walk and one set of weights at a time.
India will grow old. Whether that means fading away depends on what we do while we still can, without waiting to be rescued.
Instagram: @preeti.shenoy