World Senior Citizens Day: Honouring wisdom, preserving dignity, and rethinking our responsibilities
Heramba Nath
World Senior Citizens Day, observed on the 21st of August each year, is not merely a symbolic entry in the calendar but a profound reminder of our civilisational values. It is a day to pause amidst the turbulence of modern life and reflect upon the invaluable role that the elderly play in our families, our communities, and our collective moral order. It is a day that forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about how far we have drifted from traditions that once revered elders as sources of wisdom, while also encouraging us to restore the balance between progress and humanity.
The observance of this day was endorsed by the United Nations to recognise the contributions of older generations and to highlight the need for care and dignity in an ageing world. Longevity has increased dramatically across the globe, but length of years has not always translated into quality of life. This paradox is nowhere more visible than in countries like India, where rapid social change has reconfigured the traditional structures that once offered natural security to the aged. In the rush of globalisation and individual pursuits, many senior citizens find themselves left behind, not only economically but emotionally, their twilight years shadowed by loneliness, neglect, and insecurity.
The issue becomes particularly significant in a state like Assam, and in the wider North East of India, where demographic transition is changing the face of society. Traditionally, the region has valued joint family structures, where grandparents lived under the same roof with children and grandchildren. Elders were keepers of folklore, history, language, and community rituals. In rural Assam, it was common to see the patriarch or matriarch of the family as a revered figure, seated at the centre of household decisions, while their stories kept alive the memory of villages, festivals, and struggles that defined identity. Yet, this traditional arrangement is under pressure. With large numbers of young people migrating to cities and even abroad in search of education and employment, many elderly parents are left behind in villages, living lives of quiet abandonment. Their children send money, but money cannot fill the silence of empty courtyards or replace the warmth of daily companionship.
The challenge is magnified by inadequate healthcare infrastructure in the region. Assam, like much of the North East, faces a shortage of doctors, geriatric specialists, and well-equipped hospitals. Older adults, often grappling with chronic diseases such as diabetes, hypertension, arthritis, or heart ailments, struggle to find reliable medical care nearby. For rural elders, the situation is harsher, as travelling to district hospitals or urban centres for treatment is physically exhausting and financially draining. The lack of adequate old-age homes or assisted living facilities further compounds their vulnerability. In such circumstances, the question of dignity becomes paramount—do our elders spend their last years battling neglect, or can we, as a society, create structures of support that uphold their humanity?
At the national level, India does have a legislative framework in the form of the Maintenance and Welfare of Parents and Senior Citizens Act, 2007. This law places a legal obligation on children and heirs to provide maintenance to senior citizens, ensuring that basic needs are met. It also empowers tribunals to hear cases of neglect or abandonment. While progressive in spirit, its implementation remains inconsistent, especially in rural areas where awareness is low and elders often hesitate to pursue legal recourse against their own children. Social stigma also prevents many from speaking out, for to admit neglect is to admit a collapse of family values. The existence of the law, however, signals that society recognises the seriousness of the issue, even if practice has yet to catch up with principle.
The government has also launched schemes such as the National Programme for Health Care of the Elderly (NPHCE), which aims to provide specialised geriatric services at primary, secondary, and tertiary levels of healthcare. Similarly, the Indira Gandhi National Old Age Pension Scheme provides financial assistance to those above 60 years, particularly from economically weaker sections. These initiatives, though well-intentioned, are limited in scope and reach. For many elders in Assam and the North East, pensions are meagre and irregular, healthcare services patchy, and social security weak. It is in this gap between policy and practice that elders often fall, left to the mercy of circumstances.
Comparisons with other countries highlight the need for stronger systems in India. In nations such as Japan, which has one of the world’s oldest populations, there are extensive community-based elder care services, nursing homes, and health insurance mechanisms specifically designed for the elderly. Scandinavian countries, too, are known for their robust welfare models, where the dignity of older adults is preserved through comprehensive state support, ranging from pensions to housing and healthcare. While cultural contexts differ, what these models show is that elder care cannot be left solely to families—it requires societal structures, state responsibility, and civic commitment.
The emotional dimension of ageing, however, cannot be solved by policies alone. Loneliness remains perhaps the greatest silent epidemic of our times. In Assam’s tea gardens, in the riverine chars, and in remote hill districts, countless elders live in isolation, their children far away, their voices fading in the absence of listeners. Technology, ironically, has created both bridges and walls. While smartphones and video calls allow some measure of contact, the digital divide leaves many elders excluded. For those unfamiliar with devices or apps, the rapid digitisation of services—banking, healthcare appointments, government subsidies—becomes an additional obstacle. Inclusion, therefore, must be seen not only in terms of physical survival but also in terms of emotional and digital access.
This is where intergenerational bonding becomes vital. If younger generations are taught to see their grandparents not as burdens but as living libraries of wisdom, the relationship becomes mutually enriching. In rural Assam, elders still narrate tales of Bhadra month rituals, of harvest festivals, of floods survived and songs sung to the rhythm of the Brahmaputra. These stories are treasures, and in losing our elders, we risk losing the memory of who we are. To sit by their side, to hear their silences, to value their presence, is an act of both cultural preservation and moral responsibility.
Spiritual traditions across India have long emphasised the honouring of parents and elders. The Manusmriti and other texts place service to parents next only to service to God. The phrase “Matru Devo Bhava, Pitru Devo Bhava”—let the mother be your God, let the father be your God—captures the sanctity accorded to elderhood. In Assam’s cultural fabric, too, respect for elders is woven into proverbs, songs, and rituals. Yet, modern realities often clash with these ideals. The festival of World Senior Citizens Day, therefore, becomes a moment of truth: are we willing to translate our inherited values into lived practice, or do they remain merely poetic echoes of a forgotten ethos?
It is here that language reveals the deeper cracks in our social consciousness. Most of the people in our society casually use the word “Burha” to describe old people, often in a disregarded or mocking manner. What was once a neutral term for age has, over time, acquired undertones of contempt. This careless choice of words mirrors the careless neglect with which society sometimes treats its elders. Just as an ungrateful son disobeys an old parent, the use of “Burha” in a derogatory sense symbolises a distorted mindset that reduces a life of struggle, sacrifice, and wisdom to a mere label of frailty. It is a pity that old people are being ignored in this way, when they deserve reverence instead of ridicule. We rarely stop to think that we, too, will grow old one day. To dismiss the elderly as “Burha” is to deny our own future selves dignity. True civilisation is not only about skyscrapers and technology; it is also about the respect we show through our words, gestures, and attitudes. A healthy society cannot be imagined unless we treat all human beings—young or old—with equal care and dignity.
The plight of elderly women deserves particular attention. In many villages, widowed women live in extreme poverty, their dependence magnified by the erosion of joint families. Social stigma, limited access to property rights, and lifelong gender inequities mean that they enter old age doubly disadvantaged. World Senior Citizens Day must shine a light on such silent sufferings, for true dignity can only be ensured when the most vulnerable among the elderly are uplifted.
There are also heartening examples of communities and organisations stepping in. In Guwahati, certain NGOs and citizen groups have begun running day-care centres for elders, where they can meet, interact, and spend time together. Religious institutions often organise special prayers and community meals for senior citizens. Some innovative housing societies in urban India are now designing senior-friendly apartments, with ramps, railings, and medical facilities built in. These may be modest beginnings, but they represent a recognition that elder care is not a peripheral issue but central to the moral health of society.
As India moves deeper into the twenty-first century, the proportion of senior citizens will rise steadily. By 2050, it is estimated that one in five Indians will be above 60 years of age. Assam and the North East, too, will not be untouched by this demographic shift. The urgency, therefore, is not for token gestures but for long-term planning. How will our villages and cities adapt to the mobility needs of the elderly? How will public transport, healthcare, housing, and digital services be redesigned with ageing in mind? How will families balance the demands of work with the duties of care? These questions are not distant—they are pressing realities that will shape the future of our society.
World Senior Citizens Day thus holds a mirror to us all. It reminds us that respect for elders is not a favour but a repayment of an eternal debt. It reminds us that ageing is not a curse but a natural stage of life deserving honour. It reminds us that progress must be measured not only by the wealth of the young but by the dignity of the old. Most of all, it reminds us that the way we treat our elders today will define how we ourselves are treated tomorrow, for the cycle of life is unbroken, and each generation carries within it the shadow of its own future ageing.
If we truly seek to honour World Senior Citizens Day, then we must go beyond ceremonies. We must build a society where no elder is left abandoned in a silent room, where no elder has to choose between medicine and food, where no elder is treated as a burden. We must weave together policy, culture, family, and community into a fabric strong enough to hold our elders in comfort and dignity. For in doing so, we will not only protect the past but also safeguard the humanity of the future.