Here, I speak about my generation. The present one is quite different.

Men with jobs that required retirement eventually retired, as expected. It felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from their shoulders. When I retired, the first few days were dreamlike. I felt as though I was on cloud nine. What was happening? So much time. So much freedom to read, to sleep, to relax, to enjoy, to chill. To do nothing.

And my wife? She continued with the same routine: waking up early, drawing kolams in front of the house, brewing coffee, serving it to me, showering, cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and brewing more coffee. In the evening, if she had any free time, she might watch TV.

The feeling of guilt was all-pervasive. It made me doubt not only my own actions but those of others as well. Shame coursed through my veins. I felt smaller. And for a smaller guy like me, how much smaller could I get?

I wasn’t watching my wife closely, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was observing me keenly. After all, she had always had sharp observation skills. Was it because I no longer went to the office? Was I becoming a timewaster, wrapped in my own thoughts and happiness, slowly morphing into someone good-for-nothing? A monarch, surveying everything with regal disdain? I’m not like that. Or am I? My wife has never said these things directly, but now that I think back, were there hints?

Why? I’m the same person—just without the official post. Or is it because I’m occupying the same spots, warming the seats day and night, not giving her any breathing space?

I’m not the interfering type, but I would occasionally question finances, a responsibility I’ve now happily shifted to my better half. Meanwhile, the worse half of me was growing lazier, and a decline in my eyesight gave me yet another excuse to stop all activities.

The freedom and relaxation that retirement gave me kept me in a euphoric mood for quite some time. No reading, a passion I had forgotten temporarily, even though I had all the time in the world. No creative work, no deep thinking—just a brief glance at the newspapers, some TV watching, and sleeping.

All the while, my wife remained busy. After all, the man of the house still had to be fed and kept happy, all according to the clock. No signs of rebellion from her, at least not outwardly. Whatever stops, aging will not.

So, when will I figure out what my wife really needs?

Continued in 152. Tired But Not Retired - Part 2