Parents hit by empty-nest syndrome
To combat the years of solitude stretching ahead, some of them have formed
solidarity units
Amelia Gentleman
Whenever Kusum Patil feels a pang of longing for her two sons, both working
in the US, she goes to the kitchen, cooks up some of their favourite food
and puts it in front of her computer Web- camera to show them what they are
missing.
It is an eccentric way of confronting loneliness, but it works for her, and
it is a tip she likes to pass on to friends at the local support group for
elderly parents left behind by children who have emigrated to pursue careers
in the West. “I felt very sad when the younger one decided to move. We are
only two left here now,” Patil said, nodding at her husband, a retired
engineer. “Cooking food for my sons cheers me up, even if they’re not here
to eat it.”
In Pune, there are thousands of retired couples experiencing the peculiar
sensation of being parent-orphans, abandoned by their offspring who left
India in search of better lives abroad. Traditionally, parents have grown
old in the home of their eldest son, surrounded by family members. Across
India, an ageing generation is for the first time facing this period alone,
adjusting to a more isolated way of spending their retirement.
To combat the years of solitude stretching ahead, some of them have formed
solidarity units – Non-Resident Indian Parents’ Organisations – which meet
for weekly dinners, monthly cultural activities, lectures on insurance and
will-making, and the occasional weekend excursion.
The mission is to replace, in part, the support structure that would have
been provided by the extended family network. As members age and grow more
vulnerable, the groups offer critical support for people who are
hospitalised or need urgent help at home. There are home-cooked foods for
the sick and company for the lonely; advice on travel, visas and how to
write an e-mail; dance classes, cards and singing lessons.
“Many of us felt there was a void in our lives. We needed a fraternity which
would provide emotional comfort and care,” Nandkumar Swadi, 65, treasurer of
the Pune parents’ organisation, said as he waited to welcome guests for the
club’s annual gala dinner. He joined when both sons were in the US – one
studying for a doctorate in computer science at Princeton University, the
other working as a mechanical-design engineer.
The organistion’s 950 members, aged from 60 to 95, are divided into small
groups, with the younger charged with taking care of the older. “That way,”
Swadi said, “there are always people able to rush and look after the needy,
get them admitted to hospital, sit with them and take care of them until
their children arrive.”
Designed to lift the morale of members, the dinner’s highlight event was a
rousing speech from Kiran Karnik, the head of Nasscom. Karnik congratulated
the audience – mostly parents of computer engineers and software experts –
for the achievements of their progeny, who had done so much to improve
global attitudes toward Indians.
A decade ago, he observed, Indians were often treated rudely and
dismissively when they travelled abroad. Now, they were greeted with respect
and admiration almost everywhere.
There was enthusiastic applause. But over dinner later, some parents
confessed to feeling conflicted in their feelings about the departure of
their offspring. “In illness we remember our children,” said Padmakar
Purandare, 68, a retired engineer, whose son is a software engineer in
Dallas.
Regret is tempered by satisfaction in the knowledge that their children are
doing well. But for many the regret hangs with them, a heavy presence.
Patil said she was comforted by the knowledge that the tide of emigration is
turning, with many of the émigrés beginning to return, attracted by the new
opportunities promised by a flourishing economy back home. “I’ve kept his
bedroom ready for him, just as it was,” she said. “His model car collection
is still on the piano, waiting for him when he comes home.” IHT.