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Is the period after the age of 50 the new golden age for men?

I think it was on the second day of the year 2009 when I entered my office in a grim mood, and remarked to the office secretary, “I feel worthless nowadays; there isn’t much to life, is there?”

The secretary, a pretty girl of about 20, replied sweetly, saccharine dripping out of her mouth, “Must be the mid-life crisis, sir.”

Her answer hit me right between the eyes. Chastened, I went to my cabin with a mumbled, “Guess you are right,” feeling, utterly dejected. The rest of the day, I spent pondering on the pretty secretary’s sharp observation.

I had heard about this demon before, this demon called the ‘mid-life crisis’. In fact, I had read an article on the subject by some expert in a recent issue of Men’s Health magazine, but I had skimmed over it casually, thinking that it wasn’t anything to do with me. I mean, I still have more than just a glad eye for nubile young nymphets, would I ever have a crisis about age, for God’s sake? Show me a vision in a short, short skirt, and I practically start drooling and go all wild eyed!

Actually, a feature on the female’s demon, ‘the menopause’, was more interesting. Really. As far as men were concerned, I always had the feeling that a similar demon could be easily exorcised; all one had to do was to be careful about the dreaded paunch, especially us morning, day, and night rice-eating Nepalis. In addition, this so called mid-life crisis seemed a thing of the past, what with Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger going great guns in their late sixties (69, 68, respectively).


Maybe this was the reason for the mid-life crisis: the realisation that one couldn’t have romance at the drop of a hat. It seems only a short while ago that I would be penning love notes to every second girl with an acceptably sweet smile…


Rajesh Hamal, 51, marrying when well past his prime, a girl half his age (28); Salman, 50, still a muscular bachelor with a long string of conquests under his belt, Shahrukh, 50, and Amir, 51, doing god only knows what to develop bodies that would do justice to guys still high on testosterone. And, Trump, 70 or thereabout, vigorously trumpeting his way to becoming the president of the world’s only superpower, with a 46-year-old wife who’s so glamorous she could be the lead in any Hollywood movie.

The way they look and behave, it seems that only mere mortals are affected by this demon, and boy, was I ordinary. But, I couldn’t ignore the fact that perhaps my pretty young secretary’s view was typical of the myriad of young girls out there. Perhaps, I was a non-entity to the young things as far as romance was concerned. And pray, what’s life without a little romance now and then?

Maybe this was the reason for the mid-life crisis: the realisation that one couldn’t have romance at the drop of a hat. It seems only a short while ago that I would be penning love notes to every second girl with an acceptably sweet smile or with a cocky derriere, or someone whose shape even remotely resembled a Coke bottle. Motherly ones with ample hips and deep bosoms constantly had me lovesick. In fact, this was the only kind of sickness that I knew about.

Now, of course, I get to visit the good old doctor more frequently, and come back knowing about things like blood pressure, cholesterol, heart attack, ulcer, arthritis, and spondylosis.

I don’t really agree with my secretary that I am in the throes of a mid-life crisis. If all those WWE wrestlers like the Undertaker, 51, can still set the ring on fire with their thrilling acrobatics, raking in obscene amounts while doing so, I have no reason to believe that I, too, am past my prime.

But, hey, maybe that’s it. The demon must have something to do with the greenbacks. Maybe, if one were to stash away a couple of millions by a certain age, one could escape mid-life crisis. But then, that leaves someone like me with a salary barely able to cover the monthly bills, with little or no chance at all.


The demon must have something to do with the greenbacks. Maybe, if one were to stash away a couple of millions by a certain age, one could escape mid-life crisis.


So, I guess my secretary gets full points for her keen observation, but I wish she could have also given me some ideas about coming out of it. Of course, she couldn’t have gotten it into her pretty little head that guys like Michael Douglas, 71, Steven Seagull, 64, Jackie Chan, 62, Bruce Willis, 61, and Jet Li, 53, are still on top of their game, and sending shivers of desire down the spines of hordes of nubile nymphets around the globe.

Isn’t it great that Ringo Star, 73, Paul McCartney, 71, Mick Jagger, 70, Elton John, 69, Sting, 64, and Michael Bolton, 63, can twirl a few batons, croon and howl incessantly, and shake more than a leg or two even now? As can Bryan Adams, 56, Jon Bon Jovi, 54, and George Michael, 52. And so on, the list can go on for miles. The Eagles are still in demand, as are Aerosmith and U2 and Rolling Stones, whose concerts are always sold out. All of them, I am proud to declare, are my contemporaries. And all of them are middle-aged.

The more I think about it, the more I am beginning to be convinced that middle age is the golden age. A point in life’s journey when men become deliciously mellow, richly matured, and finely tuned. In other words, wise, charming, and financially viable. In one word, romantic!

(Shrestha is an author and editor based in Kathmandu.)

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