You are having a conversa tion. You are all animated, waving your arms around, when suddenly, with absolutely no warning, everything goes blank, completely, devastatingly blank.
No, this is not an MP3 player...it's my external memory disc and it's connected to my brain! |
You have, in that one second, forgotten the thread of discussion; you have no idea where you are, who you are with…and what to say next.
Frozen.
You stare ahead at nothing in particular, mouth open, eyes popping…
And that's when your companion looks at you, and asks, with a compassion that warms your heart, even through that haze: "Senior moment?"
Yep… that's exactly what it is.
You just did what you once thought only 'oldies' did – something that, at one time, would make you heartless little devils collapse in unholy laughter.
Actually, these 'senior moments' are becoming increasingly common, and seem to be setting in quicker these days.
Your 95-year-old Great-Aunt cackles at you, and points out that she can, even now, recite entire passages from books she read as a child.
You, on the other hand, if suddenly faced with the question "9 times 7 is …?" will find yourself needing to go through the whole process, starting with "9 ones are 9", and even then you are not quite sure if your answer is right, and will have to resort to the calculator….if you can find it, because you don't know how to use the one on your cell phone.
Your Great-Aunt remembers the name of the jutka-driver who took her and her entire brood of siblings to the tent theatre to see that famous mythological.
You're lucky if you can remember the name of your first-born's first school.
She pops her bit of ghee-soaked mysore-pak in her mouth, and chomps away with her own set of teeth.
Now you – you cannot even mention the word 'ghee' without feeling your hips bloat beyond reach of that outfit you picked up last week.
Great-Aunt Still-Going-Strong has an answer to that too.
"We just ate. We didn't think and think and think."
"Well, there are advantages to not having access to information." You snap back, (but not too sharply. The lady can still make you feel like a particularly ineffective four-year-old, for all your big talk).
But you can and do grumble in your defence to everyone else.
"Easy for her to talk. They knew less, and so had less to remember." you whine. "She did not mentally fill up on all that's dumped on us. Just think, at even the simplest meal we have to keep in mind stuff like acceptable macronutrient distribution ranges, adequate intakes as against our estimated average requirement, basic food groups, LDL, HDL, and VLDL, discretionary calorie allowance, macronutrients, micronutrients, saturated fatty acids, trans-fats, lacto-vegetarianism, ovo-lacto-vegetarianism, our BMW….."
"BMI", your child says tiredly, at which point you tell him that you don't need any attitude from someone whose head you've had to hold on several occasions as he threw up thanks to pigging out on too much chocolate.
Which, he is swift to point out, is a cheap shot, and since when did mere abuse become argument?
(You have to admit he's right.)
It all boils down to this – We have thought of ourselves into mental gibbering.
You are told too much; you see too much; you know too much.
They invent – you acquire. They tell you – you absorb.
And the more chaos there is.
Seniors today suffer from serious Information Overload.
Forget the big picture. We've managed to worry-fy even the simplest of daily details.
Seniors of yore had all the time in the world to toughen their brains.
They ate what they wanted, but understood the pitfalls of over-indulgence. Exercise meant a game or two, a simple walk….without having to understand concepts like "anaerobic vs aerobic", "did-half-hour-of-cardio", "basal metabolic rate", or having to choose between Pilates, Tai Chi and Bollywood dancing, while trying to appear at home in the gym, and looking gym-ready even before starting any exercise regime, so you can wear all those cute clothes that supposedly signal that you are so ready for all this "leisure time physical activity".
It's all too much.
Take spectacles – the time-honoured companion of Age. You needed them; you wore them.
Look at some of us today: one for reading, one for TV, one to make sure you recognise relatives, one for the computer – and you lose them all. You wonder why your computer glasses don't fit any more, and where the hell are your reading glasses?
You then discover that you were trying to fit one pair of glasses over another – the errant reading glasses being perched right there on your nose all this while.
Your near and dear are, of course, falling about, laughing themselves sick.
Chennai does not make it easier.
It destroys landmarks, changes the way streets look, and never leaves road rules alone.
It offers too many activity choices in a day, which is why some of us land up at book-readings, wondering where the accompanying musicians are; or go to an art show inaugural, and snigger that they forgot to hang up the designer clothes.
You walk briskly into a room… and forget why you went there in the first place. You make three phone calls in a row... by the time you get to the third one, you've forgotten whom you meant to call…and why.
As for faces and names – now there's a 'Match the Following' puzzle from Hell.
We'll never make sharp as nails 90 year olds.
We were born in the wrong generation for that.
Information overload is damaging to the brain... (yeah, yeah – even for those with the mere half-price bargain variety…very funny.)
We need a brain-drain of a different kind, a device that would judge, then intone: "Now that you've processed this information, this particular nugget will self-destruct, leaving your brain clean and fresh for new arrivals." – and whoosh – excess information is gone.
Or a simple 'Delete' button in your brain?
But you'll have to remember where it is, how to use it, and why it's there in the first place.
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