Actors on world stage

By Ransiri Menike Silva

‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players’
– William Shakespeare

Let me first introduce myself. I am an 86-year-old living in an elder’s home where I am being cared for, lovingly and with concern, by its entire staff. This is not the first of its kind, though definitely the last, for I have been in other complexes earlier, all equally interesting, each in its own way.

Consequently, I have been able to associate with and observe those around me, their habits, foibles, behaviour and general attitudes which do not differ from those of the general public, which we elders are undeniably a part of.

When I made the decision to enter an elder’s home it was because I did not wish to burden my children who were already saddled with other family commitments and responsibilities. When I told them about it, they said, “If that is what you want, it is all that matters. After all, it is your life and if that makes you happy, then we are happy to oblige.”

Many were the places I visited inspecting individual rooms, apartments, wards, with or without food, along with my trusted three-wheeler driver Alles, whom I requested to accompany me, in order to get another’s view. This proved to be beneficial because both of us had almost identical views.

Having made a final choice and settled in, I found that my neighbours offered me much material for writing and it is about the more memorable of them that I am writing about today. Their stories are as varied as their personalities and they affected me in different ways; some were comic, some sad, educating and others revealing. I am presenting them to you with occasional personal comments.

Having resided in three elder’s homes and having been with weirdos, among whom I also count myself, I was in a quandary as to who should be appointed to first position. Then a name sprang instantly to mind, for not only was he the most senior but a real gentleman as well. Moreover he had recently succumbed to the Coronavirus in his mid 90’s and suffered much pain during his last days. He deserved a special tribute.

He was known to all of us as ‘Short Man’ or ‘Shorta’, though the authorities address him by his proper name. He was small-made and active, honest and unselfish, never gossiped, minded his own business, cared about the staff, but was undeniably muddled, with cobwebs in his attic, so to speak.

Shorta was slight in built and though aged, never carried a walking stick. We would see him walking out twice a day, cap on head and swinging an empty marketing bag. On his return it would be overflowing. He would walk straight into the pantry to deposit a part of his purchases, before taking the rest upstairs to his room.

The only thing terribly disturbing was his extra loud voice, which could probably be heard all over the neighbourhood. He also had the radio and TV turned up the loudest. Despite owning hearing aids, he never made use of it. We all liked him though, for not only was he caring and respectful towards the staff, which they appreciated immensely, but he also shared part of his own meals with dogs cats and birds.

Outsiders often offered to treat the residents, some of them even joining in with us. At other times a resident would give us a treat on his or her birthday. These were glorious affairs. An extra table would be added to expand our small dining table and with more chairs we all sat around enjoying together. Often it was Shorta who stole the show with his loudspeaker-voice, enacting episodes, relating jokes, singing and inviting others to join him.

It was during one of these sessions that he revealed to us how he came to develop his, now, loud voice. During his tenure at various institutions he found himself performing duties at the criminal courts. To his dismay, when he called out the names of the witnesses he was hardly heard. So he was forced to start shouting louder and louder until the very summit was reached, only to become lodged permanently. Having heard this interesting tale I forgave him his weakness.

And now to his marketing trips, performed diligently twice a day. The ground staff amusedly confided in me that what he brought back with him were rotten vegetables and fruit, decaying pieces of fish (heads mostly), flesh and fowl which could not be consumed by either man or animal. He made no special request as to how they should be prepared, either for him or the others. There was also a motley collection of rubbish he had picked up from the wayside, along with bus and railway tickets. Where he journeyed to, near or far, was not known.

The rest of his ‘purchase’ was taken upstairs to be stored in his room which apparently stank to high heaven, but was never permitted to be cleaned. This was done without his knowledge, while he was out marketing, when all his rotten purchases were pulled out from under his bed. As he was a highly educated and well read man his room was also packed with books.

Even when he was relaxing downstairs he would carry a small set of books with him which he never let out of his sight. One day when the postman rang the bell Shorta left them on his chair and went up to collect the mail. On his return he found Ranjini, the graduate deprived of reading material, rifling through them. What an uproar he created, but Ranjini refuse to be bowed, retaliating, “Who wants to read your junior comics?”

One day, chief house keeper Alagan, decided to clean out and dust his bookshelves and while replacing, he had glanced through them, to find hidden among his other ‘tomes’ pornographic magazines and photos! No wonder he had ranted at Ranjini, for they may have been in that bundle as well.

Through an outside contact I heard the history of his wavering mind. He had apparently been a sort of a ‘wanderer’ during his elderly days. Which forced his wife to set a time for returning home. In order to enforce the rules she took to locking the gate at the appointed hour. One day he came late, to find the gate locked. He knew that it would be of no use to appeal to his stern wife, and being agile decided to climb up and jump over the tall gate. This he did, only to land on his head, injuring himself.

On his discharge from hospital the family was told there was some internal injury as well. His son subsequently learned from a specialist he consulted, that only a minor adjustment was all that was required to correct it. A date was set two months ahead. Unfortunately he contracted COVID-19. We were deeply saddened, for everyone had been very fond of him, specially the staff towards whom he had shown extra concern. But we could not attend his funeral as it was a private affair conducted ‘behind closed doors’ at the hospital with only his son present.

Even now I often think of Shorta with affection and feel blessed in having known such a special person.