Simon Hayter
The South Asian home would bustle with activity, as Ms. Saroj Sood's three grandchildren got ready for school. She'd make tea and see the youngsters off at the door.
Then she'd get back to the daily household chores. Making lunch - usually a traditional Indian meal - was top priority for the grandmother who managed the house as her son and daughter-in-law worked.
Afterwards, she'd help the youngest, her only granddaughter, with homework - despite being two generations apart, they shared an interest in craft projects. Later, as Ms. Sood waited for her son and daughter-in-law to get home, she'd read books on such topics as spirituality, religion and alternative healing. In the evening, the family would try to have dinner together, a tradition that brought each generation to the same table every evening.
But all that changed two years ago, when then 76-year-old Ms. Sood moved into an assisted-care centre in Surrey. For what can be called an ordinary event in a typical Canadian home, it was a shocker in the Sood household. The move, for a woman of South Asian heritage, was breaking convention.
And it hurt at least one family member - her young granddaughter. "I didn't want her to go; I was pretty mad, I was like saying to myself that I wasn't going to talk to her and I was, really really mad," says Richa Sood, now 14.
In the South Asian culture, children look after their elderly parents in the same home even if they need assisted medical care; it's considered morally wrong to put parents or grandparents in a care home.
Yet more and more South Asian seniors are moving to seniors' homes and assisted-care centres, says Charan Gill, a Surrey-based community activist. While no data are available to document a trend, Mr. Gill's statement suggests a cultural tradition colliding with economic realities of living in a Western society.
"Husband and wife are working; both are working to pay the mortgage. It's not a matter of choice any more," he says, referring to the growing needs of South Asian seniors, who are often left alone at home with no one to care for them. Mr. Gill campaigned for an assisted-care centre and arranged funding, and in February, 2007, opened what he claims is the first one in North America catering to South Asians.
That is where Ms. Sood moved. For her, the inspiration to leave her son's home was drawn from her Indian roots - from the sacred ancient texts, the Vedas.
The Vedas define four stages of a person's life, with each stage lasting 25 years. In the first stage, Brahmacharya, a person is supposed to live a celibate life and concentrate fully on learning. The next stage, at 25 years, is Grahasta, the stage of family life. Next is Vanaprastha, which defines a life of detachment. The last stage begins at 75 years and is called Sanyasa, or renunciation. The person is expected to meditate and leave the society and live in solitude.
"This is my Sanyasa," says Ms. Sood, referring to her new home at the care centre.
The tradition of taking care of elderly parents is heavily reflected in the South Asian popular culture as well. Indian movies, songs and soap operas routinely reflect the theme of care and compassion for elderly parents in the same home.
But this was a choice made by Ms. Sood, who has always lived life on her own terms. Widowed at 46, she decided to immigrate to Canada from her home in a small city in northern India. With two teenage sons to look after, she believed Canada would give a single, working mother more opportunities.
She landed in Quebec, where, for nearly a decade, she ran two boutiques - earning money, sending her boys to school and learning the Canadian way of life, which included conversing in French. The family eventually moved to Surrey, B.C., where Ms. Sood retired.
Although she stayed with her son's family and was a pivotal part of the household, she knew she had to follow the path defined in the sacred texts. She talked to friends and secretly looked for a care home.
Then one spring, she got very sick. She was 75 years old and was hospitalized. The extended family cared for her. She says that was the moment when she decided she had to make a change. As soon as she was well enough to return home, she announced her decision. The initial shock and reluctance soon turned into support, and she moved into the assisted-care centre early in 2007.
She says she is happy with her decision. At the centre, she wakes up and has breakfast with the rest of the residents in the dining hall. There are no grandchildren to see off and no lunch preparations to make. Instead, after breakfast, there are light exercises.
After that, it's time to socialize, followed by lunch and then rest. Over dinner, new traditions are built, as Ms. Sood dines with the centre's residents instead of her own family. There is no one to wait for. She simply walks into the dining hall and takes a seat next to her new friends. The sights and sounds of her grandchildren, the woman-to-woman conversation with her daughter-in-law, are replaced by conversations among friends of the same age group.
"I've left a smaller family and now my family is so big," says Ms. Sood.
Her son understands his mother's need to be with people her own age. Mr. Anupam Sood says that when children play with children, teenagers hang out with other teens and adults look for companionship in their own age group, why should we stop our seniors from doing the same?
South Asians are now Canada's largest visible minority group, at more than one million, and Guru Nanak Niwas, the centre where Ms. Sood lives, is named after the founder of Sikhism. Surrey-based Progressive Intercultural Community Services Society runs the centre with aid from BC Housing and Fraser Health Authority.
The centre has a predominant South Asian staff who, in addition to English, speak such South Asian languages as Punjabi, Hindi, Bengali, Urdu and Fijian Hindi. Meals and entertainment are planned with a South Asian flavour, and residents celebrate major South Asian festivals at the centre.
"Stigma is there, but cultural barriers are breaking down very quickly," says Mr. Gill of the centre's popularity.
Richa Sood, who now spends some weekends with her grandmother at the centre, has come around. "Our culture, it's not a very common thing, but I'm really proud that [my grandma is]happy here; that she has made that decision on her own, she has talked to everyone, she has considered everyone's feelings and she is really happy here," she says.
Ms. Sood's suite is a testament to the values she shares with her sons and their families. The living room is full of little keepsakes that have messages of "World's number one mom" and "There's no place like home except grandma's."
Her son says it's time for South Asians to not treat their elderly parents as caretakers of their own kids. And Ms. Sood has a message for the other elderly in the community: "They should get out from the homes and have their own lives. This is our life and this is how we should live, according to our taste, according to our style."
Special to The Globe and Mail