Is This What We Call Aging?

Sitting in a restaurant Over a cup of coffee And silently having our dinner With hardly anything exciting Either to brag or blather My eyes got hooked On the occupants of the table, next Two kids, seated on small chairs A boy and a girl, obviously a pair of twins Adorably cute, their father, so young Who having placed the order Were in wait for their turn Carrying a tray, as the waiter arrived With something of the plainest kind, Small cartons of French fries, Bottles of sauce and plain ice cream The little faces gleamed in excitement Their beaded eyes riveted, And their heads bobbed in happy approval As their Dad opened the carton And placed before them French fries sprinkled with some sauce, The children, sprang to their feet With an upsurge of delight, Jumping up and down, Clapping their hands and shouting! At a small distance, sat we ‘Solemnly’ consuming our meal With nothing to titillate our palette Or excite our toned nerves. I thought; How, in course of time, Everything becomes a routine ritual And what stark difference Between our subdued composure And the overwhelming excitement of kids! They haven’t learned yet That such open expression of emotions, Is not in keeping with accepted norms To what peaks of joy, they get catapulted With mere trifles and silly baubles While we remain ever at the bottom Unable to be lifted up Is this what we call aging? The death of spring, the summer’s dirge Or the chill wave of winter’s blast? ?