What if the next day is World War 3?

Today is a peaceful Wednesday.

I was in Matunga, the pink station governed by women. Matunga has its own charm.

I step into Ramashraya, a South Indian restaurant. Usually it’s chaotic, but that day it was all peace, and the air was thick with the calming, sweet fragrance of sandalwood incense.

I rarely look for company, so I took a seat alone at the front table.

Next to me, an uncle was reading his newspaper with a pen in hand. Reminding me of those days where I had all the world’s time to sit with a newspaper, not to read but to take out cuttings of quotes, jewellery ads, and nature scenes from the single Hindi newspaper we could afford, creating my own handmade scrapbook of stories.

I ordered my usual: thatte idli and filter coffee. Before long, an elderly lady approached, asking if she could share my table. I welcomed her with a nod. She ordered filter coffee and plain idli with extra sambar and no chutney, making a smart move as she knew exactly what the kitchen did best.

I found myself wondering: there are empty tables everywhere, yet she chose to sit with a stranger. Why?

Food for thought.

As we started to eat, I had a sudden, deep feeling of connection. I wasn’t just looking at an older lady.

I felt like I was looking into a mirror of my own future.

She carried herself with such calm, natural confidence. Even though she chose to sit alone, she didn’t seem lonely at all. There was a peaceful, silent understanding between us.

She wore a simple, beautiful Indian cotton dress — exactly the style I love. When she reached into her bag to pay the bill, she pulled out a handmade cotton purse, just like the ones I prefer over leather.

She prefers to trade in cash, indicating that her body is old, while her brain remains calculative.

The bindi on her forehead seemed to hold all the grace and beauty of her character. In many ways, she reminded me of my mother.

But I realised that my mother would never have had the courage to walk into a restaurant and have a breakfast all by herself.

We didn’t exchange a single word, but we spoke through telepathy.

I had come for idli (steamed rice), but I left with food for thought.

We are social animals, and we need the presence of others to ground us. Even in our independence, we are always searching for that silent, shared humanity.

It felt as if I had been granted a divine moment to wish upon my ageing.

The wish of full house

My vision of ageing…less like a quiet sunset and more like a vibrant, crowded festival.

I dream of a home where various cultures and generations live, rather than just two octogenarians.

In my HOME, traditions will be simple and real. I will celebrate every festival by focusing on nature and sustainability, not on old myths. To me, the trees, birds, and animals around us are the only “kuldevi and kuldevta” (family goddesses).

The chain of idol worship and the cycle of blind ritual will stop with me.

I will nurture a HOME where questions are the primary currency.

I will never ask the young to follow blindly, as I was once asked. A HOME where children feel free to ask “why” about everything.

I will be unapologetically biased toward my daughter’s empowerment, and my son will be taught to do the chores as their first step toward freedom.

No one will ever receive a “quick fix” like a ready-to-cook meal from me, because I want everyone to learn the true art of living.

I believe that true love is the transmission of capability, not just convenience.

I want my final chapters to be a spirit…and a circle of people…strong enough to keep the fire burning with song, dance and some drama to make life more liveable.

My life would be running on a single tired engine. But the spirit will still be willing. I would wish the flesh too was equally strong.

But I cannot wait for my turn to come, for who knows if the next day will be World War III. I want to create this “full house” feeling right now, starting with my grandparents.

Even though we live far apart, in this technological world, not connecting with someone is just an excuse.

I started writing letters to my grandparents. I fill them with stories, old memories, photos, and a personal touch of fingerprints and flowers. None of the smartphone galleries could do this in today’s modern world. Sometimes I write quotes, health tips, funny jokes, or any incident I would have shared on the phone, but I prefer the old-school method.

I am building my “full house” today, one letter at a time, to make sure my life is always warm, connected, and full of love.

Please share your thoughts and ideas on the vision of ageing.