The dispassionate reviewer frequently marvels at how this veteran writer continues to hold sway over readers, churning out book after book like some kind of a conveyor belt. That speculation usually lasts only till they start to read Ruskin Bond’s latest book; in no time, they will have succumbed to the charm of a pithy word here, an adroitly turned phrase there, ending up totally enjoying the work. This then is the Bond Conundrum.
In The Golden Years, the author makes a pitch for enriching one’s twilight years, placing himself as the one and only example of a life well lived, richly and satisfyingly. Contentment is the leitmotif and the underpinnings are all easily spelled-out tenets. What could well be the trite and mawkish meanderings of yet another octogenarian elsewhere, takes on a grace all its own under this accomplished writer’s pen.
People who have reached a venerable age can no longer plan for the future, says the author, while firmly stressing that it is vital to continue in some way with our life’s work, to celebrate today like we would our birthday, to do whatever ‘it’ might be, now, to spread kindness far and wide, to never take a new daybreak for granted, and to navigate the dry wastelands of loneliness and helplessness.
There is a delightful vignette on the joys of singing, a rueful look at our burgeoning population, a paean to books and libraries, a rumination on the importance of making your own bed, a suggestion to become
a committed member of the Siesta Society. The reproofs are there, about the noise we make, of unbridled construction activity and more travails of modern life, but they are mild and gentle.
Those who would read him to seek inspiration will have hit a goldmine with this book. Using his trademark gentle, slightly rambling style, Bond neatly flags the essentials to living a long life to the hilt: a childlike curiosity, the ability to live with trouble, the knowledge that life has to be lived one day at a time,
and most importantly, the ability to distinguish the tremendous from the trivial.
Those who don’t quite look for sermons or guidance will revel in the descriptive prose the writer is famous for, reading of a relaxed everyday pace attending life in the mountains; of animals and human beings co-existing peaceably; of the horse chestnut tree when it flowers in summer, and more. This is a book of ‘meditations, contemplations and cogitations’ for those who continue to find meaning in life, whatever their age. This is not a book for the cynic, the sceptic or the scoffer.
Somewhere Bond states that there is a certain joy in writing, in putting words down on paper and creating
a story, poem or novel or even a memoir; and if no one else enjoys what you have composed, never mind, you have done it for yourself. Luckily enough for him as well as for us, there is no shortage of people who enjoy, appreciate and applaud his compositions, and long may he continue to entertain us.