The Little rascal called AGE

  •   Mon, Aug 10 2026
  •   By Anil Aron Victor D'Souza

August 10, 2026

Whoever said age is just a number must have said it before he was 40 or must have died before he was 40! Now then, you must have noticed that I am certain that the person is a man, not a woman. A woman would never utter such nonsense! The reason I am so certain is that the man is no one else but me.

Having crossed the 40 milestone, age just showed up out of nowhere. It could have waited a day or two after my birthday, but no, it had to make its mark on the very same day—while I was cutting my birthday cake, to be precise.

I bent down, cut my cake, fed my wife and son some cake, bent down again, and put the knife back next to the cake. As I was straightening up, age showed up—with a bang. I could hear a creaking sound, followed by a sudden pain up my back and down my legs.

It was no different from when I first experienced this pain at 20, and definitely no different from when I got it in my 30s. But the same pain in my 40s felt different.

So, instead of cribbing about my pain for the next three paragraphs, I thought it would be wonderful to uncover this dreaded subject that many of us refuse to accept—AGE. Not a number, not a milestone—just AGE.

I first met this quiet rascal the day I was born—September 10, 1984 (deliberate ??)—and whatever has happened in my life, this guy has just been there, stuck with me, quietly ticking away and reminding me, “I am just a number. Keep doing your stuff.”

I never cared much for him and, honestly, he never cared much for me either, at least not during the first decade of my life. I learnt to crawl, then learnt to walk, and eventually ran everywhere—screaming, crying, and complaining—while this fellow never bothered me.

I think the only hiccup I had with him during that first decade was when I had to go to school—my first day of school. Honestly, that was the only time I saw him flinch and look frightened.

Otherwise, life was good. The first ten years were over before Age had even bothered to introduce itself.

The second decade began, and for the first two or three years, he was there, but not ever-present. And then, suddenly, he showed up—with pimples on my cheeks, a croaking frog in my throat, and extreme shyness whenever I met the opposite gender.

He reminded me to study, behave well, and be kind to others.

“Well, you are holding me back from doing great things. I need to ask my parents to stop treating me like a child. I know much more than they do. You know, I could run my uncle’s business better than he does. You know my oldest cousin thinks he knows everything. You know, I could run the country better than these morons who are ruining it. What do you know?” I complained.

“Shut up. You will sound foolish, even stupid,” he replied.

Sometimes, when arrogance got the better of me, he was there to ground me, reminding me, “Age is just a number that shows your experience—or, at this stage, your inexperience—in life.”

A rebellious decade was tamed by the wise little rascal, who was growing faster than I was. Though he asked me to jump, run, and play responsibly, he never asked me to keep an eye on my diet.

“It is time for you to eat stones and still digest them,” he always told me.

I was now in my 20s—a time when most people achieve many things in life, fame and wealth, a decade that could make or break a person, a crucial decade for a man in our country. Not so much for a woman back then. A woman born in the ’70s or ’80s was often made to feel that this third decade of her life was almost the beginning of the end. I wonder what their rascals told them!

Suddenly, Age reminded me to make decisions. Decisions that I thought were a piece of cake in the previous decade were no longer proving to be so easy. Funny how those same decisions had looked rather stupid when others made them in the previous decade

“I thought these things were easy?” I spoke. “Look how he achieved this and that. You have tied me to a pole!” I complained again.

“Age is just a number, and you are oblivious to your own achievements. Be grateful that you are alive and better off than most of your fellow countrymen. Things happen to different people at different times.”

I was reminded to take my career seriously. I was expected to earn, pay my bills, take care of my health, and find a beautiful girl to spend the rest of my life with—which I did in the later years of this anchoring decade.

The little rascal had anchored my life well!

The fourth decade, before Age started showing up regularly, was probably the best decade of my life. The wise teachings of the little rascal had helped make my life a lot more comfortable and happier. The wisdom of this little rascal was indeed priceless.

Though he constantly reminded me, “Don’t jump,” “Don’t eat this,” “Don’t eat that,” “Calm down, you are not 20 anymore,” “Exercise more,” “Go swimming,” “Save for a rainy day,” “Meditate a bit,” “Pray a bit more,” “Help others a bit more,” and “Don’t be selfish,” I did not bother to listen to most of it.

The one thing he always said was, “Age is just a number. The good habits you cultivate now will help you when you are 70.”

I did not know that the “wisdom of don’ts” from the little rascal would become the cornerstone of my fifth, sixth, and most probably seventh decades of life. Age had to show me that on my 40th birthday, and I don’t blame him. He had to make his point, and he made it through a niggle rather than a major attack.

If I have learnt anything in my life, it is to respect Age—mine as well as others’.

When you meet your close friends, the evergreen ones, and the topic of discussion is not politics, sports, travel, the country, or food, then it is time to listen to the little rascal. If the conversation revolves around creaking bones and uncontrolled farts, then, my friend, you are late—but you have not completely missed the bus.

Listen to him. He will probably say:

“Age is just a number!”

 

 
By Anil Aron Victor D'Souza
Anil D'Souza hails from Halealve, a coastal hamlet in Kundapur, and is currently based in Dubai. He is the author of the published novel The Gods Must Be Smiling, published by Rumour Books India and available on Amazon India. He writes about life, people, relationships and the little experiences that often go unnoticed. His writing blends humour, observation and personal experiences, often finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.
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