Once one crosses the forbidden line on the wrong side of sixty.
Not to venture further into the next arithmetical digit.
There begins the journey to another world, even where the angels fear to tread.
All on a sudden one comes under uncountable whammies.

A jinxed land you stray into, full of a craggy jagged reef.
Razor sharp rocks you feel at every step and bleed.
Another shell shock  I devalued you are as a condemned jalopy.
Looks of all you love, speak a strange lingo: you get a creep.

It is anything but the old warm vibes of those years golden.,
Rather an overdose of pity and compassion over-laid with mushy emotion.
A good enough gesture to an infirm or a ******* or one in dotage.
A man past his prime and relevance like a mast broken of a boat sunken.

Written off the priority roster, stowed in a corner,
Dusted, sprayed and showcased as a piece of curio rare.
mothballed with care in medicine on rationed air.
Lest unseen germs of umpteen infections catch them unaware.

An appendage fit to be dumped in old age home.
A social cure-all, as they say, concerned so unwillingly,
A haven as safe as God’s Elysium for progenitors.
To be lionized as the epitome of pride and wisdom.

So adored they are but shunned cannily by every social connection.
A persona-non-grata in all spheres save for gratuitous complimentary doles.
Being in the jinxed circle of seventy is the sin only committed.
A few blessed ones manage to wiggle into the favoured positions.

A few ministerial ballasts, a lottery coup, or a few sine cure slots, a safety net of power & pelf.
The rest for a wallow in the morass of delusive expectations.
Oodles of stale dry sympathy, deceptive tears and bogus bonhomie.
Old raw sores get abraised-the world turns deaf.
……….
It’s a poetry by late Mr S M Ghosh, my late father
An educationist, history teacher and retired principal of  Central Schools,  in India.

Talking is a talent and fun,
Not babbling or out of text,
The important thing is different people like to talk different things and you have to mould with their taste,
Or you will end up being an Aspro (headache).
There are two types of people,
One who talks a lot and the other who is quiet,
Luckily my husband taught me to be a good listener too.
My son talks very little but he likes to hear about everything from me,
My daughter is a talker like me,
And thanks to Whats App we spend hours on the phone talking.
My son-in-law is amazing,
He can talk about anything under the roof,
For that I too have to read a lot and watch T.V. to make our conversation interesting,
He is a spinner of conversation,
He can be anything, a politician,an educationist, a cinema critic.
My grandsons are crazy about football,
One is a fan of Arsenal and the other of Manchester United,
So I see all the matches on T.V. to hold a conversation with them.
Some like to talk bout their mishaps and illnesses and sorrow,
With them I listen and become a counsellor.
Others only like to talk about themselves and their family,
I just listen agreeing now and then.
Still others never give you a chance to say a word,
I just nod,sometimes drifting off to my own thoughts.
Most ladies like to talk about fashion, make-up, shopping, and their husband's,children and in-laws,
Talking with them is also fun,
You get to learn about your neighbourhood  and community,
You get to know who is doing what, who has runaway,healthy gossip.
So talking can ease tension,reduce stress and build relationship.
7/5/2020