The chrysalis period of retirement

 " NOW THAT YOU ARE RETIRED 

 YOU GET AN EVEN TOUGHER BOSS......YOUR WIFE "

I became one with a growing crowd of bank retirees a year and a half ago. At close of first decennial of the millennium, it wasn't a crowd, just a trickle. The numbers swelled phenomenally from retiree outflows across the entire PSB spectrum especially in the last five years with more in the wings. In fact, it’s a deluge quite reminiscent of the spectacular rise in child births in the west immediately following WW II, one that coined the term ‘baby-boomers’ for young couples. Our PSBs have gone to the other end of human life scale and turned ‘retiree -boomers’.

This unprecedented swell in retirees has put focus on our handling of senior citizens. For bank retirees the foremost issue is not so much financial as an issue of smooth transition from bread-earners status to one living off pensions or at best, part-time earners. More importantly, they need emotional succour to get over the feel of fish out of water after the final handshakes. 

The normative approach for enlightened managements is to put would-be retirees through workshops and counselling sessions covering the whole gamut of life style changes required to cope with challenges and threats of an retired existence - from aspects of financial security, time management , dietary habits, health care and medical security, to drop in self-esteem arising from loss of halo of an IP ( important person) on turning a PIP ( previously important person).In short, an attuning of mind to seek happiness ignoring the balding head at the top. 

By some fortuity or more likely, the prayers of well-wishers I had managed to acquire an executive tag, and an entitlement to participate, with spouse, in one such program before the ‘final’ adieu. It’s a formal structured program that the bank conducts for all its soon-to-superannuate executives to mentally prepare them for an existence outside its portals.

It was three days of quintessential learning, cogitation, self-exploration and emotional reorientation. From financial and wealth management in an inflationary world to desired behavioural readjustments in family and social relationships, to coping with ageing and mortality, a bouquet of knowledge gaps were plugged. In essence, we returned with a self-administered ‘wellness kit’ in our mental baggage, besides extravagant gifts of some great utilitarian retirement tips.

Our physical comforts too were well taken care of. We wallowed in luxury for its duration in 5-star accommodation, gormandized on multi-cuisine delicacies, exotic snacks, took sight-seeing trips, watched light and sound laser shows et al, all paid for plus some out-of-pocket allowance to boot. (the proverbial fattening of a sheep before the kill?) What more could one want!

Sadly, you can take a horse to water but can't make it drink. For instance, an early morning hour-long regimen of variously twisting one’s body and limbs and contorting of nostrils in asanas and pranayamas was highly recommended. Trainers saw to it that we got it right. But it was too big an ask for my badly abused body. Quite naturally, after a few frail attempts at flaying arms and legs I chickened out. Equally, quite naturally the trainers gave up on me early on and advised me to settle for an hour of daily brisk morning walk. And I didn't fail them, doing five rounds of the outer perimeter of Pataliputra Stadium every day without fail. Then in one of those quirky turn of events, the housemaid preponed her chore timing to early morning. Quite naturally, the duty of opening the gates and keeping vigil over her fell on me. The morning walk unobtrusively dropped out of daily itinerary. 

The dietician advised- just one regular meal in a day against the normal three. But that seemed to belittle my recent gastronomic sacrifices – abjuring non-veg food, mutton in particular that I loved, and cigarettes. Wasn't that sufficient abstinence, the mind rebelled. Besides, one doesn't forsake a new found love just like that – my new fondness for vegetarianism. Further, without being accused of hedonism, one can legitimately ask, what is the point of living if one can’t eat, drink and make merry at will ? Life in any case is ephemeral. So, its three meals as usual.

However, we came off rather well in matters relating to financial security, the forty years of grounding in taking 'risk-free’ risks came in handy. I already had my three buckets for financial comfort worked out- 'essentials' bucket for necessities of life, 'lifestyle' bucket for pursuit of dreams, and lastly, 'nest egg' bucket to provide for emergencies especially, medical ones.

But retirement is not only about retirement planning but also about retirement living. I learnt this truism, as they say, on the streets. The lessons came from dealing with the grey areas in the middle bucket, the dreams; in particular, the two prickly questions - 'why dream' and 'whose dreams'. 

The program’s wellness kit spoke of pursuing one’s dreams in the abundance of leisure time occasioned by retirement but after we had settled in our nest and had a go at dreams, a doubt sprouted. If you haven't dreamt for the better part of your life why day-dream now? Does one have any chutzpah left in the kitty for flights of fancy? After much one-way debates the wellness kit prevailed and my wife affirmed that for a fulfilling retired life we do need to fill in on unfulfilled dreams. The epilogue of our life story has to be inked differently, not merely a corollary to earlier chapters; to put it figuratively, written in the language of 3 Ds-  Doughnut, Drinks and Dreams.

The 'Whose dreams' thing proves more intractable. The program had no time slot for this one. Yet the issue is as old as the hills. As Adam Smith in his classic 'Wealth of Nations' puts it with utmost economy of words, it’s really a question of ‘double coincidence of wants '. Let me explain. I have a lust for travel, my wife thinks it wasteful. She would rather spend money on the likes of Amitabh Bachan cavorting on the silver screen, I, contrastingly, on if-not-that-then-this basis, would prefer buying books. So, the money in the middle bucket lies unspent for want of ‘double coincidence of dreams’. That precisely is the 'whose dreams' problem, a knotty one of identifying shared dreams.

Come to think of it, a host of other post teething issues remain unresolved. Maybe someday I will share these too. But rest assured it would only strengthen the narrative that 'wellness kits' of transition programs, at best, plug knowledge gaps. Humans and their relationships are too complex to be encapsulated in a one size fits formulation for happily retired living. When one actually gets down to the grind of living a relatively secluded life on one’s own that mantras for happy living, so to say, evolve. And the mantras need to pass muster in the chrysalis phase, the first two years  of second innings. Otherwise, there is a real risk of inertia seeping in to perpetuate a less than happy state of existence. Waiting too long for things to work themselves out is really not a viable option, but a surrender.

So, we do wonder, why is our own taking so long? Was the process not well begun? So, let's go back in time. The pre-retiree training was held at Agra, the place that still echoes Shah Jahan's eternal love for Mumtaz Mahal. What I believe is the most beauteous monument in the world, Taj Mahal, still stands tall and erect in glorious testimony of it, an internationally acclaimed symbol of love. 

However, the obverse side of this romantic tale has two dark spots. When you are touching sixty, Cupid isn't the same hero that he was, say, 40 years earlier. Taj looks a lot less bewitching to retirees. Further, on the banks of Yamuna opposite the Taj Mahal is the cruel reminder of the tragic denouement of emperor's love - the fort where he was confined by his son, Aurangzeb, to spend the rest of his life gazing wistfully at Taj through jharokhas on the rooftop. Even by the less exacting standards of civil conduct of the age, the emperor wasn’t too happily retired. And to add to the negativity of the place is its mental asylum. God forbid anyone ever needing it.

My rites of passage to happy retirement may have to include shaking off the shadows of Agra. 

But let's end on a happy note - the moorabas of Agra. If I can think of one other reason why Mughals chose Agra as their capital, it must be moorabas. Soft, juicy with pulpy innards, not too sweet, all in all just heavenly. Agra is the place for the sweet toothed!