Amar Vichitra Katha

A couple of years ago, one of my friends underwent a CT Angio. A few days later, he proudly announced that everything was perfectly normal. The joy and relief on his face somehow stayed with me. For reasons best known to my brain, I too wanted to experience that same happiness one day! Now, my total cholesterol has been hovering around 250 for the last seven or eight years. My doctor had always been optimistic that diet and lifestyle changes would do the trick. But after patiently watching my valiant efforts produce less-than-valiant results, he recently waved the white flag and prescribed a 5 mg statin.  His approach towards my HbA1c was no different. As long as it stayed below 7, he preferred that I continue with lifestyle modifications rather than tablets. Thankfully, I have been hovering around 6.5. Inspired by my friend's "all-clear" report, I decided that perhaps I too should undergo a CT Angio. I even booked one online before the laboratory politely...

Every journey teaches us something. My recent two-day trip to Hyderabad taught me mathematics, not the kind we learnt in school, but the kind that quietly plays with our assumptions. Every calculation I made seemed perfectly logical until reality stepped in to prove me wrong. I had to travel to Hyderabad for a two-day function. I chose the train over a flight because the airfares for convenient timings were rather steep. After some research, I found what seemed to be the perfect combination, a Duronto Express for the onward journey and the Vande Bharat for the return. A friend from Tamil Nadu, who was flying into Bengaluru that afternoon, was to join me on the Duronto. The train was scheduled to leave at 11.40 p.m. and arrive at Secunderabad at 8.35 a.m., a journey of 8 hours and 55 minutes. After comparing all the available trains, I chose the Duronto. Except for the Vande Bharat, which completed the journey in just eight hours, every other train took over eleven hours. I ...

One of our weekend walkmates, a practising Chartered Accountant, had invited us to an Investor Awareness Program on "Designing Mutual Fund Portfolios for Every Stage of Life." He happened to be the main speaker and had personally invited me on more than one occasion. As if that were not enough, he had also circulated an invitation and called me the previous day with a gentle reminder. He had one additional request. During the session, he wanted me to raise a couple of questions that a typical attendee might have, both to encourage participation and to help clarify some basic concepts. After all the effort he had put in, there was no possibility of my missing the event. The program was scheduled for 10.30 AM. Or so I thought. Since our morning walks and post-walk conversations have an uncanny ability to stretch well beyond their intended duration, I announced that I would be leaving the lake by 9.00 AM. This was considerably earlier than my usual departure t...

Today's discussion after our morning walk revolved around a subject that affects a large section of Bengaluru's travelling population, the seats reserved for senior citizens in Namma Metro. I have become quite a regular Metro user these days. It saves time, eliminates parking worries and, most importantly, spares me the ordeal of navigating Bengaluru traffic, which now seems to operate in permanent peak-hour mode. One of my friends, who also frequently uses the Metro, was lamenting the behaviour of youngsters occupying seats reserved for senior citizens. According to him, many seem remarkably skilled at avoiding eye contact whenever a senior citizen boards. Some suddenly discover an overwhelming interest in their mobile phones, while others appear to fall asleep at precisely the right moment. More often than not, he said, he has to explicitly ask them to vacate the seat. While I have witnessed similar scenes, I have never been comfortable demanding a seat. Being rea...

For more than a couple of months, an unusual silence had descended upon one of the most active WhatsApp groups that I belong to. This is not just any group. It consists of about thirteen of us, a handful of close friends, their spouses, and a healthy mix of enthusiasm, talent, competitiveness and occasional chaos. Every month, one of us hosts a full-day gathering featuring karaoke, dumb charades, board games, impromptu contests and whatever creative activity someone dreams up over a cup of tea. The silence, unfortunately, was largely my doing. My uncle's health had taken a turn that required considerable attention from the family. As things evolved, I found myself tied to home, coordinating, helping and generally ensuring that everything went as smoothly as possible.  In a twist of timing, my place happened to be the designated venue for the next gathering.  Under the circumstances, neither could I leave home comfortably nor did I feel particularly inclined to invite a do...

The overnight rain had left patches of dampness on the track this morning, persuading me to settle for a walk instead of my usual jog. As is customary after the exertion, or in this case, the restraint, we gathered at our regular adda for the morning dose of conversation that often seems more therapeutic than the walk itself. We were soon joined by my photographer friend, making an appearance after nearly a week. He had been occupied with outstation engagements, one of which had involved recognition for his photography and cartoons. Recognition that, as events later proved, was thoroughly deserved. He has an eye for candid moments and, true to form, had already clicked a few pictures of us without our knowledge. When he showed them, I was genuinely impressed. The pictures carried a natural ease and clarity that made even our familiar surroundings appear more interesting than they usually do. These were clicked on his mobile phone, purchased only a couple of m...