They smell the best: babies after a bath and little old ladies almost any time. Some of these golden girls leave a trail beyond the one wafting from their fragrant lavender or sandalwood-scented handkerchiefs. They exude equally unbridled zest, joie de vivre, things wise and wonderful – all at over 90! It’s hardly been sweetness and light right through. The most spirited members of the nonagenarian club have fielded enough emotional eddies and health hiccups. But, blessed with an abundant never-say-die spirit, they believe in bouncing back.

The grand dame of them all is not only 100 (she hit a century in January), Nuvart Parseghian Mehta forms part of another exclusive Mumbai trio too. The feisty lady is among three last Armenians left in the city – sole survivors of a colourful Central Asian community, here since the early 18th century, whose youngest have flock-migrated to the US and Canada. Our feisty import from Istanbul, touched city shores in 1952. Staying on, to marry a Parsi colleague at work and host the Bombay Local History Society’s annual Christmas party at her seaside apartment, she fights shy of interviews – but still sits bolt upright in an armchair reading newspapers, pearls strung around the neck even when home relaxing. The same bijoux twist in a triple-stranded necklace over immaculate evening wear as she heads to the club for a four-hour library and dinner jaunt.

Like her, most 90-plussers swear they owe their alert attitude to a steady reading habit. Genes from robust Portuguese stock making her rock on till 103, Emirene Carvalho Leao hotly argued with doctors cautioning her against cataract surgery at 98. An avid reader till the end, she was partial to volumes on British royal history. Lady Diana was a firm favourite, her granddaughter Anna Paula recalls. After the indignation of a mere operation standing between her and her beloved books, the centurion was mollified by a grand celebration. The entire Goan precinct of Kampal showed up to honour her 100th birthday at a garden ceremony, singing and dancing to the tunes of the local police band.

It’s both busy heads and hands that hold the key to happy longevity, believes 92-year-old Villie Unwalla. Walking into her chintzy living room with the gait and gaiety of a woman at least 20 years younger, she shows off an amazing display of prayer caps and baby bonnets she crochets daylong to sell to clients. “I’ve fully enjoyed everything I did, especially being around young people,” shares the former schoolteacher. Her fingers fly smoothly over the pompom crowning a fluffy white creation which will wing its way to her newest great-grandchild Kaylen in America.

Much of the pure pleasure lighting up the wrinkles comes of time spent with ever younger generations. My husband’s grandmother, Naju Kuka, must have been among the most good-natured women in the world. Soft heart and ready smile always intact, she was never without wearing her broadest beam on the kindest of faces. She genuinely loved meeting people and would cheerily wish total strangers nothing save the best. At 98 she boasted 13 great-grandkids. Her logic was simple. If those around her were happy, she was. She once watched, dotingly, as I clutched icepack to cheek after a dental surgery saw it swell. When I apologised for not being able to chat with her, she threw a wink, shushing me with: “Sure, of course, just see that you get back to being pretty for my grandson before he’s home tonight!” This outward focus and attitude of revelling in others’ well-being, kept her afloat in personal tragedies including the deaths of an adored husband and daughter.

Few lead a charmed life, but a positive outlook offsets its toughest knocks. Geriatric specialist Dr Darius Joshi feels women and men known to age gracefully play fair in the push-pull game of nature and nurture. Essentials are high levels of daily functional activity, strong social interactions and moderate doses of preventive healthcare.

Here’s an interesting creative adjunct to the medical view of ticking on. In her anthology of women writers who were first published only in their autumnal years, Sondra Zeidenstein concludes: ‘The young do a lot brilliantly, but few can well imagine the vision that comes with age…the heightened sounds and smells in steps taken slowly, the evocation of deeper memories with sharper elements. It is the strange combination of feelings a grandmother experiences as she caresses her grandchild and, at the same time, knows how it all turns out.’

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