Is the walking stick a boon or a bane? Several years ago I had to do some real thinking over this innocuous question.
Following a minor accident, an orthopaedic surgeon, a family friend, had forced me to use a walking stick to provide relief to my injured foot. Being young, I firmly believed that I did not need a stick. I was sure my foot would heal without the aid of a stick.
But the surgeon was adamant. He administered a mild reprimand-cum-warning. "Nothing doing. You have to carry it all the time," he said, handing me a metallic medi walking stick. Accepting it with obvious reticence, I examined its handle, imagining how I would look carrying it.
The doctor was not amused. "What is bothering you?" he asked.
I decided to be honest, "To tell you frankly, sir, I don't want to look old."
Both my father, who had taken me to the clinic, and the surgeon burst out laughing. The doctor told me, "Look, this stick is certainly not going to take away or diminish your youth in any way. On the other hand, limping without this aid will make you an object of ridicule."
Good riddance
I decided to use the stick sparingly while waiting for the earliest opportunity to throw it away. Time flew and my foot got better until one fine morning, I finally dumped the walking stick.
Decades rolled by. A couple of years back, when arthritis afflicted me, I was handed a three-legged medi-stick. This time around I felt like hugging it — a friend in need indeed. How true was the good old surgeon's counsel!
Nevertheless, my worry about looking old persisted. But there was no alternative. One evening, I ventured to go to a nearby shopping complex to buy some medicine. I was wearing a loose flowing shawl. A woman coming from the opposite direction and holding the hand of her toddler, looked at me, then my graying hair and my walking stick.
As she came near me, she told her child, "If you don't listen to me and try to be naughty again, this Jholi Baba (child lifter) will abduct you."
I was shocked. Did I really look like a child lifter? I had never imagined that the walking stick would earn me such a nasty epithet. But it had become my inseparable companion because of my health. So nothing would make me abandon it.
That was not all. Even the people meeting me at home or outside would cast a glance at me and my stick and then sort of pity me. I did not need anybody's sympathy. But it was coming unsolicited, courtesy the stick. That, sometimes, made me wonder whether the walking stick is a boon or a bane, a friend or foe.During the later period, I came across people who had different perceptions about the walking stick. An elderly man never carried any stick during his morning and evening stroll in a nearby park. When I asked him why, he quietly replied, "I don't want to look old."
His alacrity and attitude towards life simply stumped me. I told him that being much younger I envied him.
And then there was a gentleman in his early 60s. Though quite active and healthy he carried a walking stick. His answer to my question was, "True. I don't need it. But I carry it to avert any wayward cyclist or automobile from bumping into me. My stick works like the ‘L' [Learner] sign put up in the front and rear windshields of a car that tells other drivers ‘Be careful, I am a novice'."
Till date, I am not sure what opinion I should have about the walking stick.
Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.
