When elderly go missing they leave a pain that lingers forever

By Sunil Saxena

When elderly go missing they leave a bigger hole in the heart than those who pass away. You can never be at peace with yourself again.

There will always be a nagging doubt in your mind. Have you done enough to trace your loved one? Is he still alive? Is he sleeping in the open? Does he have enough food to eat or clothes to wear?

My friend, who moved to Dubai, even today can’t sleep. He is always torn with thoughts about his Dad. It is not that he did not do enough to find his Dad who was suffering from Alzheimer’s.

It was just that he could do nothing. One moment his Dad was sitting in the garden. The next moment he was gone. My friend thought his Dad had stepped out to buy Paan (betel leaf) from the neighbourhood Paan seller. He invariably liked to do this after lunch.

The Paan seller knew his Dad well. Babuji, as he referred to him, had been his customer for years. He knew exactly what kind of Paan Babuji liked. He would also humour him and refuse to accept any payment saying that he was like his father. Later, my friend would pay the Paan seller for all the Paans.

The day my friend’s 81-year-old father went missing was a Sunday. My friend was home, playing with his daughter. He did not think much about his Dad stepping out after lunch. Everyone recognised Babuji in that locality. They had been living there for almost two decades.

It was his 8-year-old daughter who first noticed that Babuji had been gone longer than usual. My friend too realised this when his daughter pointed it out. He went to the gate and looked up and down the street but could not see Babuji.

He and his daughter then walked over to the Paan shop which was deserted. The Paan seller was taken by surprise. He said Babuji had not come to his shop today. So, where did he go? It was a good one hour since he had left the house.

My friend and his daughter started scouring all the nearby streets. He then started knocking on the doors of the houses which Babuji visited. There was no sign of him.

By now, my friend was very alarmed. He reluctantly called his estranged brother who lived a couple of kilometres away. No, Babuji had not come to his home either. The news spread across the locality and worried neighbours joined the search.

It was close to 5 pm when my friend decided to go to the police. A missing persons report was filed. The police station had two motorcycles, and two beat constables joined the hunt. The neighbouring police stations were alerted and Babuji’s general appearance and the clothes he was wearing was flashed.

The search continued through the evening and the next day and into the week. Babuji was not found. He had simply vanished. My friend released several advertisements in the newspapers requesting information. He even offered a handsome reward.

It is 12 years now but Babuji has not been found.

My friend’s mother who was a in a state of shock for several days has been trying to rebuild her life. She has not allowed anything to be disturbed in the house. Babuji’s clothes are washed, ironed and kept neatly in his cupboard.

His bed is made every night and a glass of fresh water kept on the bedside stool. His study table and his bookshelf are dusted regularly, hoping that Babuji will one day walk through the door as if nothing has happened.

The family refuses to put dry flowers around Babuji’s smiling photograph that is kept on the drawing room mantle.

My friend got a job in Dubai and moved out two years back. His mother lives alone waiting for her husband to return. My friend tells me that she rushes to the door every time the bell rings.

To her, Babuji is still alive. Even my friend wants to believe this. All of us would like Babuji to return. But will he?

At times, I wonder would it not have been better if he had passed away. The pain would have been one time. Everyone would have got used to it.

But this is one pain, one heartbreak that will linger forever.

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