OLD AGE UTILITY

By NAVARATNA RAMA RAO ¹

I am 76 years old. After retiring from the Mysore Civil Service 20 years ago, I have concerned myself with literature and industries and joined with keenness in the activities and interests of my younger contemporaries of more than one generation. I am today as well pleased with life as ever I was, and as grateful for it to God, Yet, when the call comes, I hope to take my departure without plaint or fear. I may therefore claim to know something of the subject of my talk tonight.

Many may ask–“A happy and useful old age? Is not that a contradiction in terms? Is not old age a growing sorrow to the victim, and a burden and nuisance to society? Is not every old man in some degree a Struldburg–Swift’s horrible immortal whose every faculty perishes, but who is cursed with a relentless life he cannot get rid of? Reflecting on the gradual decay of powers of the senses, well might young Nachiketas of the Katha Upanishad exclaim, ‘who would delight in two long life!’ Is it, in short, possible for an old man, and all I am going to say is equally true of the other sex, is it possible for an old man to live with joy and usefulness?”

These are some of the questions I shall try to answer from what life and study have taught me.

When one talks of the utility of old age, there are two aspects to be considered: the subjective and the objective. The first concerns the old man himself; the second, the society in which he lives.

The subjective aspect of the question resolves itself into this: Is old age a part of life worth living? Should not a hoary–or possibly bald–Hamlet ask himself whether ’tis nobler in the mind suffer it or end it with a bare bodkin, or by retiring from the world as a Sanyasi? This is a question which ultimately each one has to answer for himself according to his temperament and philosophy of life, but the thoughts of a person who, like me, has found a satisfactory solution in his own case may not be without use or interest. For, if we were never to learn from other people’s experience we should still be and for ever remain, savages. Well, to me, flight from the world, either with a bare bodkin or into the forests did not occur for a moment, for there was in fact nothing to fear, nothing to flee from. When I retired from Government service I was in splendid health and full possession of faculties. I felt the stir in me of ideas and interests which had long clamoured for expression, but had to yield precedence to official duties. I had always loved my work as a Civil Servant, and loved the world in which it lay, and my retirement left me free to work in that world in the way that pleased me best. It is true there was a wrench to start with–the parting from old comrades and familiar fields is always painful; but this was of short duration, and I next felt the frolic freedom of a school-boy at the commencement of a long vacation. I soon got tired of my holiday, and knew the restiveness born of the long habit of strenuous life. The cessation of official duties left no permanent vacuum, as their place was gradually filled by other interests–other work, other studies. The winning of virgin land to agriculture, the pursuit of Sanskrit and philosophy, the renewal of acquaintance with old friends–both persons and books, and service on public committees kept me reasonably employed. As a Government servant it had fallen to my lot to make an intensive study of our silk industry, and it had been my good fortune to discover what was wrong with it and help to restore it to a vigorous health. By education a lawyer, and by occupation and training an administrator, I had interested myself in sericulture as a hobby: and my hobby was destined to become the principal interest of some of the most useful years of my life. I firmly believe in the cultivation of a useful hobby, for there is always a potentiality of service in it. My knowledge of sericulture enabled me during the crisis of the last Great War to help in furnishing our side with parachute silk. During the darkest period of that war I placed my services at the disposal of Mysore as Chief Warden of the A. R. P. You will pardon me for this mention of my own activities, which I make only to illustrate that flight from the world is not only uncalled for, but may be running away from duty.

Is old age a doom to be dreaded? Most certainly not! It is not a doom at all, but a law; a segment of the great law of sequence to which the whole creation moves. Says the Divine Teacher:

“To the embodied spirit, just as childhood, youth, and old age come, so also does transmigration to other bodies. As men cast off worn-out clothes and put on new ones, even so the soul casts off its worn-out body and takes itself a new one.”

Montaigne says:

“Your death is but a parcel of the world’s life. Make room for others as others have made room for you”.

“Grow old along with me”–says Browning–“the best is yet to be, the last of life for which the first was made. Youth shows but half, trust God, see all nor be afraid!” Old age is not only a thing not to be feared; it is in fact the best of life–because “youth is a fire ending in ashes, what survives is gold”.

This is a brave faith, and to my mind the true one. Every incident natural to life should be accepted cheerfully if we wish to be happy, and what can be more natural than old age and death? The fire of life gradually sinks and finally goes out from exhaustion of fuel; the ripe fruit drops through sheer maturity. The nearness of natural death raises one above earthly fear. Solon was asked by a blustering tyrant what made him so bold. “My age”–he answered. But while prepared, like the chivalrous Jatayu, to sacrifice the small remainder of life nobly, one should not quit it through weariness or frustration. “Quit not your post till your commander allows you,” says Pythagoras, and Shakespeare warns us that we must abide our going hence even as our coming hither.

One of the terrors of approaching age is the fear of the scorn of the young. The King in “All’s Well That Ends Well” quotes the old Count Rousillon with approval as saying, “Let me not live after my flame lacks oil to be the snuff of younger spirits”. This fear arises from an inferiority complex. The King goes on to say, “Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home”. But why not? He could bring the wax of experience and the honey of wisdom!

The old age which brings itself into ridicule is the one that refuses to realise itself and foolishly apes youth in its conduct and even its follies. No spectacle can be more unedifying than that of an old man disgracing grey hairs by depravity. The crown and the glory of grey hairs, says Cicero, is the natural authority that appertains to respectable old age, to the old man who guards himself from becoming the tool or property of others, who vindicates his rights and independence, and maintains the dignity of his manhood. With this end steadily in view, all previous stages of life should be lived with attention to health, with thrift to prevent indigent dependence, with moderation in all things.

A wise grammar of life should adapt itself to its successive changes. Our ancients mapped out a scheme suitable to each stage. The kings of the Raghu race, says Kalidasa, devoted, themselves to study as children; they enjoyed the good things of life as young men; as they grew old they gradually divested themselves of attachment to this world; and, finally, cast off their bodies by Yoga.

Age has its compensations and privileges. Just as physical pleasures are more intense in youth, intellectual comprehension and enjoyment grow stronger with advancing years. Newman gives a beautiful illustration of this:

“Let us consider,” he says, “how differently young and old are affected by the words of some classic authors such as Homer or Horace. Passages which to a boy are but rhetorical commonplaces which he gets by heart and thinks very fine, at length come home to him when long years have passed, and he has had experience of life, and pierce him as though he had never before known them, with their sad earnestness and vivid exactness. Then he comes to understand how it is that lines–the birth of some chance morning or evening at an Ionian festival, or among the Sabina Hills–have lasted generation after generation for thousands of years with a power over the mind and a charm which current literature is utterly unable to reveal.

It is this maturity of comprehension which makes Shakespeare, Vyasa, Valmiki and other immortals an abiding joy which increases with age.

To be really happy, old age must be useful objectively, and must by no means be a charge on the charity of the world. Reciprocity is one of the great truths of life which is inculcated in the Gita text:

Parasparam bhaavayantah

Sreyah paramavaapsyatha.

You cannot for long get good from your environment unless you render it back in some way. The world is a great living entity subject to the law of balance of give and take. Happy therefore the man who habitually builds up a credit balance for his old age, by rendering back to the world in service more than he receives from it! What has age to give back to the world for what it receives? Why, it can give the world what itself is most rich in: experience, dispassionate judgement; disinterested guidance. As fire and strength are the glory of youth, wisdom and caution are the prerogatives of age; and youth and age wisely co-ordinated constitute the power and the control with which the world moves safely forward to its fulfillment. Take a well cultured family which is microcosmic of society. While its young people are animated by the fire of life and the spirit of adventure, its elders are full of a cold prudence which subjects all enterprises to the test of experience; and the whole functions as one body, at once sound and sane. It is not a mere accident that the average age of the Cabinet is greater than that of the executive or the army. The history of the world proves that old age does not disqualify a man for the great affairs of the world, especially in those departments which require not corporeal strength but prudence, coolness and foresight–qualities which grow with years. It is in recognition of this truth, says Cicero, that the Romans called their Supreme Council a Senate (from semis, old man) and the Lacedaemonians their highest magistrates Elders. Irruptions of youthful vehemence have synchronised with social catastrophes. As we know, the carnage of Kurukshetra came of the disregard of the counsels of Drona, Bhishma and Vidura and the supersession of Dhritarashtra. Some of the world’s greatest men have been at their best after they passed the meridian of life. In our own times, old men rule the destinies of a large part of the world, and in our own land our rulers are on, what an imbecile idiom calls, the wrong side of sixty. Our Independence was won under the leadership of veterans who had grown grey in the country’s service; and the apotheosised Father of our Nation–were he not an ageless immortal–might have been called a very old man. Perhaps the most essential function of age is to serve as a Second or Upper Chamber in human affairs,–a wholesome curb on haste, a house for review, revision and reconciliation. It is the supervision of the head over the heart. When we are no longer combatants, the heat and the dust of battle cease to distort our vision. As our Divine Teacher has warned us, man is driven to evil in spite of himself by greed and wrath, and in the evening of a well-lived life the mind is comparatively free from these tyrants.

Talleyrand recommended the cultivation of whist as a prophylactic against the tedium of old age, and some truth mingles with the cynicism of this counsel. But beyond doubt the best provision that youth can make against this evil is the cultivation of the reading habit, which secures to age the freedom of the realms of gold and intimate converse with the great living and the immortal dead. There is only one provision higher and better, and that is the habit of reverent acceptance of God’s will, and steadfast faith in God’s Love and Mercy.

¹ By courtesy of All India Radio, Mysore (11^th May ’53)

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