India, May 10 -- At the homes of elderly couples who live alone, their children settled in far-off parts of the world, you will encounter the "smell" of old age. Their houses are museums, showcasing items curated over the years - some received as wedding gifts four-five decades ago. The dressing table is older than their eldest kid. The sofa, with that hexagonal cane webbing, has surrendered to the shape of their bodies. The cushions smell grand-fatherly. No matter what time of the day, it's always afternoon in the house - quiet. It's the time when the sunlight enters softly and grazes bedcovers before dying out. The panchang (Hindu lunar calendar) on the wall still shows last month; there is no urgency to turn it over. There are half-empty strips of medicine by the bedside. Each tablet used to be a phone-call, a reminder from someone to take it, without fail. Not anymore. Since the children started their own families, their tablet reminders get exhausted in their own nuclear household. The luckiest houses of the elderly have a porch or a balcony and a folding chair to sit and read local crime-news in the newspaper. "Elderly couple robbed, murdered in Gomtinagar," the headline reads. The elderly, lonely parents have become numb to it. Most days, they try to trick their grandkids into a conversation on a video call; the kids aren't interested beyond pleasantries. So, the parents turn to their own child, covertly asking them when he/she will pay a visit. "Office is hectic," they hear. They always understand. There are no hard feelings. They go back to scrolling videos on their respective phones. The algorithm knows about your parents more than you do. Even though the furniture is old, the electronics in the house are brand new. The kids jump at such occasions, as if spending some money on their parents can melt some of their guilt. Meanwhile, the phone is dutifully put on charge. Every lock of the house is locked. And the old couple drifts off. Their pillow is usually the satisfaction of having "settled"their kids well, validated by their relatives. They sleep in the silence of an empty nest, a silence that is broken only by the ticking of the wall-clock, bringing the inevitable closer by the second. Double income, no kids (DINK) is a lifestyle gaining currency. But having switched sides from that camp, I have some insight. The purest form of love is that of a parent, for their kids. There may not always be a vice versa. It's often unrequited, especially after the kid discovers dating apps. Relationships and marriages often devolve into transactional setups. But the affection for one's kid remains pure. And that's why, even if your office isn't as hectic, and you opt for a Thailand trip instead of visiting your parents, they understand. For the children, especially after having their own kids, visiting parents becomes a filial responsibility. Such trips are literally guilt trips. The parents try to reassure over calls, "We are fine, the neighbour's son takes care of us during emergencies." "Is he still working in Lucknow?" the child asks with some derision. "Yeah, his father isn't happy. They couldn't settle their kid well," comes the reply. "Heh," another derisive snort escapes the child. Ironically, a parent in India is sad if they can't send their kid thousands of miles away from them, permanently. When an adult actually visits the parental home, the first thing he/she does is to confirm the return tickets. But one's parental home is always sweet. It is where the family photo albums are - physical, hardbound. On those visits to your parents, you peel off the pages to reveal your childhood to your kids. Then, the albums are placed back in those creaky Godrej almirahs. For the next visit, maybe. It takes you some time to merge with the silence of your parents' homes, their permanent afternoons. But there is not enough time to feel its weight. The return flight is on Sunday night. Mother will pack some laddoos, her kitchen buzzing for a bit. Then, on Sunday night, it is back to the dense quiet. Both houses go back to the struggle of arranging internet-mediated facetime between the grandparents and grandkids. This is the inescapable reality - old age is lonely. Even if you make friends - a group of active retirees who participate in all events, celebrate festivals together, and share each other's bigotry - you will still lose them to attrition. To old age. To pandemics. To cancers. Nobody is at fault here. Nests are built and, one day, left empty. As a society, we need to reduce the stigma of living in old-age homes or assisted living facilities. Being a prisoner in your own museum, depending on a neighbour's child, is not a dignified way to go....