We, The People Past Sixty.
Catharsis of my inner thoughts.
[Well, my Medium.com fellows! This is not a laughter material. It has become a long haul story. Sorry for that.]
Sometimes, in the dead of night. When everyone in the house is asleep, the room is wrapped in absolute silence, and one sits alone with one’s thoughts.
The heart suddenly asks a question for which, perhaps, no one has an answer.
"My friend, how did life pass by so quickly?"
It feels like only yesterday that we were young. Our hair was black. There were no lines of time on our faces. There was strength in our steps, dreams in our eyes, and love in our hearts, and we felt as though life had only just begun.
Little did we know that life would arrive like a swift traveler, sweep us along in its rush, and one day. Suddenly, make us stand before a mirror and say, "Look, you have crossed sixty."
Praise and gratitude be to Allah. I have crossed the threshold of sixty. White hair is visible in the mirror, and the marks of time appear on my face. Perhaps the sparkle in my eyes is not quite what it used to be. Yet, strangely enough, the twenty year old youth still lives on behind them.
And the heart? It remains sixteen years old even today. It still lights up at a few words of affection from a loved one. It still feels deeply wounded by someone’s indifference. It still breaks into a smile upon hearing the voice of an old friend. And even now, at times, it dreams as if a whole lifetime still lies ahead.
We, the people born between 1960 and 1970, are perhaps a strange generation.
We are the generation for whom a vast portion of youth perhaps never truly belonged to us. When it was time to live for ourselves, there were parental responsibilities.
When it was time to travel the world, there was the anxiety of earning a livelihood. When we longed to sit with friends, the burden of household expenses loomed large.
Then came marriage. Then children. Then their education. Then the home. Then the job or business. Then the children’s future.
And every few years, we keep offering our hearts the same reassurance. "Once this problem is solved, I’ll live for myself, too."
"Once the children grow up, I’ll finally find some peace." "Once the business stabilizes, I’ll go traveling." "Once this debt is paid off, I’ll truly enjoy life."
But no sooner was one problem resolved than another loomed ahead. One responsibility let go, only for another to take hold. And that which we had waited for all our lives. It simply never came.
One day, upon suddenly seeing my gray hair in the mirror, I realized. The youth I was planning to live "tomorrow" had slipped away while I was busy waiting for that very tomorrow.
And then, quite suddenly, the heart wanders back to that childhood home. That house was perhaps much smaller than the one we live in today.
There were fewer amenities and less money. Yet, Mother was there. Father was there. Siblings were close by. The house was filled with the sounds of laughter, of someone getting annoyed, of someone calling out.
And today? Houses have grown larger. There are more rooms. Cars have improved. Bank balances are perhaps better than before. Yet, sometimes, the heart asks. Where have those people gone. Those who made even a small house feel like the whole world?
Those who have lost their parents might understand what I mean. Sometimes, a remark made by one’s mother suddenly comes to mind. At other times, one’s father’s face flashes before one’s eyes. And a voice rises from deep within the heart. "If only they could come back for just five minutes."
Just five minutes. No wealth, no business, no property, or anything else in the world is required. Just let your mother sit before you for five minutes. Take her hands in yours and say, "Mom, if I ever hurt your feelings, please forgive me."
And when Father sits before you, kiss his hands and say, "Father, today I have realized just how many worries you bore for our sake, back then, we simply could not understand it."
But when one opens one’s eyes, there is nothing but silence. And that is when one realizes that while many things in the world can be regained, parents cannot. After they are gone, only memories remain. A few photographs, a few words, and countless prayers.
We are the generation that lived life with heads bowed in respect to our elders. A single glance from a father was enough, a mother’s displeasure would keep us awake all night. And today, our own children have grown up.
Sometimes they heed our words, sometimes they argue, and sometimes they understand us, leaving us to wonder. Were we, too, like this with our own parents?
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Then memories of my father come flooding back, and my heart falls silent. Perhaps this is what life is. By the time we begin to truly understand our parents' words, they are often no longer with us to explain them.
Those of us past sixty appear very strong from the outside. If someone at home is worried, we say, "Don’t worry; I’m here." When our children face difficulties, we step in. We help friends in times of trouble. We arrange funds when money is needed at home. We offer encouragement and support to everyone.
But has anyone ever asked that person, who spent his entire life telling everyone, "I am here for you". How "he" is feeling? Are you tired? Do you need anything? Is there anything weighing on your heart?
How strange it is. The person who has supported everyone throughout their life sometimes has no shoulder to rest his head on during the night.
He sits alone in his room. He remains silent for a while. At times, his eyes well up with tears, and at others, he raises his hands in prayers to Allah. Then, he wipes away the tears, and the next morning, he smiles before everyone and says, "Alhamdulillah, everything is fine."
No one knows how much exhaustion, worry, sacrifice, unfulfilled dreams, and hidden troubles lie behind that single phrase. "Everything is fine". Troubles we do not even mention to our children, simply so they do not worry.
The silence of the night is a strange thing, too. The memories we keep suppressed amidst the busyness of the day are brought forth by the night, one by one, and laid out before us. A friend who is no longer in this world comes to mind. A relative, a childhood companion or someone we used to meet daily. Yet now, years have passed.
Then, certain "if onlys" begin to stir in the heart. If only I had sat with my mother a little longer. If only I had listened more attentively to my father. If only I had focused a bit less on business and spent more time with my children during their childhood. If only I had called that friend just once. If only I had forgiven the person I was angry with. If only I had told the one I loved just how important they were to me.
But there are some "if onlys" in life to which timenever provides an answer.
We lived for our parents, for our siblings, for our spouses, for our children, for our businesses, for our homes, and for the world. And now, sometimes in the quiet of solitude, the heart asks very softly: "When will you live for yourself?"
Perhaps that is why, at this stage of life, the heart craves a sense of connection more than wealth. It desires a true friend more than a large gathering, and a cup of tea shared with a loved one more than an expensive meal. The heart longs for a phone call, one with no specific agenda, no ulterior motive, and no particular need. Just someone saying, "Hey, I really missed you today. I just wanted to hear your voice."
Perhaps at this age, this single sentence seems more valuable than hundreds of thousands of rupees.
Friends of my generation, we have witnessed the journey from the Writing Slate to the Computer. We have seen the era transition from writing letters and waiting weeks for a reply to the instant delivery of WhatsApp messages. We have watched the world change right before our eyes. Yet, in this fast-paced world, perhaps one thing has been left behind, time for one another.
So, if you are reading this, make sure to do one thing today. Call a friend you haven’t spoken to in a long time. Set aside any grievances with a brother or sister and reach out to them with a big heart. Sit down and share a cup of tea with your spouse, and hold your children close and tell them that you love them.
And if your parents are alive, then for God’s sake, make time to sit with them. Kiss their hands. Listen to what they have to say. Even if they repeat the same story ten times, listen to it with a smile the eleventh time too. For a time may come when you would be willing to spend all the wealth in the world just to hear that voice again, yet it will no longer be heard.
My friends, a large part of our lives, have already passed. There is no denying that. Yet, what remains is life, too.
If Allah has awakened us this morning, it means He has not yet written the final page of our life’s book. There are still prostrations to be made. Prayers are yet to be offered. People left to love. People left to forgive, and apologies left to seek.
There is still laughter to share with friends, peaceful evenings to spend with one’s spouse, and the successes of one’s children yet to be witnessed. There is still the laughter of grandchildren waiting to be heard.
And perhaps that dream still remains. The one we tucked away in some corner of our hearts forty years ago, telling ourselves, "Some other time."
So why not start doing that from today? Let the years go by, but do not let your heart grow old. Laugh. Love. Forgive. Offer prayers. Devote time to your loved ones, and occasionally, live a little for yourself, too.
And if, while reading this, you have fallen silent. If your mother’s face has appeared before your eyes; if your father’s voice has echoed in your ears. If you have been reminded of a long-lost friend. If a scene from your youth has flashed before you or if a tear has welled up in the corner of your eye...
So, understand this. This is not just my story. It might be your story. It might be the story of our entire generation. Friends of my age, we may be weary, but we are not defeated. Our hair has turned gray, yet our dreams remain. Our steps have slowed, yet the journey continues. We have parted ways with some, yet love endures. The sun of life may be setting, but sometimes, the evening is the most beautiful part of the day.
Who knows? Perhaps Allah Almighty has kept the most beautiful, peaceful, and memorable days of our lives in store for us.
So, "Alhamdulillah" for the life that has passed. "Alhamdulillah" for the breath I take today. And "Alhamdulillah" for every moment yet to come.
O Allah, forgive the follies of our youth. Forgive us if we have ever hurt our parents' hearts. As for the parents who have departed from this world, O Allah, make their graves a garden from the gardens of Paradise. Fill their solitude with Your mercy and elevate their ranks.
And for those whose parents are still alive,"O Allah, grant them health and a long, blessed life, and enable their children to serve them.
O Allah, make our children righteous and successful, and a source of ongoing reward (Sadaqah Jariyah) for us. Bestow love within our homes. Mend broken relationships. Remove grievances from our hearts. Ease our debts, business troubles, and worries.
And O my Allah, make whatever remains of our lives even more beautiful than the life we have already lived. Grant us health, faith, honor, the love of our loved ones, and peace of heart. And when the final day of our lives arrives, let the "Kalima"( Shahada) be upon our tongues and Your remembrance in our hearts. Let our children be praying for us, and may You be pleased with us. Ameen, then Ameen, O Lord of the Worlds.
Thanks for reading this far. Now, feel free to share your thoughts if the above story resonates with you, specifically the readers of my generation.
