By Ashvini Ranjan

Age is just a number’, a phrase I had often heard but understood only much later in life. And funnily, the lesson came to me from two unexpected corners: One, from a former domestic helper named Chenna and the other from the sky, quite literally and no jokes!

Back in the 1950s, my sister and I attended Good Shepherd School. Every morning, we rode a Tonga (a single-horse-driven carriage) from our home in Shivarampet.

On certain days, the Tonga didn’t show up, which was, in fact, more often than one would expect. On those days of no-show, Chenna, our loyal domestic help, would ferry us to school on his bicycle.

While my six-year-old sister sat on the carrier at the back of the cycle, I sat on the crossbar in the front. Not the most comfortable ride for an eight-year-old anatomy.

En route, he would regale us with stories. It was a good three-mile journey. At that time, Chenna must have been twenty-five plus. Quiet, strong, dependable, and always smiling. He never once grumbled about the drudgery.

Continued cordiality

As years went by, Chenna moved on to better-paying jobs but would still drop by now and then. Especially during festivals, when there was a need for extra help. Besides the tip he received for the services, he carried home the sweets made for the occasion. After a few years, his visits became less frequent and stopped altogether.

Fast-forward to 2020, my 75th birthday. Expecting friends later that evening, I had gone to the local market for a few essentials. That’s when I heard someone call my name. I turned and saw a face that was weathered by time but warmed by familiarity. It was Chenna.

Dressed in khaki, he looked aged, a little plump, though remarkably fit. He shook my hand with a firm grip and held onto it for a moment longer, his eyes filled with affection.

“Still working?” I asked. “Of course”, he said in rural Kannada and grinned. “I drive an auto now.”

When I asked his age, he laughed and said, “I don’t know.” My mind began doing the math. He had to be well past ninety. If I am 75 and if I add another 15 years, he could well be 90!  

And yet, there he was, still active, still independent. He was curious to know about me, my family, my sister, the little girl who rode with us (now in her seventies), etc. I extended him an invitation to visit our home sometime. The wide grin was an acceptance.

Enthusiasm and willpower

As I walked back home, my thoughts turned introspective. I had been told to stop jogging, cycling, and even driving, not because I was unfit, but simply because of my age. Everything was reduced to a number. But there was Chenna, proving otherwise. He listened to his body, not to a calendar.

The phrase ‘Age is just a number’ means exactly that. Your age doesn’t have to define who you are or what you can do. Your mindset, energy, enthusiasm, and willpower count for much more.

Globally, life expectancy has risen beyond seventy and continues to climb. Thanks to advances in science and medicine. Retiring at sixty today is often akin to quitting in your prime. Millions live for two or three decades after retirement. If these years aren’t put to productive or fulfilling use, it’s both a personal and national loss.

The key lies in physical fitness and mental agility. Regular exercise and a disciplined lifestyle are essential. But beyond fitness tests and lab reports, the greatest indicator of health is your own body.

It speaks to you through signs like fatigue, strength, joy, etc. Ignoring them is folly. At the same time, overestimating one’s abilities without discretion is risky. Striking a balance is the secret.

Fascinated with flying

As a young man, I was fascinated with flying. In college, I joined the NCC Air Wing. My father was unimpressed. He wanted a successor for his business, not a pilot. The dream of flying remained tucked away, overpowered by obligations. But at sixty, it resurfaced.

When I expressed a desire to learn to fly, my wife assumed I was joking. “Good luck finding someone willing to teach an old man to fly,” she laughed. I hadn’t told her that I had done my homework on the rules for flying.

There was no age bar for learning to fly if one was medically fit. I joined a flying school in Mysore and flew solo at sixty-two.

At seventy, I learnt scuba diving. At seventy-two, I leapt out of an aircraft from 13,000 feet, harnessed to a professional, of course, experiencing the adrenaline rush of a tandem skydive.

Affirmation of life

Each of these milestones was not an act of rebellion against age but an affirmation of life. They reminded me that the walls we build around ourselves are often self-imposed. Society may be obsessed with numbers, but the spirit has no age.

Today, as I look around, I see many like Chenna who continue to work not just out of necessity but out of dignity and resilience. I see retired professionals mentoring young minds, and senior citizens learning new skills, picking up musical instruments, or writing books. I see people living life.

Ageing isn’t always the most fun thing in the world, but it sure can be funny if you approach it with a light-hearted attitude. Joking about getting older and the assorted health and life problems that come with it can take some of the sting out of ageing. Plus, science shows laughing is good for your health and well-being.

So, if there’s a dream you’ve shelved, a passion you’ve paused, or a plan you’ve postponed because of your age, take another look. Your body, your will, and your spirit might be more ready than you think. After all, age truly is just a number.