Age of neglect

There are over 82 million old people in India. As the family, community and the state ignore their plight, a majority of the elderly remain deprived of homes and healthcare. A staggering number of the old live below the poverty line and their number is growing. Aditi Tandon reports on how sunset years can be an ordeal

SOME time back, Chandigarh-based Beant Kaur, the 83-year-old widow of late Air Vice-Marshal Harjinder Singh alleged torture at the hands of her foster son Col Manmohan Singh Bains (retd). The latter denied the allegations. While the truth is yet to be bared, the fact remains that the old woman mustered enough courage to make her woes public. She admitted to have been "tortured" time and again. Whatever the outcome of the case, it again brought centrestage the physical, emotional and psychological health of the elderly in India.

As if alienation of compassionless wards was not enough, the elderly in India are now left alone to fend for themselves and are increasingly succumbing to various forms of violence. The accused in some such cases are children of the victims rather than criminals mentioned in police records.

The current year dawned showcasing this rather disturbing trend that has compounded the woes of the aging population, estimated to be over 82 million in India.

A retired Army officer and his wife were murdered in their apparently-secure Delhi apartment in the wee hours of the morning. Greed for money was stated to be the motive of the crime. As the police carried out routine investigations, two bodies lying in a pool of blood told their own sordid story – a story that, in varied measures, has been played out in various cities across the country. In 2001, 3,351 elderly people were reportedly killed and 241 abducted. The Capital itself has a poor record as far as safeguarding life and property of the old is concerned. While six murders of the elderly were reported in Delhi in February, three were reported in March this year.

The rising number of murders of senior citizens have forced the Delhi police to introduce measures for their protection. The safety scheme requires that the police register the aged living in their localities. The local SHO is supposed to visit them on the first Saturday of every month. The beat constables have been instructed to network with neighbours and local residents’ welfare associations so that the old are not as vulnerable to violence as they are when left alone.

The fear of life, however, remains secondary to the fear of loneliness which the deserted elderly find hardest to overcome. Of the familiar old age problems like dementia, Alzheimer’s disease and depression, the latter is rated as the most brutal by elders forced into isolation by their wards. A recent case depicting a son’s indifference to the needs of his parents involved a retired major-general based in Chandigarh. Dejected with years of harassment by his son (also a major-general) and daughter-in-law, the old man called it quits and issued a public notice in a local English daily. He put his pain on record: "This is for the information of my near and dear ones. I am leaving Tiger’s Den, my home of many years, due to persistent torture by my son and daughter-in-law," he declared.

The case confirms that desertion of the aged is not a problem confined to certain social strata. It cuts across barriers of caste, culture and status. The issue assumes gravity considering the graying population in India is greater than the total population of many countries in the world. It is 82 million now; it will cross 177 million by 2025 and 324 million by 2050. Presently, 12 per cent of India’s aged is living alone in villages; 10 per cent are living in cities.

A staggering 40 per cent of the old people are living below the poverty line, which means they are impoverished and undernourished. Other disturbing pieces of information are that 19 million elderly women in India are widows, 80 per cent of the poor aged live in villages, a majority in the unorganised sector with no pension plans, provident fund, gratuity or medical cover as security in trying times.

Though the government runs old age homes (there are about 354 listed old age homes in India) to accommodate the discarded elderly, more sops are needed, especially the poor aged who can’t even manage two square meals a day. Offering commendable services to the elderly in India is HelpAge India, a voluntary agency which in the past 25 years has helped seven million aged by supporting 2056 projects.

According to S.K. Rana, State Manager (Punjab, Haryana, Himachal Pradesh and Chandigarh) HelpAge India, "Dignified living for the elderly is our motto. We provide them economic, emotional and physical aid through our age care projects. Many aged people cannot afford government-run old age homes which often charge money for stay. These people live in our 112-day care centres where their needs are taken care of. Under our "Adopt a granny" programme, 16,000 aged are being supported."

HelpAge is equally worried about the health of old people. Studies show 12 million Indians, mostly elderly, are blind, mainly for the want of cataract operations which requires only Rs 1000. HelpAge conducts 50,000 such operations every year under its Restoration of Vision programme. Rabati Das, originally from Orissa, was recently operated upon for cataract. After years of darkness, she saw light, thanks to HelpAge.

Like Bombay-based Dignity Foundation, another agency working in this area, HelpAge also runs income-generation schemes for the old, besides lobbying with the government for additional benefits to the aged. It was after HelpAge’s efforts that the government raised the rate of interest on senior citizens’ savings from 0.25 to 0.5 per cent. Says Rana, "We are now pressurising state governments to implement old-age pension schemes. Some governments are giving Rs 100 per month as pension but our contention is that pension should at least be 40 per cent of the last salary drawn."

Despite good work being done, volunteers admit that separation from family and relegation to the backdrop takes a toll on the elderly. India spends less than 3 per cent of its GDP on health, as against the WHO’s recommendation of 5 to 6 per cent. Although recently corporates like Pfizer have entered the area of age care in India, experts believe the problem can only be solved by changing mindsets.

Says a psychiatrist, "The aged are being treated as redundant. They are, in reality, guardians of our generations, treasurehouses of our values, our ultimate guides. We need to reduce dependency in relationships. Absolute dependence on children fuels parents’ expectations from children. This tendency must be curbed. The state should introduce compulsory savings for the aged and evolve ways of enhancing their productivity."

Though victims of neglect, there are some bravehearts like 72-year-old Mahipal from Delhi who have fought back with a vengeance. A regular HelpAge beneficiary, Mahipal says, "Not a single day went by when my son did not thrash me brutally. Finally, I said no to a life of ignominy. Despite ill health, I started working. I lost energy but restored my bruised dignity." Mahipal now earns by transporting cement on bullock carts.

Yousuf Bi, originally from Hyderabad, decided to reorient her life after her children abandoned her. With aid from HelpAge, she started making bags for bakeries. A proud Yousuf Bi recently hired two helpers. Pushpavati from Patti village in Amritsar, a regular at one of the many Mobile Medicare Units run by HelpAge India, not only recovered from severe arthritis, but also took charge of her fields.

While some fight back and win, there are others like the 85-year-old Narayan Devi, who silently await death. Housed in the Chandigarh’s Sector 15 Old Age Home run by UT Administration’s Social Welfare Department, Narayan Devi was left alone to rot in loneliness. She still does not tire of singing her son’s paeans. "He is a big man, an accountant. He will come back one day."

The silver years
Inderdeep Thapar

THIS is the story of two homes. The old age home, Sector 15, Chandigarh, is a charity institution funded partially by the government and the Lions Club, with the latter responsible for managing it. There are 32 inmates, an equal number of men and women. Some have been thrown out by their children because of family discord, others do not have sons and cannot stay with daughters, yet others do not have families.

A doctor visits every Wednesday and distributes medicines free of cost. An ambulance is a phone call away from the nearby sector. There are four attendants for male inmates and two women attendants, besides the cook and the sweeper. A satsang is held thrice a week. A room to an inmate or maximum of two with attached baths and a facility for warm water. A heater allowed in each room. Nice photographs showing the elders participating in Lohri and Divali. It seems picture-perfect but hold on, there’s a crinkle which needs smoothening. The cots, while most of the inmates sit outside, are covered with tattered clothes . The tone of the officials while addressing the senior citizens is curt. A trolley moves through the corridors where each inmate gets his plate and food is poured in each waiting utensil. There is an asthmatic patient who could do with a nebuliser as medicines are ineffective. A missing water purifier for sensitive stomachs.

"The demand for old age homes will increase going by the scenario. We have many pending applications which we cannot entertain because of the lack of space. We have requested the administration to allot us a new area as there is a juvenile home upstairs but the demand is in waiting," says Dr Aggarwal, President Lions Club, that runs the show. "We verify the demands which come to us. If people are in a reasonably good health we admit them. Patients who are chronically ill are discouraged. This place is a home and not a hospital", he adds. Another side of the coin is the old age ashram, Sector 43. It is a picture of excellence. Airy rooms, fitted with latest gadgets, a television, refrigerator, room heaters, telephones, a library, a lift to take you up. All the inmates design their own menus.

Different newspapers cater to the varied taste of the readers, there is a van to take them out for an outing or a movie. All this comes for a price. In this case, it is Rs 3,500 per month and a refundable deposit of Rs 10,000 on admission. The tariff comes down to Rs 1600 if it is on a sharing basis. For the other luxuries, one has to pay a "little extra". Needless to say this home, which residents prefer calling pay-and-stay basis (ashram makes them feel small), caters to the upper middle class or even the rich ones. The children of some stay abroad (there are couples as well), some have distributed a major chunk of their property and have been left high and dry, others could not adjust, not only with their children but also with spouses, so walked out in a huff. Col Kulbir Singh, the manager of the home comments, "We try to look after them as much as possible but if by any chance anyone requires an attendant then they have to pay for his food. The room rent then comes down to Rs 3,000.

A doctor comes once a week and if anyone falls ill we ensure their admission to a proper hospital. There should be counsellors attached to such homes so that they vent out their disappointments. If families are counselled, they might get together again. It should be a transit rather than a permanent abode." Echoing this suggestion, one of the inmates revealed that when he had tried to confide with another inmate it became a topic of gossip. So nobody can really open their heart out. When he was asked as to what happened if one of the inmates fell ill and if his relatives refused to bear the expense, Singh says: "In this case, we question the residents themselves as to what is to be done, should we send them back.

They all have answered in unison that they want to die here only." Elaborating on the need of the citizens to mingle more with the common people, he says: "I had proposed a park with a restaurant facility and a health club but that is still to get the nod from the administration." "Seminars, health-related talks do take place but..." As he paused midway one realised what he had left incomplete was that the seminars, menu plans, newspaper discussions sound empty as they cannot drown the essential loneliness which embraces one as one walks through the quiet corridors. Loneliness is the common thread between the two homes. How would you explain the warm hug the writer got from an old lady who took her maybe for a granddaughter, saying, "What took you so long to come?"

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