I was...

Not long ago, when technology had not made such pregnant advancements, when money was not the most sought after entity, when joint family system oozed greater enjoyment and support, when marriage ceremonies were only meant to bond two families and not to flaunt the status one holds, when children would go to zoo on a taanga and play in public grounds,  when newspaper was the most dependable source of everyday affairs, when the  decoration of houses with patriotic phrases and hoisting of national flags came right from the heart, when sending Eid cards and letters by post was in vogue, when people would eat oranges on their roof top in winter afternoons, when having the latest mountain bike and playing in rain was one of the most wistful cravings, when social networking had not transpired and when sanity was still galore, I had a meaningful existence.

With the emanation and conscious dissemination of privacy, liberalism, professionalism and enlightened moderation, with the idea of old age homes, assimilation of more Western material in our academic system, the standoff between Muslims and their religion, the degeneration of morals and with the transition of that time into today's, I gently got buried under the superficial glare of these concepts and mutated into an onus in these times of inflation. I did remonstrate and struggle against my dwindling position and this staid injustice but sometimes got snubbed and disdained while at others, callously ignored. Painfully and impotently, I had to succumb at large.   

  

I was a legacy; transferring from one generation to the other. I was waited for on a dining table, venerated and visited when the spirit of Eid was untainted, the pride of a son and security of a daughter, a repository of wisdom, an advisory at crossroads, a haven in inclement weather, a channel of uninterrupted blessings and anecdotes. I was that 1st plant  which an innocent child would procure to see  maturing into a tree; I was... the "elderness"  of a family.