The curious case of diminishing adulthood

The other day, I was talking, on the phone, to a friend - who's well into his 40s - and he happened to remark: "I have some of the office kids over. at home." Then, he went on to name someone (on that select list of guests) - who I'd met - and this "kid" was at least 30.
I rolled my eyes in disbelief as I hung up, remembering the time I'd turned 30 and felt I was "one foot in the grave"; everyone around was unrelenting in pointing out my onset of "old age", and my brother kept asking me to have a potion called 30-Plus - endorsed by Bollywood star Jeetendra, the Evergreen - in order to stay alive.
Later, I asked my friend why he was referring to someone who's 30 as a kid. In my book, I said solemnly, one stops being a kid when he (or she) touches 12 or 13 (isn't there even a word for 13-plusers in these politically-correct times: 'young adults'?).
"Oh, I said they were kids because they are a generation younger to me," he laughed.
So when does one actually "grow up", I wondered.
As usual, that got me thinking. My thought flow was muddied even more when my brother happened to call his 8-year-old daughter (my niece) "a baby"; not in the affectionate, "Awww, she's my baby" kind of sense, but as a demographic; my parents used to ask me to go wash my dirty plate in the sink (whenever occasion demanded) when I was eight, whereas my niece is not allowed to handle crockery because she'll "break the plates".
There's something weird happening. I know 40 is the new 30, and 50 the new 40 and all of that, but that's stretching youthfulness, being less ageist - all of which are good things. But why on earth are seemingly grown-up (albeit young) folks being called "kids"? Isn't it a sort of downgrade, trying to smack the onus of responsibility and other such grown-up matters off young (but surely not under-age?) shoulders?
Being patronising aside, it also doesn't make sense - because all I hear, in sociological contexts, is how everyone grows up much faster these days than they did 20 years ago. If someone grows up faster, shouldn't they be, on their own, feeling less like "kids" and more like adults?
One of the columnists of the magazine I edit (wknd), is Vir Sanghvi, who became India's "youngest editor" at 22 (I think it's a record that's still unbroken). This was in 1978, and the magazine he took over was called Bombay. He went on to become editor of India's (then) best-known news magazine Sunday in the 1980s, when he was 30. I actually called him up before I wrote this column out to ask if he ever felt like a "kid" while he was editor at 22. "Never," he said. "But, then, I've never felt young - or old. I don't think I've really changed from the time I was 22." Which probably means he used to be as "responsible" - bringing out an entire magazine - back then as he is now.
Vir had an interesting take on the subject. "Everyone's working far longer than they did earlier - look at me, I'm never going to retire - so it helps the older lot, who are probably insecure, to dismiss the younger lot as being a juvenile bunch. That helps perpetuate their own relevance."
A 30-year-old friend added her two bits by saying she feels like the "senior world" is talking down to her when they call her a kid. "But a lot of others are quite happy to take it in their stride because, that way, they can overstay the teenage hangover for at least a decade and a half more."
There was a throwback to the time when a bunch of us were having a discussion on the 57-year-old Indian 'grandfather' who was arrested by the police in the US because somebody reported "suspicious behaviour" on his part. An outrage had followed (on social media, where else?) mostly because of the "age" factor. "How could the cops arrest him?" shouted a 30-year-old colleague. "How could they arrest this really old man?"
I'm confused no end. Rahul Gandhi, who's in his mid-40s, is a "youth leader"; many times, he's referred to as the "Gandhi kid [who understands nothing]". But in a few years' time, he'll be labelled a geriatric by third millennium "kids".
So, as he (along with countless others) hurtles from being a kid to an old man, he's missing out on the most critical part of his life: being an adult.
sushmita@khaleejtimes.com