Homes for the elderly could be enriched by ancient wisdom
IN Western societies, from medieval times, the aged were never regarded as a challenge. It was only when societies became industrialised — with concomitant urbanisation — that old people became isolated and were oftentimes regarded as a burden. In rural societies, people lived in families with older members having their rightful and valued place; and in the villages, older people were regarded as an accepted and necessary part of the social landscape.
With the growth of urbanisation, individual living space became much smaller and more costly, and could house an individual worker and possibly a spouse; but there was no place or space for the older members of a family who could not be a part of the urban work force. Such old folks were left in their dwindling rural communities with very few to accord them any help or care.
This led to the growth of commercial institutions, sometimes called “homes for the aged” or “nursing homes”, where children or relatives could place their older members at a fee. These institutions generally offered a clean, furnished room with comfortable bed, medical help, meals and some exercising facilities. There was always a nurse on duty.
These homes must be distinguished from the more ancient hostels or refuges conducted by churches and other religious bodies, and even individuals; which offered food and shelter for the homeless, the old, the sick and the indigent. Religious bodies conducted such refuges as charities, and no charges were made or sought. In Guyana, among the oldest of such institutions are the “Alms House”, now known as the “Palms,” and the “Dharm Shalas” in Berbice and Georgetown, which have been founded by the Hindu leader and great philanthropist Pandit Ramsaroop Maraj nearly a century ago.
Such “old people’s” or “nursing homes” are gradually beginning to emerge in Guyana, and part of the reason for this is the very heavy emigration of Guyanese to the United States and other countries, leaving behind their older relatives in Guyana. These emigrants have often sent monetary remittances to those left behind, as well as supplies of food and clothing inexpensively shipped in “barrels.” But there eventually comes a time when these older relatives become too old, sick and isolated, and a “nursing home” is the only alternative open to them.
A few weeks ago, a large well-appointed nursing home, the Demerara Paradise, was opened at Le Ressouvenir on the East Coast of Demerara. In addition to catering for a local clientele, the administrators expect an overseas clientele as well, and they have provided accommodation for visiting Guyanese from the diaspora, who may wish to be near their older relatives who may be residents. Unlike most homes, Demerara Paradise provides entertainment facilities such as gym, cinema and library.
But nursing homes and homes for old people are not all goodness and glitter. They have two major deficiencies: the residents often sense that they are sent there by their relatives to assuage their relatives’ consciences, or for them to die not in isolation. And these homes tend to crush any manifestation of independence of spirit in the residents.
Guyanese author Beryl Gilroy made a study and analysis of such homes in her novel, Frangipani House. Here, she underlines these two deficiencies.
These homes, which proliferate in the developed countries, are now beginning to emerge in Guyana, and their administrators could certainly learn from the wisdom of the ancients as to how to make the homes more worthwhile to the residents and their families, and more amenable to the fundamental needs of the aged.
In the Vedic tradition, that is about 4000 B.C., the life of a man was divided into four phases: the first phase is that period from babyhood to youth, when a person acquires education and skills. The second phase is that of the householder, when the youth becomes married, raises a family, earns money and creates wealth for society. The third phase is when the householder begins to age and must begin to devote himself to public service and assisting his fellow man in any way he could, and increase his knowledge of God. And the fourth phase is when the person, now aged, fully concentrates on getting nearer to God and prepares for death. These phases are, of course, not mutually exclusive, but dovetail into each other.
The residents of the homes tend to be in the third phase moving into the fourth. In the homes, the residents could be given the opportunity of doing public service. For example, they could be encouraged to pass on their knowledge of peculiar skills to younger people, or be encouraged to write. Almost all would be able to dictate on tape their life’s experiences, which could be of interest to relatives or even others. They may even be story-tellers to the young. Those who are so inclined could be involved in agricultural research or in painting. Vincent Van Gogh did many of his famous paintings when in a mental hospital, and T.S. Elliot wrote much great poetry when he was in a similar institution. But most important of all, those in the last two phases could be taught meditation, so as to still the mind, achieve greater peace and happiness, and increase their knowledge of God and religion.
In our Western tradition and culture, life is regarded as one seamless tissue, moving from birth to death. Thus when, with the progression of life, the inevitable changes occur to body and mind, we are caught unprepared and become traumatic; and death comes as an explosive disaster. Grafting this ancient wisdom of the phases of life into our Western tradition could certainly help us to manage life’s progress with less tension and trauma. Probably some knowledge of this ancient wisdom could be introduced into the education system.
If these homes were able to exploit this ancient wisdom, they may accordingly enrich their offerings and give their residents greater fortitude and creativity.
