The International Day of Older Persons was celebrated a couple of days ago. Many of us, even those who are already ‘older persons’ or are on the cusp of reaching that stage in life, avoid thinking about old age — and I often wonder why.

Do we imagine that if we do not acknowledge that we are 50 plus (a bit creaky) — 60 plus (slightly more tired) — 70 plus (struggling) or whatever age we are, we will then slide backward — 69-68 ... 57-56 ... 45-44 ... — and go back to the beginning? And never have to face up to the sheer inexorability of Time?

We like to spout several cliches and quotes to each other to deal with this: “You’re only as old as you feel”, “Age is just a number”, “Old age is always 15 years older than I am” (Bacon), and others equally witty and encouraging. We think that if we get active and stay active, go on a Mediterranean diet, eat less sugar/less fat/more whole grains and fibre, sleep dreamlessly, wear SPF lotion, get a hobby, make new friends, learn a language and so on and so forth, we will stay fit and fine until science finds something to arrest or reverse old age and get us into the cycle of eternal life.

We peer into the mirror from time to time and pluck out the offending grey hairs, we add a little extra foundation over the wrinkles, we suck in the slack belly, we refuse to keep our specs on and we miss out on greeting friends as we pass them on the street ... and we preen when someone tells us we look the same as we did ten or 20 years ago, instead of seriously questioning why we looked 55/65 when we were merely 35/45?

Instead, why don’t we celebrate all ages for what they are? Why not think, ‘I don’t want to be ten years younger because then my child who is grown and independent now would still be a student and need to be guided and helped along and I don’t think I could do it again, even with the benefit of hindsight’. Why not say, “I have absolutely no problem with these wrinkles, the dark circles under my eyes, the crow’s feet, the sagging skin, the grey strands — I think I have earned all of them.”

In our family, as is probably true in many other families, we have had pretty good role models for gracious acceptance of old age. Our parents chose where they would spend their final years and how. Their choices helped us to deal with their infirmities and incapacities as they became evident. We knew what to do and who should do it.

In our family, also, however, as is probably true in other families, we have those who prefer to wait it out. They may not fight age tooth and nail, but they do turn a blind eye to the inevitable accompaniments of their advancing years until suddenly forgetfulness, shakiness, loss of independence and all the other accoutrements of old age trap them, still unprepared. Now their choices are not their own.

Their children make decisions for them — and they often resent those decisions as well as the decision-makers. If they do not have children, they muddle along as best they can, and in their own way, they set a compelling example for those of us who will eventually get where they are — if we live long enough.

Isn’t it better to make choices for our old age while we are still able to — and then let our choices be known? Or would we rather allow James Thurber’s words: “Old age is the most unexpected of all the things that can happen to a man” to come true for us?

Cheryl Rao is a freelance journalist based in India.