Legend has it that a young prince of Nepal turned his back on a lavish life and became a wise preceptor when he stepped out of the royal precincts and saw three sights: a dead man, a very sick man and an old man. The first two are easy to understand, and aging too is a dismal prospect in tradition. Is it still so?
Exhibit Number One is my friend Din, who played Tic-Tac-Toe with me in school when the history lessons became mortally boring. He has both high blood pressure and high blood sugar, as many above sixty seem to have, but is quite fit, drives his weather-beaten car to visit his son in another part of town, bullies his wife to cook what he should not be eating, and on rare occasions deigns to take short walks in the park opposite his home.
Exhibit Number One is my friend Din, who played Tic-Tac-Toe with me in school when the history lessons became mortally boring. He has both high blood pressure and high blood sugar, as many above sixty seem to have, but is quite fit, drives his weather-beaten car to visit his son in another part of town, bullies his wife to cook what he should not be eating, and on rare occasions deigns to take short walks in the park opposite his home.
Exhibit Number Two is Romila, a nutrionist I met at a political rally and have been friends with ever since. She is possibly in her seventies, looks twenty years younger and is one of the liveliest persons I have met. She enjoys her work, likes helping people, and has no intention of seeking peace in retirement. Anytime I meet her, she begins, “Guess what happened today?” Things always happen to her.
I offer myself, immodestly, as the third exhibit. I am not in a stage that anybody would call young, but I neither feel decrepit nor think of myself as an older person. I live by myself, travel and work extensively, eat and drink happily, socialize energetically, read indiscriminately, eat sensibly but enthusiastically, drink heartily though not heavily, and live very joyfully.
I offer myself, immodestly, as the third exhibit. I am not in a stage that anybody would call young, but I neither feel decrepit nor think of myself as an older person. I live by myself, travel and work extensively, eat and drink happily, socialize energetically, read indiscriminately, eat sensibly but enthusiastically, drink heartily though not heavily, and live very joyfully.
How come that the three of us seem so happy when our years should have doomed us to Doomsday? Surely chronology is not destiny. At the start of the twentieth century, we were living to fifty, and already we are living to seventy; in the US, the longevity is eighty. Unless you are having unprotected sex in the back alleys, infectious diseases are unlikely to fell you; shells and mortars will not kill you, if you are not living in Afghanistan or Yemen; starvation may not be a threat if you don’t live in Venezuela or South Sudan.
Studies tell us the opposite of what bothered Siddhartha so much: the bulk of older people are having the best time of their life now, instead of in their so-called prime, when the demands of work, family and society weighed them down. Some have begun to talk of a U-curve of happiness: people in the last phase of their life retrieving the happy, carefree existence they experienced in their childhood.
As the standard of life go up, savings make up for the loss of income when people stop working. As the standard of healthcare go up, new drugs and therapies make up for the age-associated frailties. Suddenly the ever-expanding work hours are replaced by the ever-promising leisure hours. Comfortable travel, carefree socialization, congenial sports, capricious reading, all become possible and available.
As the standard of life go up, savings make up for the loss of income when people stop working. As the standard of healthcare go up, new drugs and therapies make up for the age-associated frailties. Suddenly the ever-expanding work hours are replaced by the ever-promising leisure hours. Comfortable travel, carefree socialization, congenial sports, capricious reading, all become possible and available.
People who have retired from an organization, sometimes at an early age, say, from the government or the military, often start working for a non-profit or cause-oriented organization and treat their assignment more as fun than as work. Or they take a new interest in their community or club and derive satisfaction from a very different kind of responsibility, especially if their new project brings them more fulfillment than fuss.
Gone overnight too are the vicissitudes of love and romance, the resulting hurts and heartaches, the aching adjustments of conjugal life, the sleepless nights and thankless sacrifices of parenthood, the endless strain of proving oneself in one’s company and one’s community. You have realized by now that you will not be a ballyhooed corporate titan, a beloved community leader or even a branded tennis star. You have found peace in the realization of your middling gifts, even your mediocrity. Now is the time to find joy in what is feasible, the tea and sympathy of a pleasant neighbor, a game of chess in the club backroom, a weekend overnight trip to visit the last college friend you still have.
I think I never saw my father happier than when I saw him, after retiring, first from his administrator’s job and then his educator’s role, and embracing his new life: sipping morning tea with mother, chatting with neighbors, shopping in the local market, going on long walks and returning home in the evening for a quiet meal with us. More than ever, he was peaceful, content, in tune with the world and with himself.
No, the experience of old age, even with its dolorous signs of creaky joints, leaky memory and waning energy, will not drive you to walk out the door in search of Nirvana. It will rather help you scale to a new plateau of placidity, reconcile you to the soaring peak you will never reach, and make you glad that you have what you have: a wealth of life, a taste of peace and the prospect of abundant joy.
No, the experience of old age, even with its dolorous signs of creaky joints, leaky memory and waning energy, will not drive you to walk out the door in search of Nirvana. It will rather help you scale to a new plateau of placidity, reconcile you to the soaring peak you will never reach, and make you glad that you have what you have: a wealth of life, a taste of peace and the prospect of abundant joy.
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