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Having abandoned everything in Havana, the other Cubans search desperately in their boat to find something that would resemble a flag of their country — a T-shirt, a handkerchief, anything.

With everyone almost ready to abandon all hope of finding a flag, a 23-year-old girl shyly interrupts their desperate search by offering a tattoo of the flag that is inscribed on the left cheek of her buttocks.

The young girl pulls down her shorts and slowly lowers her underwear, showing the Cuban flag on a beautifully shaped, tanned buttock cheek.

She approaches the dying man and sticks her butt right up in his face…..

The man, with tears in his eyes, caresses the ‘flag,’ grabs the cheek with both hands and starts kissing it with great passion, saying “My dear Cuba, I say goodbye to you with great sadness. Farewell my land, my flag….. Havana, I will miss you so.”

After going on non-stop for almost 10 minutes, he says to the girl, “Now, Chica, turn around, por favor.  I want to kiss Fidel, our bearded dictator, goodbye too!”

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Taking off down the motorway, he floored it to 110mph, enjoying the wind blowing through what little hair he had left.

“Amazing!” he thought as he flew down the M1, enjoying pushing the pedal to the metal even more. Looking in his rear view mirror, he saw a police car
behind him, blue lights flashing and siren blaring. “I can get away from him – no problem!” thought the elderly nutcase as he floored it to 130
mph, then 160 then 190 mph.

Suddenly, he thought, “What on earth am I doing? I’m too old for this nonsense!” So he pulled over to the side of the road and waited for the police car
to catch up with him.

Pulling in behind him, the police officer walked up to the driver’s side of the Porsche, looked at his watch and said, “Sir, my shift ends in 10
minutes. Today is Friday and I’m taking off for the weekend. If you can give me a reason why you were speeding that I’ve never heard before,
I’ll let you go!”

The old man, looked very seriously at the policeman, and replied:

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“Years ago, my wife ran off with a policeman. I thought you were bringing her back…”

“”Have a good day, Sir”, said the policeman.
***

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Earlier I had written that longevity is in one’s genes: children of long-living parents are likely to live longer than those born to short-lived parents. This did not happen in my own family. My parents who died at 90 and 94 had five children, four sons and a daughter. The first to go was the youngest of the siblings. Next went my sister who was the fourth. My elder brother who was three years older than me went a couple of years ago. Two of us remain; I, who will soon be 98, and my younger brother, a retired Brigadier three years younger than me and in much better health. He looks after our ancestral property. Nevertheless, I still believe gene is the most important factor in determining one’s life-span.

More important than analysing longevity is to cope with old age and make terms with it. As we grow older, we are less able to exercise our limbs. We have to devise ways to keep them active. Right into my mid-eighties, I played tennis every morning, did rounds of Lodhi gardens in winter and swam for an hour in summer. I am unable to do this any more. The best way to overcome this handicap is regular massages. I have tried different kinds and was disappointed with the oil drip and smearing of oil on the body. A good massage needs powerful hands going all over one’s body from the skull to the toes. I have this done at least once a day or at times twice a day. I am convinced that this has kept me going for so long.

Equally important is the need to cut down drastically one’s intake of food and drink. I start my mornings with guava juice. It is tastier and more health-giving than orange or any other fruit juice. My breakfast is one scrambled egg on toast. My lunch is usually patli kichri with dahi or a vegetable. I skip afternoon tea. In the evening, I take a peg of single malt whisky. It gives me a false appetite. Before I eat supper, I say to myself “Do not eat too much.” I also believe that a meal should have just one kind of vegetable or meat followed by a pinch of chooran. It is best to eat alone and in silence. Talking while eating does not do justice to the food and you swallow a lot of it. For me no more Punjabi or Mughlai food. I find South India idli, sambhar and grated coconut easier to digest and healthier.

Never allow yourself to be constipated. The stomach is a storehouse of all kinds of ailments. Our sedentary life tends to make us constipated. Keep your bowels clean however you can: by laxatives, enemas, glycerin suppositories, whatever. Bapu Gandhi fully understood the need to keep bowels clean.

Impose strict discipline on your daily routine. If necessary, use a stop-watch. I have breakfast exactly at 6.30 am lunch at noon, drink at 7 pm, supper at 8. Try to develop peace of mind. For this you must have a healthy bank account. Shortage of money can be very demoralising. It does not have to be in crores, but enough for your future needs and possibility of falling ill.

Never lose your temper, it takes a heavy toll and jangles one’s nerves. Never tell a lie. Always keep your national motto in mind: Satyamev Jayate, only truth triumphs. Give generously. Remember you can’t take it with you. You may give to your children, servants or charity. You will feel better. There is joy in giving.

Drive out envy of those who have done better than you in life. A Punjabi verse sums up: Rookhi Sookhy Khai kay Thanda Paani Pee Na Veykh paraayee chonparian na Tarssain jee (Eat dry bread and drink cold water Pay no heed or envy those who smear their chapattis with ghee)

Do not conform to the tradition of old people spending time in prayer and long hours in places of worship. That amounts to conceding defeat. Instead take up a hobby like gardening, growing bonsai, helping children of your neighbourhood with their homework. A practice which I have found very effective is to fix my gaze on the flame of candle, empty my mind of everything, but in my mind repeat Aum Shanti, Aum Shanti, Aum Shanti. It does work. I am at peace with the world. We can’t all be Fawja Singh who at 100 run a marathon race but we can equal him in longevity and creativity. I wish all my readers long, healthy lives full of happiness.

Thanks.

Khushwant Singh

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From behind the door, a startled male voice said, “Good God!!! That’s what I call serviceآ…”

The place was hopping with music and dancing, but every once in a while, the lights would turn off.

Each time after the lights would go out, the place would erupt into cheers.

However, when the revelers saw the nun, the room went dead silent.

She walked up to the bartender and asked, “May I please use the restroom?”

The bartender replied, “I really don’t think you should.”

“Why not?” the nun asked.

“Well, there is a statue of a naked man in there, and his most private parts are covered only by a fig leaf.”

“Nonsense,” said the nun, “I’ll just look the other way.”

So, the bartender showed the nun the door at the top of the stairs, and she preceded to use the restroom.

After a few minutes, she came back out, and the whole place was hopping with music and dancing again.

However, they did stop just long enough to give the nun a loud round of applause.

She went to the bartender and said, “Sir, I don’t understand. Why did they applaud for me just because I went to the restroom?”

“Well, now they know you’re one of us,” said the bartender. “Would you like a drink?”

“But I still don’t understand!” said the puzzled nun.

“You see,” laughed the bartender, “every time the fig leaf on the statue is lifted up, the lights go out in the whole place. Now how about that drink?” ))) 
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