While reading through Scott Fitzgerald’s book Tender is the Night (published in 1934, and hailed as a modern classic) I came upon this authorial comment on page 222: ‘How did he die? Of old age — he was seventy-five. He had lived a longtime’. I paused in surprise at this age-punitive comment.

Had this been a dialogue between characters, it could have been excusable fiction, but it was Fitzgerald’s direct authorial comment about people living long enough. My 70-year-old hackles rose as I read this. I Googled and found that in 1934, the average life expectancy in the United States was about 59 for men and 63 for women. So, grudgingly, I understood where Fitzgerald was coming from. Placing his comment in perspective, it seems that one cannot think other than in the fashion of the times one lives in. It is the social conditioning, out of which it is difficult to escape.

On second thoughts, one does come across comments like this even today — even in the light of improved life expectancy. ‘Ageing gracefully’ is the catch-phrase that has been around for some time, having us all blinking in slow-motion. Contrast this with the poet Dylan Thomas’ revolutionary words in 1951: ‘Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’ Dylan’s was a call to everyone to continue the fight against physical decline aggressively, putting up a fight.

It depends on us to take the call. As for me, Fitzgerald comes down several notches in my esteem, when he caps human life at 75. Perhaps his was the era of surrender to the attrition of ageing. Fitzgerald wasn’t just writing fiction — he was issuing a psychological ceiling, a cap that generations absorbed like gospel. The trouble is, caps are contagious. Once someone says “this is the limit”, society obediently paints a finish line, hangs up a banner, and starts handing out medals for “senior citizenship”. The scary part is that such a surrender is current fashion where social media is abuzz with copy-paste excuses and justification of inaction — a slippery slope where it is all too easy to give up and blame gravity. But here’s the truth: the human body didn’t sign any terminal contract. The cap is in our heads, not in our cells.

We’ve treated age 75 as if it were the warranty period on a refrigerator. Past that, people like Fitzgerald whisper: “He’s lived long enough.” The psychological cap makes us believe that every extra year is borrowed time, when in fact it’s earned time. There is no cosmic official stamping passports: “Sorry sir, you’ve crossed 75, please proceed to the departure lounge.”

Science keeps extending the perceived limits. Centenarians are no longer freak exhibits; they are walking proof that the cap was a fiction. The idea of progress of senility too needs to change. The fervour to maintain fitness at all ages needs a lot of self-motivation. Even if one has never exercised or worked out a physical regimen, that inertia can be overcome. The key is to start gradually. Tai-chi and Pranayama will do for now. Gradual reduction or even elimination of sugar intake is goal two. Sugar may be sweet, but so is the thrill of tying your own shoelaces at 90. The next is resistance training. It preserves your independence and self-worth. The dignity of going to the toilet unassisted is irreplaceable and brooks no compromise.

Our muscles work to the rule of ‘Use it or lose it.’ If you don’t use a muscle group, the body gets the indication that the unused muscle group can be more or less discontinued. ‘Sarcopenia’, the fancy name for muscle loss due to poor nutrition and lack of exercise, is very real and anyone above age 40 cannot afford to ignore it.

The last outpost of human dignity is good health. Its maintenance is low-cost and provides good dividends for the efforts put in. So, if 75 was the warranty period, consider resistance training the extended service plan — because nobody wants to be recalled to the factory before their encore.

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