Age-appropriateness is actually about bowing to everybody’s expectation but your own. The jersey top has to cover the hips, the kurtas must be comfort-fit, the sari cannot be a bright red, the make-up must be minimal, and the hair better not dyed anymore. Perhaps the right word should be age-attractiveness.
“Turning 70. Drinks and sinful, slurpy food. Claridge’s,” read the save-the-date from a friend, whom I had never known to be effervescent or indulgent. All her life, her diminutive frame bore the weight of her PR firm and the rigour of discipline. She was only generous with her smile. So, this was rather uncharacteristic. “Well, no more worries. Lived for responsibilities, time to live for myself and celebrate my birthday the way it is meant to be for the very first time. Dress colourful,” she chirped when I called her.