Elderly friends in Dubai's JLT can teach us a thing about keeping loneliness at bay

In his new book on the science of awe, Dacher Keltner, a psychologist at the University of California, Berkeley, discusses concepts that can seem removed from our daily lives. Summarised in evocative phrases such as “moral beauty” and “collective effervescence”, Keltner details in his book, Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life, investigations into the kinds of phenomena we marvel at, and how awe – whether felt hearing a choir, observing nature or witnessing the kindness and resilience of other people – can help people move closer to finding meaning in their lives. One aspect Keltner gets into is how awe can be and often is an antidote to loneliness. This seems like just the sort of research-backed nugget of data that should catch on, considering the several studies in recent years about how social isolation impairs the immune system, lowers life expectancy and may even be as harmful as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. It came as a pleasant surprise, then, midway through Keltner's book, to find an example of collective effervescence not far from my own daily life in the UAE. On a recent Saturday morning at a restaurant in a leafy part of the Jumeirah Lakes and Towers (JLT) neighbourhood of Dubai, more than a dozen older Indian men – "We are all senior citizens", one told me – got together for a leisurely breakfast. The food was not the point. Meeting and talking and laughing very much was, even as they tucked into parathas , bedmi pooris , dosas and mango lassis . It is not a sight one comes across very often, and surely one that Keltner and his scientist peers would wholly endorse. It was heartening to witness this social outing of smiling strangers, unescorted by spouses, children or nurses – a contrast to all one hears about the global prevalence of loneliness among the elderly. In the background, the restaurant played a classic Hindi film song on loop, presumably catering to the preferences of its elderly patrons. The men, in their 60s-70s, some maybe older, were an animated group. It would have been optimistic for diners on the other tables to expect the same service they were receiving. They split their teas and coffees, instructing the somewhat harried waiters to divide the quite generous portions into smaller parts – four teas into six paper cups or three coffees into five. "Who all want?" Hands were raised. One of them took charge and did the tally. The sense of community was clear. As was the link with awe, and how Keltner describes it: “the feeling of being in the presence of something that transcends your current understanding of the world.” The men called for silence before one of them began reciting shayari (Urdu poetry). A man with bifocal lenses held his phone with both hands and read out a couplet –about how ajnabis (strangers) can, over the course of time, become dosts (friends). This and one or two more couplets were all met with claps and " wah! wah!". In his book, Keltner notes that across cultures vocalisations of awe are remarkably similar. The group of men inadvertently delighted onlookers, some of whom smiled just watching them. When the bill was paid, they took their time to disperse. As they vacated the restaurant, the place fell quiet. Tables that were initially joined to accommodate all 22 or so of them, were once again separated. The friends walked outdoors and stood in the sun for a while under the trees. One of them, wearing a clay pink shirt, even performed a little dance for a few fleeting seconds, to the visible glee of others watching. They clapped, made videos and took photos, evidently enjoying themselves. One man came back into the restaurant to fetch a walking stick forgotten in a corner. Another retrieved his friend’s reading glasses. It was endearing and rare, watching this counterpoint to an all-too-common cliche: older people being at a loose end, their children immersed in work schedules and children of their own. These elders live in nearby clusters of JLT and meet regularly. I asked the one in the pink shirt whether this gathering was something of a " kavi samelan" – a poetry society meeting. He dismissed the suggestion good-naturedly. "We all became friends. We live nearby. Our children are busy in their lives, so we like to get together and tell stories and have fun. That's good, isn't it?" he asked, beaming and I replied that it was lovely to see. "Yes," he said, "What else is there to life?"