Said a pensioner: “I wonder why these doctors prescribe so many drugs to old people like us — one for sugar; another for cholesterol; another for BP.” Another quipped, smiling: “Perhaps, they want us to die sooner.” And both laughed.
Have you ever been to a sub-treasury in the first week of a month? If you are young, of course,‘no' will be your curt reply. But, if you are a septuagenarian like me, your answer would be ‘yes' and that, too, with a long sigh. Let me now narrate my ordeal at the sub-treasury in my town when I went there to collect my pension this first week of June.
I was a bit late, around 10.30 a.m. As soon as I reached the gate of the sub-treasury, I heard a steady and loud din — the murmur of innumerable voices from inside. I knew it would be a tough day. I would have to wait long. Long — but how long? I reached the courtyard and a sea of faces greeted me. Mostly, all grey-haired ‘pantaloons' talking, laughing and waiting for their pensions.
I took a seat somehow on the cemented bench and fumbled the cheque book and pen from my bag. Balancing the book on my lap, I managed to write the amount and put my signature, even as I answered someone who asked me ‘What is the date today, madam, — ‘fourth.' Then, I took the cheque to the clerk and, along with the passbook, handed it over to him
As I was coming back to my seat, I saw it was lost. Already, another like me, had occupied it. I gently smiled at her and stood nearby. All around were eager faces; some were known but mostly unknown. All were busy talking. I tried to listen. “Do you know my daughter-in-law keeps hiding all kinds of sweets from me,” a grey-haired, bespectacled lady was narrating. “Don't know where she has learned this knack of house-keeping. Sometimes, I get so terribly disgusted.”
Another was narrating: “I wonder why these doctors prescribe so many drugs to old people like us — one for sugar; another for cholesterol; another for BP.” Another quipped, smiling: “Perhaps, they want us to die sooner.” And both laughed.
In the meantime, it was getting hotter and hotter every moment. I looked up. No, there is no ceiling fan at all!
I looked around and found a seat. There beside me sat four teachers — “Do you know, I tell my son, the government gave us salaries when we were young for our hard work; and now it is giving us pension for our drugs!”(They all had a hearty laugh.) I wondered how they echoed my own thoughts!
As I sat waiting and perspiring, the clerk called out a number, 238'. I almost jumped up. How could he call out ‘238' when mine is ‘202' and I'm still without a call? I moved towards the clerk. All around him stood men and women asking the same question. Now as I thought of returning to my seat, I saw once again I had lost it.
Like this, it continued hour after hour. I looked at my watch. It was 1.30. I was feeling hungry, tired and sick. Suddenly, the murmur quietened. Everyone was gazing at the desk where the clerk sat. A new clerk had come. He had a loud, clear voice. The numbers rang out ‘200', ‘201', ‘202' quickly. As it came to be my turn, I gathered my pension and stepped out. Now heaving a sigh of relief, I just wanted to reach home.
An autorickshaw came by. Quickly, I clambered in. The driver too was an old man. He observed,” How happy madam! You are getting your pension, no? I murmured: ‘Do you know, I've been waiting since 10.30 for this and it is 2.30 now?' But he seemed not to have heard me at all. He said, “Oh, it's nothing, you're so fortunate — a pension in this time of inflation and at this old age is a real blessing! Everyone loves your pension! Your children love it, your in-laws wait for it! You are so much wanted by all even at your old age. Why? Just for your pension! And, look at me, I'm just an old fool, driving here and there even at this age. Of course, you're lucky!” I said nothing. Handing over the auto fare, I moved towards home — he may be correct. I knew but my mind said: ‘No, today I wasn't'.
(The writer's email is: meeranair.mc@gmail.com)