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Piku in a thousand frames

We have to look after them' is easier said than done, as hundreds are discovering. It means truncating your social life, finding patience where patience is scarce and shifting gears from fourth to second in an attempt to integrate with the lives of one's aging parents. Dilemmas come rushing at you like a swarm of bees in a hive.

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There's a moment in the year's most endearing film, Piku, when the eponymously-named character of Deepika Padukone, pondering the lives of elderly parents, says very nonchalantly: "We have to look after them", not quite comprehending the burden of that sentence.

'We have to look after them' is easier said than done, as hundreds are discovering. It means truncating your social life, finding patience where patience is scarce and shifting gears from fourth to second in an attempt to integrate with the lives of one's aging parents. Dilemmas come rushing at you like a swarm of bees in a hive. You want to yell at your dad who has, for the 79th time, left the wardrobe doors open despite constant instructions not to. Instead, you just shut the door. You bite your tongue when your mother has waddled out of the kitchen leaving the gas on. You tear your hair out at their crankiness. Yet, most would have it no other way learning to anticipate their every move and prempt it. It means humouring them like babies. In fact, it means turning into parents overnight. Amy Fernandes, Marisha Karwa and Roshni Nair present real life vignettes of living with elderly parents:

My way or the high way
On January 16, Sion resident Homai Merchant fell at the Turf Club while attending her grand niece's Navjot. The octogenarian ended up with a sprained ankle, broken foot and a haywire circadian rhythm due to subsequent medications.
"They put three plates and 18 screws in her ankle," informs 59-year-old daughter Sheemin Merchant.
"No, 12 screws."
"18."
"How can it be 18?"
"Because it IS 18. You always say 12," says an exasperated Sheemin. "She's healing well, but never does the few exercises she's supposed to do…"
"I do them."
"Yes, in my dreams." And the tussle goes on. Love punctuated with exasperation.
For months, Sheemin and brother Farooq rendered themselves housebound to care for their elderly mother. But with Farooq currently in the US, his sister's unable to step out for more than 30 minutes at a stretch. Sheemin, however, isn't bitter. If there's anything she tut-tuts her mother over, it's the pill-popping and refusal to use a walking stick or walker. "She's taking antihistamines for an imaginary skin problem. So we monitor medications and don't keep them lying around. The day she talks nonsense, I rummage through the house to see if she's hidden meds anywhere."
"What nonsense!" comes the immediate repartee. And another banter ensues. Sheemin believes her mother sometimes shows signs of Alzheimer's. In a sense, the nok-jhok is her way of keeping her occupied. "I tell mama to do some puzzles to keep her brain active, but she doesn't. So the best thing is to keep her mentally occupied in another way." For Sheemin, the analogy that caring for the elderly is like bringing up a child is only partially true. The former, she reckons is more challenging – because these are adults with childlike abilities and/or demands. "You can't spank the old," she jokes.

'Piku reminds me of my grandfather'
When Neelakantan Narayanan passed away in Bangalore at age 95, he left a wealth of memories for granddaughter Jaya Venkataraman, his caregiver for over two years.
It was sometime in 2012 that Jaya's mother – primary caregiver for him and his wife Muthulakshmi – underwent back surgery. With her own health failing, she had no choice but to place them in an old age home till she recuperated. It was during this time that her US-based daughter returned to Bangalore, met her grandparents and made a decision: "My grandparents could've lived in such a home if they were 60 or 70. But he was 90 plus, and she was 83. I just had to get them back."
Save for significant auditory loss and reliance on a walker, Narayanan was sprightly and had a zest for life that's rare beyond a certain age. "He'd go to the bathroom on his own, read the paper and watch the news, even exercise in front of me and say, 'Look at me!'," she laughs. But his enthusiasm would sometimes be offset by childishness, particularly if her mother wasn't around – such as the time she'd gone to the US while Jaya was in Bangalore. " He'd say things like, "I'm holding on only for my daughter. Then I'll go.' And the next day, he'd be his usual self again."
Certain things like waking up at odd hours and a reluctance to accept one's dependence on another, come with the territory and Narayanan was no exception. Both he and Muthulakshmi were shorn to wear adult diapers even if they needed it. And much like Piku's Bhaskor Banerjee, he was obsessed with a clean gut. "He'd even awake at 2-3am to go to the bathroom," Jaya remembers. "He was convinced that constipation could lead to ill health or even death."
Humans are probably far more tolerant with children than with the elderly. "Once you're like a parent, you want to scold like a parent or be firm like a parent," says Jaya, underlining that comprehending a role reversal takes time. "That's hard to do with someone 2-3 times your age – someone who's seen you as a baby." Socialising was near-out as she didn't want awkward or embarrassing situations, or risk her grandparents asking inappropriate questions.
Even then, Jaya's grateful. Because as caregiver, she spent more time with her grandparents than she ever had before. Recalling the celebration of her grandfather's last birthday and his excitement over first-ever US trip, she concludes: "For all the irritation and trouble, I wouldn't give up moments like those for anything."

'An emotional roller-coaster'
The eldest of three daughters, Rupali Suri takes immense pride in shouldering family responsibilities. "People don't associate the flamboyance of a career in media and entertainment with the rigours that come with managing a household," says Rupali. "I take immense pride in the fact that I take care of the family."
Her life isn't just about glamour. Rupali and her younger sister, Natasha, also a model, have been juggling shifts to be at home with their 54-year-old mother, who suffered a heart attack in October. "I was shooting in London when my sister called me, saying I had to pack my bags and return because mom was unwell," recalls Rupali. "When I landed at the airport, she told me that we'd probably be losing mom." Their mother survived the heart attack but not without added complications. She spent 20 days in the hospital's intensive care unit battling complications. "The doctors had given up. It was a miracle she survived."
The Suri sisters spent two-and-a-half months "living, breathing, eating and sleeping in the hospital" until their mother recovered enough to return home. Thus started the next round of care-giving. Their mother now requires help with mobility, has to be taken for regular dialysis and is still recuperating from a weak heart. They hired a nurse, but "we realised that a nurse will never be able to provide affection and warmth to mom". They now juggle their work lives in order to be home with their mom.
Following the routine day after day and week after week has taken its toll. The sisters, who seldom get to meet each other, increasingly find themselves with little time and space. "And there's no time for much else," says Rupali, who also has a pet dog at home to take care of. "It's been an eight-month roller-coaster ride. There are days when I'm completely exhausted, but there is just no room for a breather. Sure, it is challenging but family comes first," she says resolutely.
And what keeps the wind in their sails going? Rupali credits the youngest sister in the brood, Sonia, "who is married and has always been around, bringing in everything from food water to smiles and affection". Not forgetting friends and sympathetic industry professionals who helped tide over the toughest period.

'Moving in with ailing in-laws natural thing to do'
Suruchi and Shankar Sinha (names changed) had a comfortable living arrangement. Shankar's parents stayed in the adjacent building and their five-year-old daughter would spend a better part of her days with the grandparents while the duo were away at work. But things changed when old age caught up with Shankar's 85-year-old father. He had had a couple of falls in 2013 that left him weak and bedridden.
The couple didn't want to leave their elderly parents to the care of a hired help. "It started with Shankar spending nights there. Meals would be cooked at our place and taken to my in-laws' house. Our daughter would spend her days there, we'd stop by to check on them in the mornings and evenings, and still end up making 20 calls to each other," recalls Suruchi. "Despite the proximity, it turned out to be a logistical nightmare."
Moving into one, bigger house was the most natural thing to do, says Suruchi. Despite the four decade generation gap between Suruchi and her in-laws, it was the senior Sinhas who had to be convinced to move into a bigger apartment so they could all live under the same roof.
And once they moved in together, the differences between the three generations began to crop up. There were conflicts over erratic working hours, sleeping hours, over the TV remote and about long holidays. "It took us about a couple of months to ease into it, and eventually, they too felt better about having us around," says Suruchi. "Besides, it's great to have more family members to come back home to, to see your kid playing with her grandparents, listening to stories, the joy in their eyes… I wouldn't have it any other way."

'My in-laws and my mum talked for hours'
Monisha Gill's mother didn't want to intrude in her 54-year-old daughter's life or breach her privacy. Besides, she was concerned about being a permanent fixture at her son-in-law's residence – a taboo in India's cultural context. So the 82-year-old lived alone in Delhi's Alaknanda neighbourhood, until one day, when she had chest pains, followed by an attack. That's when her son-in-law, Surinder, broached the subject of her moving in.
"Both my other sisters stayed in other cities. And I'd been telling my mum for nearly a decade to come and stay with us, but she'd always resisted. This time, when I related the urgency of the matter, she relented," says Monisha, who set up a spare room in their home. "Eventually, over the next three months, we renovated the adjacent flat so she could live across the door in what would be her own apartment."
In the nine months that she spent with her daughter and son-in-law, she would take regular walks on the terrace garden, bask in the winter sun and eat her meals with the rest of the family. "When my in-laws visited us in Delhi, they would eat all their meals with my mom and spend most of their day in her residential space," laughs Monisha. "Both my in-laws and my mom would talk for hours. It was surprising that until then, they'd never had the opportunity to have so many conversations."
In the end when it was time, Surinder was by her side, Monisha held her hand and Monisha's daughter rubbed her grandma's feet. "We were all there. I'm glad she agreed to live with us, otherwise I would've always felt guilty that perhaps I didn't make it in time."

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