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Age
No Bar
A growing
band of men and women in their 50s and 60s are
breaking social barriers to seek companionship. And why not, asks INDIA
TODAY Namita Bhandare.
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| Jammu
& Kashmir chief secretary Ashok Jaitly (right) tied the knot with
Sabina Mehta Sood (third from left) |
On
April 14 when Ashok Jaitly, chief secretary to the Government of Jammu
and Kashmir tied the knot with Sabina Mehta Sood, a public relations professional,
he joined a slowly growing band of retired and almost retired bureaucrats
who've said "I do".
While Jaitly
refuses to comment on his marriage, his friends say the romance with Sood
is relatively recent. The relationship is supposed to have bloomed when
Sood's PR firm, Integral PR, bagged the Kashmir account some two-and-a-half
years ago. Sood's was formerly married to Rakesh Sood, India's representative
in Geneva on disarmament.
Putting
aside the prurient interest on the nuts and bolts of where they met and
why they're marrying, Jaitly's marriage at 60---an age where most men
would head towards vana-ashram---signals a larger trend in urban Indian
society: older men, widowers and divorced, are breaking social restrictions
in search for companionship.
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Prime
minister's press advisor H.K. Dua with his
newly wed wife Adity Syam |
"Why
should one remain single and what's so sacred about living alone?"
asks 64-year-old H.K. Dua, the prime minister's press adviser and former
editor of the Hindustan Times who got married in a registered ceremony
in Calcutta last year to Adity Syam, 58. Dua admits that "life is
richer now". However, he also clarifies that his first marriage was
also deeply fulfilling and ended only with the death of his wife, a sociology
professor, nine years ago.
Syam and Dua have a child each from their previous marriages. Dua's son
and daughter-in-law live in Delhi (though not with him) while Syam who
retired from ITC just before her marriage has two grandchildren who she
says she misses terribly. None of the children had a problem with the
wedding, say the Duas. "They're happy because we're happy."
The trend towards late remarriages is definitely on the upswing, says
Manish Kaushal who runs the Sycorian matrimonial service in Delhi. While
Kaushal would not reveal names of clients, he said he had at least 200
of them who were above 45. At least one was in his 90s, he claims.
Increasing
longevity---in 1980 the average life expectancy in India was 54 as against
62 now--- and better healthcare have resulted in growing numbers of elderly
singles. Amongst the more affluent that life expectancy could be even
longer. Widows and widowers in their 50s and 60s face the prospect of
several years of productive life alone. Add to other factors: the break-up
of the joint family and urban migration to cities and foreign countries,
for instance. Or changing attitudes of a society fixated on youth. Plus
of course, says Kaushal, only half in zest the advent of drugs like Viagra
and it's easy to understand the growing number of matrimonial classifieds
by older people.
"Loneliness has no age bar," he argues. In many cases, his older
clients have been abandoned by their children---or else the children have
migrated out of their home towns in search of jobs. But he also has children
coming to him asking him to find a suitable spouse for their fathers or
mothers (usually, fathers).
Life isn't always that utopian though. In some instance there is active
resistance by children. "There is a fear that the new entrant will
lay claim to property and other assets," says B.R. Rao, a 75-year-old
retired bureaucrat. Rao who has advertised for a wife in the matrimonial
section of a leading newspaper says his 40-year-old daughter is dead set
against his marrying again even though he has settled a large portion
of his property on
her and her sons. Her distrust led her to sacking his female cook and
now Rao says he has to cook his own food. "I had a very happy married
life for 36 years but death parted us," says Rao
who apart from marginal diabetes enjoys fairly good health. "Now
a terrible loneliness surrounds me and though I feel shy to say this,
a certain sexual frustration too." But for Rao the dilemma is this:
there's no hope of getting any support from his daughter and he doesn't
know where to find a suitable life companion on his own.
"A lot of older men are looking for companionship but suffer from
social constraints," says N.L. Kumar, founder and director of Age-Care
India. In fact, Helpage had begun a singles fellowship with the idea of
bringing singles together. This, however, had to be disbanded since many
elderly people felt the dating concept was too blatant and too alien.
However, Kumar says many people continue to get involved with Age-Care
specifically to meet
other peers. "We have socialisation picnics, get-togethers and conferences."
Some later-age
marriages are also part of a desire for self-expression. "A lot of
people have very traditional arranged marriages when they are young,"
says Mira Desai who recently married a 62-year-old retiree. "However,
as you go along you realise you really have nothing in common with the
father of
your children and a separation is almost inevitable."
Unlike in the West where it is fairly common for older men to opt for
much younger "trophy" wives --- US Ambassador Richard Celeste
married his elder daughter's friend, Jacqueline Lundquist ---in India,
the quest amongst older men seems geared towards peers amongst whom there
is intellectual compatability. In the matrimonial columns of a daily paper
none of the men over 45 were seeking nymphets for wives. All stipulated
that they were open to the idea of either widows or divorcees.
But not all later-day marriages have fairy tale endings. Bharati Shah
was well into her 50s when her husband died in an accident. Since she
had no children, her brothers were concerned about her leading a lonely
life and they arranged a match with an NRI widower with two children.
But it was
disaster from day one. "The children just would not accept me. The
son and daughter-in-law moved out of the house, refusing to have anything
more to do with us," she says. Finally after a year of trying to
bridge the gap, Shah gave up. "Even he began to resent my presence
and I thought that it would be better for me to live alone and enjoy my
freedom." Shah returned to India.
But for every sad ending there seem to be several happier ones.
Romesh Mehta had been living alone for several years after the death of
his wife. Both his sons had settled abroad and he seemed to have found
fulfillment in the various social organisations that he was involved with.
Cupid, however,
struck most unexpectedly when he found himself drawn to his landlady,
an attractive divorcee in her 50s. The marriage did take place, even though
their children were sceptical about it at first. "Today they see
how happy we are and they've accepted this," says Mehta. After all,
who's going to argue with love?
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