Regardless of what the economic factors may say, the common man is still spending sleepless nights thinking about where the next meal is going to come from

MY friend, who was on the threshold of retirement, said rather jokingly that he wanted to commit suicide.

“How do you intend to go about it?” I asked in the same jocular tone.

“I don’t want to burn myself. It’s too torturous. If I yell, there are chances of my surviving in bad shape. If I don’t yell, nobody will know who I am.”

“How about sleeping pills?”

“Spurious drugs abound in every drug store and stomach wash can save me.”

“How about gulping a peg of insecticide?”

“Maybe I’ll vomit from its acrid odour before taking it.”

“A railway track?”

“You know our trains change tracks and time without notice.”

“A ceiling fan then?” I suggested.

“I know nothing about the hangman’s knot.”

“But why on earth you wish to commit suicide?” I asked quite seriously. “You are employed, you have a home, good health, submissive wife and grown-up children who are valuable old-age assets.”

“That’s it — old age. I’m afraid of it,” he confessed.

“Why so?”

“It’s simple. What I had so far saved I spent on my two daughters’ wedding. I now foresee retirement means no job, that is no salary and no other source of income. Investments? The government has drastically slashed the rate of returns on savings — so I don’t get much from it. If I invest elsewhere — well, you read about so many scams everyday and there seems no upper limit to which utility bills will soar. The downward trend of SPI is for the media only. It’s guaranteed not to match with the market. Everything remaining the same, where will I stand a few years from now? You know an army marches on its stomach. So do the inmates. If I can’t feed and keep them as I do now, won’t they convert into a rebellious lot. And then ....”

“Hold on,” I interrupted, trying to stop him. “You know our economy is about to enter the take-off stage. By the time you retire maybe it will be in the flying stage.”

“Are you sure?” He asked doubtfully.

“Positive,” I asserted. “Everything points that way: rising reserves; debt write-offs; share market indices, swinging petroleum prices and above all the (PRP) Poverty Reduction Programme — all vouched by the LFO. The government will soon honour its promise of giving many relief to all dotagers. All you need do now is look at the glass as half-full.”

“That’s how I see it when I read about the seminars, committees, commissions amd NGOs pleading to rejuvenate the old but ....”

“But they have already started by giving concessionary tickets to test matches and zoological gardens. You see, one small step foretells a big leap.”

“A leap to where?” He asked, irritated. “Will it take me further away from GST or WHT, or from the tax returns I have to submit three years after retirement? Or will it make me a borrower, a defaulter, and then a tasty morsel for NAB?”

“Your desperation is understandable,” I said in an appeasing tone. “You see, we are a poor country and depend on our donors such as the World Bank, IMF and ADB to help us alleviate poverty. Let the PRP go into action, you will then witness the miracle.”

“Right now, I only see posh cars, palatial bungalows, hordes of buyers at the jewellers, lavish weddings, birthdays and even barsi parties.”

“Aren’t these signs of prosperity?”

“Just alluring apparel to conceal a diseased physique, my friend.” He continued quite calmly, “When you are of my age you’ll know where the shoe pinches.”

Was he as true as he was convinced? A note on his deathbed read: