THERE are places in Durban where history does not merely live in books or faded photographs; its memories live on in the people who carry them within themselves.
The Durban Country Club is one such place. Officially opened on December 9, 1922, the club is now 103 years old, and as one walks through its elegant surroundings, there is an unmistakable sense that one is moving through a living chapter of Durban’s history.
From inside the historic Cape Dutch clubhouse, the eye is drawn towards the beautifully manicured greens, where generations of golfers have tested their skill, patience and temperament. Beyond them lies the blue expanse of the Indian Ocean, providing a magnificent backdrop that has surely been admired by countless members and visitors over the decades.
Inside, the old, framed photographs tell stories of their own. Faces from another era look down from the walls, while trophies bearing the names of golfing legends serve as reminders of the extraordinary sporting tradition nurtured here. The hole-in-one scoreboards bear further testimony to the passage of time. There is something wonderfully reassuring about being surrounded by such evidence of endurance. The club has witnessed generations come and go, fashions change, friendships form and countless memories being made.
And yet, as I sat inside the clubhouse with two fellow Indians - I deliberately use the term “Indian” - sipping tea and taking in the stately atmosphere of the old building and the breathtaking vista stretching towards the sea, I could not help but reflect on just how much times have changed.
There was a time when Indians and other people of colour were not welcome inside these very walls. It is impossible to sit there today without thinking of Sewsunker “Papwa” Sewgolum, one of South Africa’s greatest golfers.
In 1963, and again in 1965, Papwa won the Natal Open, defeating some of the finest golfers of his era, including the legendary Gary Player. Yet because he was not white, he was barred from entering the clubhouse. He changed in his car, ate with the caddies and, after winning in 1965, was forced to receive his trophy outside in the pouring rain.
That is why sitting inside the clubhouse, as three Indians enjoying the very space from which Papwa was once excluded, felt particularly poignant.
Much has changed with the passing of time. What was once closed is now open. And as I looked around this club, which has stood for more than a century, I found myself sitting across from Gopaul Narainsamy Moodley, a man who, at 96, is only a few years younger than this grand old Durban institution.
Yet Mr Moodley does not carry his years heavily. If anything, he seems to have negotiated them with an enviable lightness.
At an age when many people have understandably slowed down, Mr Moodley continues to walk unaided. He dresses with the smartness and dignity of a much younger man, drives his own car and, remarkably, recently had his driving licence renewed for another five years. He plays league bowls twice a week, remains mentally alert and possesses a memory that seems to have refused to surrender to the passage of time.
As we spoke, I quickly realised that I was not simply talking to a retired schoolteacher. I was sitting with a living repository of memories. Mention a school where he taught seven decades ago and he can recall the names of teachers and pupils as though he had seen them yesterday. The passage of 70 years seems to have done little to dim his memory.
And perhaps that is what struck me most. Mr Moodley is living proof that age need not be measured merely by the number of candles on a birthday cake.
Every now and then, you meet someone who makes you stop and reconsider what it really means to grow old. To me, Mr Moodley represents something we are in danger of losing: the art of living a meaningful life.
Another remarkable personality who has lived a life rich in purpose is Mrs Lutchmee Rapeti, who hails from the famous Venkatrathnam family, formerly of Seaview.
Now 99, she remains remarkably sprightly, with most of her faculties intact, although her short-term memory is beginning to fade. Yet she remembers with remarkable clarity the names of all her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, recalling each one with an affectionate familiarity.
She and her late husband, Sannasy “TS” Naidoo, were founder members of the Sri Sathya Sai Sudha Mandir in Moorton, Chatsworth, more than five decades ago. When she was less frail, she immersed herself fully in the activities of the religious organisation, including fundraising and attending the weekly services. To this day, she graces major events at the temple with her presence.
Then there is Soondramoorthie “Roy” Naidu, now 91, who worked for many years as a sales executive for Silver, Garbus & Co, a popular commercial and general wholesale company, and L Suzman, a cigarette wholesaler.
Roy began playing tennis in 1958 at the courts in Kennedy Road, Clare Estate, and at Curries Fountain. What gives his life meaning today is that, more than six decades later, he still plays tennis twice a week, from 6am to 8am, at the Jeevan Kara tennis courts in New Germany Road, Clare Estate.
He was also a founder of the leadership development organisation Umgeni Jaycees in 1974 and still meets old friends from the Umgeni Jaycees Alumni for the occasional conversation and banter.
Three people. Three long lives. Three very different journeys.
Yet there is a common thread running through them: none has allowed age to become an excuse for withdrawing from life.
A meaningful life is not necessarily a spectacular one. It is not measured by the size of your bank account, the car in your garage, the house you live in, or how many people know your name.
It is built quietly, day after day, through purpose, responsibility, discipline, relationships and the willingness to keep contributing long after society tells you that you have reached the age when you should simply sit back.
Mr Moodley spent his working life teaching. He was entrusted with young lives at an age when their character and aspirations were still being shaped. That is no small responsibility. And perhaps that sense of responsibility never left him.
Even in his 90s, he remains active. He has not surrendered to the idea that growing older means withdrawing from life. He still gets into his car. He still meets people. He still competes. He still exercises his mind. He still has somewhere to go and something to look forward to.
There is a lesson in that.
Purpose gives life a rhythm. Discipline gives it structure. Relationships give it warmth. And resilience gives us the strength to keep going when life inevitably tests us.
Today, life can be extraordinarily convenient - and strangely empty. We have technology that can bring almost anything to our fingertips, yet many people seem increasingly disconnected from one another. We can communicate instantly across continents but sometimes struggle to have a meaningful conversation with the person sitting across the table.
There is a difference between merely adding years to life and adding life to those years.
Mr Moodley, Mrs Rapeti and Mr Naidu appear to have done both. They have not merely survived the decades; they have inhabited them. They have formed friendships, remained physically active, kept their minds engaged, maintained their independence and continued to participate in the world around them.
There is something wonderfully defiant about that.
Perhaps that is one of the secrets of a meaningful life: never stop having a reason to get up in the morning.
It may be teaching a child, caring for a family, tending a garden, playing bowls, helping a neighbour, reading a book, serving a community - or simply remaining curious about the world.
Age may slow the body, but it need not imprison the spirit.
Meeting Mr Moodley reminded me that growing old should not be viewed merely as a process of losing things. It can also be a process of accumulating something far more precious: memories, wisdom, friendships, experiences and perspective.
As we grow older, society can sometimes make the mistake of treating older people as though they have become irrelevant, as though retirement means their contribution has ended and their most valuable years are behind them.
Yet someone like Mr Moodley reminds us that age does not erase experience, wisdom or the capacity to contribute. In fact, a long life can provide a perspective that younger generations simply cannot acquire, because wisdom is often the accumulated result of having lived through disappointment, success, loss, change and uncertainty.
The older person who has watched the world transform over several decades has something valuable to say – provided we are prepared to listen.
A meaningful life is not necessarily a famous life.
It is a life in which you mattered to someone. A life in which you contributed. A life in which you kept going.
A life in which, after 96 years, you can still put on your smartest clothes, get behind the wheel, walk onto a bowling green and remember the names of the children you taught 70 years ago.
That, surely, is not simply growing old.
That is growing rich in life.
Yogin Devan is a media consultant and social commentator. Share your comments with him on: yogind@meropa.co.za
** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or post.co.za