Retirement has an age, learning does not

The Mind Has No Retirement Date

Retirement is a familiar concept in professional life. An employee may retire on a prescribed date, a professional may gradually reduce his responsibilities, and an official designation may one day become part of the past. But the human mind carries no retirement date. Curiosity does not become redundant with age, nor does the capacity to read, question, discover and grow disappear merely because another year has been added to life.

At almost 64, I find this truth increasingly meaningful. I still endeavour to learn something new every day, particularly in my specialised field of indirect taxation—GST, service tax, central excise and customs. The law itself ensures that the learner can never become complacent: statutes change, judicial interpretations evolve, and propositions once regarded as settled may require reconsideration. Indeed, the more one studies, the more one becomes conscious of how much remains to be learnt.

That experience has strengthened a conviction extending far beyond professional life: age may determine when we retire from employment, but only we can decide when we retire from learning. As long as curiosity survives and the willingness to learn remains alive, every stage of life can offer another opportunity to grow

Age Measures Time; Curiosity Measures Possibility

Age tells us how many years we have lived; it does not necessarily indicate how much more we can learn. Advancing age can, in fact, enrich the learning process by combining new knowledge with accumulated experience. A younger learner may possess freshness and energy, while an older learner brings perspective and the ability to connect new knowledge with decades of experience.

The real enemy of learning is therefore not age but the belief that “I already know enough.” Intellectual ageing begins when curiosity disappears, irrespective of the number on one's birth certificate. As long as we continue to read, question, listen and correct our understanding, we remain students throughout life.

Experience Should Deepen Learning, Not Replace It

Experience deserves respect, but it should never justify intellectual contentment. Decades in a profession can offer insights no textbook can, yet yesterday's knowledge may not always answer tomorrow's challenges. Indirect taxation itself illustrates this through the transition from central excise and service tax to the continuously developing GST regime.

Experience and learning must therefore balance, not strive with, each other. Experience tells us how far we have travelled; learning prepares us for the road ahead. Perhaps the greatest lesson experience ultimately teaches is how much more there always remains to learn.

Success Often Depends More on Attitude Than Age

Age need not be a roadblock to entering a new profession, business or field of activity. Knowledge and aptitude certainly matter, but quite often our mental attitude, rather than merely our mental aptitude, determines our altitude. The willingness to step out of comfortable routines, accept vagueness, and take premeditated risks can keep the possibility of success alive.

A late start may shorten the road ahead, but it need not close it. Curiosity to learn, courage to begin and determination to continue can open fresh opportunities at almost any stage of life. The journeys of several remarkable individuals from very different fields illustrate this principle.

A Second Beginning Can Be as Powerful as the First

The life of Dr. Shreeram Lagoo, the distinguished character actor, offers a noteworthy instance. A qualified ENT surgeon who practised medicine in India and abroad, he had long been associated with theatre before taking the decisive step of becoming a full-time actor around the age of 42. He thereafter became one of the most respected figures in Marathi theatre and Indian cinema.

His story is inspiring not because everyone should abandon an established profession to begin another. Its larger significance is that an established career need not become the boundary of human possibility. Skills, interests and dreams that could not become our principal occupation in one phase of life may still find countenance in another.

One of the greatest obstacles to a fresh beginning is the thought, “It is too late now.” But “late” is often just a comparison with somebody else's timetable. Life does not require everybody to arrive at the same endpoint at the same age. A second beginning can sometimes be as meaningful as the first.

Late Beginnings Can Still Create Lasting Legacies

A.K. Hangal, another renowned character actor, offers an outstanding illustration. Before cinema made him familiar to generations of viewers, he had already passed through entirely different phases of life. He worked as a tailor, participated extensively in theatre and entered Hindi cinema comparatively late. Yet what conventional thinking might have regarded as too late for entering a new field became the beginning of the work for which generations eventually remembered him.

His journey leaves behind a simple but powerful message: there is no embarrassment in reaching the starting line late; the real loss lies in refusing to start merely because somebody else started earlier.

The journey of my favourite Hindi film lyricist, Anand Bakshi, adds another dimension to this principle. His formal education was limited, but his ambition certainly was not. After serving in the Royal Indian Navy and later the Army, he repeatedly tried to enter Hindi cinema. An unsuccessful attempt sent him back to service, but not away from his dream. He eventually left the security of his job and returned to Bombay to pursue songwriting. His first film opportunity came with Bhala Aadmi in 1958, while wider recognition followed after years of struggle through films such as Jab Jab Phool Khile and Himalay Ki God Mein (1965), Milan (1967) and Aradhana (1969). A late breakthrough does not mean a beaten dream.

Equally remarkable was the way Anand Bakshi transformed what might have appeared to be a limitation into a strength. His simple, conversational and easily understood language became one of the defining qualities of his songwriting and helped his words reach millions. His journey reminds us that success does not always require perfect circumstances at the beginning; sometimes it requires the wisdom to make the best use of whatever circumstances life has given us.

The renowned ghazal singer Chhaya Ganguli presents yet another dimension of the same philosophy. Her unforgettable rendition of “Aap Ki Yaad Aati Rahi Raat Bhar” in the Hindi film Gaman won her the National Film Award for Best Female Playback Singer. Her extensive work in broadcasting, particularly with Vividh Bharati, also became an important part of her professional journey.

What particularly appeals to me is her continuing interest in deeper learning, including studying Urdu after retirement. For someone associated for decades with ghazals, poetry and broadcasting, returning to the position of a student conveys a profound message: accomplishment does not eliminate the need for learning; sometimes it makes us appreciate its value even more.

Awards recognise what has already been achieved; learning concerns what can still be discovered. The truly accomplished learner is never embarrassed to become a student again.

The Will to Begin Has No Age Limit

Few real-life stories challenge conventional ideas about age as powerfully as Fauja Singh's. He took up long-distance running at an advanced age and completed the Toronto Waterfront Marathon in 2011 at his claimed age of 100—an extraordinary demonstration of endurance at an age when competitive sport would normally seem unimaginable.

The significance of his example extends far beyond athletics. One person may take up running; another may begin writing; someone may learn a language or develop digital skills; another may return to a subject abandoned decades earlier. The activity is secondary; what matters is the willingness to begin.

His story also exposes a common error in human thinking. We often confuse “I have never done this before” with “I cannot do this now.” The first merely describes our past; the second needlessly restricts our future.

Retirement Can End a Career, Not Creativity

Sometimes fiction conveys a truth about life with remarkable simplicity. The Hindi film Baghban (2003), produced by B.R. Chopra and directed by Ravi Chopra, offers an apt illustration. Amitabh Bachchan portrays Raj Malhotra; a banker whose retirement ends his formal career and marks the start of a difficult phase in his personal life.

Yet retirement does not end his productive journey. Raj turns to writing and transforms his experiences into a book titled Baghban, which becomes successful and brings him recognition even after his conventional career has ended. Retirement may require surrendering an office, designation or established routine; it does not require surrendering knowledge, creativity or accumulated experience.

The experiences of decades can become the raw material for writing, teaching, mentoring, research, music, social service or an entirely new pursuit. Retirement may close one professional chapter, but it can provide the freedom to write another. The evening of one career can sometimes become the morning of another career.

Retirement from Work Is Not Retirement from Purpose

Retirement itself deserves to be viewed differently. It is essentially a retirement from a particular job or formal responsibility; it need not mean withdrawal from productive life. A salary may stop, a designation may disappear, and an office may be left behind, but none of these takes away a person's knowledge, experience, curiosity, or capacity to contribute.

Indeed, retirement can provide something the busiest years of professional life often deny us—time. Time to read what remained unread, learn what remained unexplored, teach what experience has taught us, pursue an old interest, or discover an entirely new one.

The question after retirement therefore need not merely be, “What have I stopped doing?” It can equally be, “What can I finally begin doing?” Purpose does not carry a retirement date. Sometimes freedom from compulsory work creates the opportunity for voluntary pursuits that are even more fulfilling.

The Wrong Question Is - "Why Learn Now?"

Learning should not be judged merely by its economic return. Not everything we learn needs to produce money; learning keeps the mind active, helps us understand changing times, and gives us the satisfaction of knowing something today that we did not know yesterday.

Learning also keeps generations connected. A willingness to understand new technology, new vocabulary, and changing ways of thinking enables experience to communicate with youth rather than merely criticise it. The purpose of learning in later life is therefore not always career advancement; sometimes it is advancement in understanding.

The better question is consequently not “At my age, why should I learn?” but “At any age, why should I stop?”

Technology Rewards Those Who Remain Willing to Learn

Technology has transformed access to knowledge and professional research. For experienced professionals, adapting to new methods may initially feel uncomfortable, but technology need not compete with experience; used wisely, it can strengthen it. Technology may locate information rapidly, but experience remains essential for judging what is relevant, reliable and worthy of deeper examination.

There is also a valuable lesson in learning technology at an advanced age. A person accustomed to being the experienced one may suddenly need guidance from someone much younger. There should be no embarrassment in that. Learning from a younger person does not diminish experience; it demonstrates the maturity to recognise that knowledge has no age hierarchy.

The choice is simple: Keep learning and participate in change, or stop learning and gradually become a spectator.

Writing Reveals How Much the Writer Still Has to Learn

Writing has taught me that we seldom understand a subject fully until we try to explain it in simple language. Every article sends me back to the law—one judgment leads to another, one provision raises another question, and research often exposes gaps in our understanding.

Writing therefore serves two functions. It enables us to share what we know, but it also reveals what we do not know. Sometimes the conclusion with which research begins does not survive the research itself. That is not a failure; it is learning performing its proper function.

For me, writing has consequently become not merely a means of communicating knowledge but a continuing method of acquiring it. The reader may receive the finished article, but the writer often gains something equally valuable during its preparation—a deeper understanding of the subject itself.

Knowledge Grows When It Is Shared

Knowledge has a beautiful quality. Unlike most material assets, it does not diminish when shared; often, it increases. A reader raises a question, a fellow professional offers another interpretation, or a comment draws attention to something that may have escaped notice. Discussion sparks further research, and research yields greater clarity.

Sharing knowledge also cultivates intellectual humility. No writer, teacher or professional has the final word on every subject. This is particularly true of law, where statutes change, courts reconsider earlier propositions, and new factual situations continually test established principles. The more seriously we learn, the more readily we recognise the limits of what we know.

The relationship between writer and reader should therefore be seen as an ongoing conversation between fellow learners. One writes; another responds; both reflect—and knowledge grows.

Some Relationships Continue Beyond Physical Presence

Learning, perseverance and personal growth do not occur in isolation. Behind our professional discipline, intellectual interests and willingness to continue often stand people whose companionship has quietly shaped us.

In my own journey, I cannot speak of learning, writing and perseverance without remembering my late wife, Mrs. Renu Jaggi. Her understanding, encouragement and companionship helped shape the person I am today. Her physical absence has changed the journey, but the memories and values built over years of togetherness remain very much a part of it.

Life teaches us that moving forward does not require leaving cherished relationships behind. We often carry them differently—in our memories, habits, values and inner strength. Some companions may no longer walk beside us, but they never stop travelling within us.

The Expert Must Never Lose the Courage to Be a Beginner

One subtle risk of gaining experience is that we may grow uncomfortable with being beginners. We become accustomed to knowing the answers, being consulted by others and operating within familiar territory. Beginning something new reverses that position. Suddenly, we may not know the answer. We may make mistakes. We may even need guidance from someone much younger or less experienced in other areas.

But that temporary discomfort is precisely where fresh learning begins. The expert who is still willing to be a beginner protects themselves from intellectual ageing. There is no contradiction in having decades of experience in one field while approaching another subject with a student's humility.

The purpose of lifelong learning is not to remain young in years—that is impossible. It is to remain young in curiosity. The calendar will continue to move forward; our willingness to discover need not move backwards.

Never Retire the Student Within You

Dr. Shreeram Lagoo, A.K. Hangal, Anand Bakshi, Chhaya Ganguli and Fauja Singh—and Baghban through fiction— remind us in different ways that age need not determine what curiosity, courage and determination can still achieve. Their journeys differ, yet the underlying message is remarkably similar: a beginning need not be meaningless merely because it comes late.

We may retire from employment, relinquish a designation, or complete one phase of life. But there will always be another book to read, another skill to acquire, another idea to understand, another assumption to question, and perhaps another dream to pursue.

Our aspiration need not be extraordinary. It can be wonderfully simple: to know something tomorrow that we do not know today.

As long as that desire survives, the student within us remains alive. And as long as the student remains alive, learning has no retirement age.