Diary Of A Misfit

I was raised in several small towns, as a kid. My father was a Class II government servant. Every two to three years he was transferred. He looked for the finest schools in town, for me. And invariably they were in Hindi medium. I did well. Each year I was promoted. School usually was at a walking distance. I used to carry my school bag in one hand and a jute mat in another, as there were no chairs and benches. We all sat on the floor. The school building was one large hall, with no amenities. The ceiling used to leak when it rained, so school used to be closed during monsoons. In winters most classes were held outside.

Till eight years of age, I hardly know a few words in English. I never saw an English film. English newspaper was not available in the town. The only time I heard proper English language was on BBC Radio, when the man landed on moon. But I could not make heads or tails out of it.

When I was nine years, father was transferred to a city. The finest school was in English medium. School authorities took my interview in English and rejected then and there. I felt humiliated. But father persuaded that I was intelligent and bright. He assured them that I pick up things fast and that he will personally teach me English, at home. Inadvertently, I was admitted.

At home, I was taught nursery poems. Learnt jack & jill went up the hill; twinkle twinkle little star, johnny johnny yes papa etc. Whenever there were guests I was asked to recite them. If someone appreciated I recited all the poems, one after another, that I had mugged up.
However I didn’t know the meaning of a single word. I was given a book to learn the English alphabet. It had pictures of A-Apple, B-Ball, C-Cat , D-Dog etc. I had another chart with names of all the common fruits and vegetables in Hindi as well English.

At school, I used to be totally blank. Didn’t understand a single lecture what was going on. It took me one year to understand the difference between sunrise and sunset. I thought sun rises in the  evening and sets in the morning. I was once asked how old I am. I knew old means someone who is above 60 years of age. I replied I am not old. Each and every student laughed including the teacher. I failed to understand where I went wrong.

I was a total misfit at the English medium school. At the annual exams, I failed in six out of seven subjects. The only paper that I cleared was Hindi. I was about to be expelled from the school but on father’s request I was kept in the same class.
I requested my father to shift me to a Hindi medium school. But it was turned down.

My younger brother, was two years younger and also two classes junior to me. After I failed he was only one class junior to me. I must admit I was worried. In case I failed one more year, we both brothers will be sitting in the same class. I couldn’t say we were twins. I had serious inferiority complex.

God had been kind to me. Father looked around for a boarding school with English medium. He came to know of Sainik School that trained children to join armed forces. I took the entrance test. To my surprise I cracked it. Due emphasis was given to sports, physical training, parade etc. I wasn’t good in studies, neither good in sports. Physically, I was a weak child. I cannot remember receiving any medal, trophy or certificate. I was a misfit once again. Somehow I pulled through, for seven years. Armed forces decided not to hire my services. They must have come to know that I don’t have “officer like qualities”. My family was disappointed. My parent’s dream of me being an army officer with a class I job was shattered.

There was no option except to enroll myself in a college. Father had heard of one good college in Delhi where his senior officers admitted their children. I was asked to attempt it. Boarded the train and came to Delhi. Found four colleagues from school who were keen to study in the same college. We all applied for Physics Honours and were selected. Father dreamt of his son being a Civil Servant or with Wold Bank.

The college had students from all over the country. My spoken English wasn’t good. I first constructed my sentence in Hindi. Then translated into English. Often they were broken. Vocabulary was limited. I was once ragged badly that I am studying Physics Honours but couldn’t pronounce Physics correctly. I locked myself in the hostel room. Pronounced 101 times the word Physics, till I got it right.

A Routine job was of no interest to me. My father’s dream of seeing his son a bureaucrat was shattered once again, when I decided not to continue with a college degree and join a film school, instead. I thought I would work on assignment basis from one project to another. I didn’t have to do a repetitive job. I will be traveling all over the country.

I was a misfit at the film school as well. I was trained to be a cinematographer for fiction films, particularly feature films. I learnt the technique to light up the set, frame actors properly, learn camera movements and make sure focus is right. I was hardly exposed to documentary or wildlife film making.

After graduation I was offered to work on a regional feature film. Worked for fourteen months, as a Cinematographer. I was put into a house along with other crew members. I was told that I would be paid when the film is released. The film did not do well. I wasn’t paid a penny. Often I borrowed money from my father, for survival. He always paid but kept advising me to take up a government job.

I was insecure. For several months I was hand to mouth. No work. No money. Finally I got an offer from a NGO that worked for the control of leprosy. I worked as an editor, director and a cameraman for five years. Produced close to thirty educational programmes. However, my heart was in documentaries.

I quit my job. Traveled to Delhi with my wife and infant daughter. I didn’t know anyone in the city. No phone. No internet. No friends. No Clients. I had to start from scratch. I had money for just ten months. For a couple of months I didn’t have any assignment. Bank balance was drying up. I thought of going back to the NGO. Each day on my scooter I used to meet prospective Producers but returned home with an empty promise.

Finally I saw the light of the day. Based on my background of medical films, I was offered a few assignments, that kept the kitchen warm.

Finally at the age of thirty I was hired to shoot documentary films with opportunities to travel. Couple of awards followed. I said to myself I am no more a misfit. I do have a place in this world.

 

Car Vs Computer

When I was eight years old, my school was five kilometers away. There was no facility for school bus. Father hired a middle-aged man. This man, apart from being reliable possessed a bicycle. He used to drop my younger brother and me to school. The cycle had a carrier. I usually sat on the carrier and my younger brother in the front. He was a sincere man. I don’t remember being late to school ever. Neither I remember waiting for him at the gate when the school closed.

 

Cycle never had a puncture. On the way to school there was an uphill for 500 meters. He used to get down and push the cycle with both the kids, He never ever asked us to disembark. His name was Mangal. But he was known as Mangra. I asked him about the origin of his name. He was born on Tuesday, that is Hindi is known as Mangal.

 

My father had a car and had a driver as well but wondered why I am deprived of the luxury. One day Mangal failed to turn. Father and mother went into an argument whether to send the two boys to school. Mother was of the opinion that we would be nuisances at home.

 

Later I was shifted to a boarding school. Most of the teachers used to walk or had a cycle. Only the Principal had an official car.

Fifteen years later I was a professional in Delhi. Married with two school going kids. All the money was spent on house rent, school fees, clothes, medicines and food. Spare money was used on travel. We had a scooter. Whenever the kids missed the school bus I used to drop them to school. We were a happy middle class family. Most of our needs were met.

However, we were probably the only family in the colony who didn’t possess a car. The children had a complex. We kept dreaming about owning a car. Often I gave them false promises… next year… this year.. next month. To please them I used to often bring home car magazines and discuss for hours what car we are going to buy and the colour and the dolls that we will keep at the back of the car.

 

I had a long assignment. Earned some money. I had a choice of buying a car. But bought a computer instead. I told them this would help them in life in the long run. No one listened to me. I was made to regret. I thought of returning and buy the car instead.

 

I made false promises again. This year for certain.. Come what may… Beg Borrow or Steal… Rain Thunder or Shower… we will have a car of our own. No one took me seriously. One-day son insisted that we have to have a car. Enough is enough. All four of us cannot travel in a scooter. I promised him to bring the car by the evening. When I returned from work, I pressed the house bell. No one opened the door, initially.

“Tell me did you buy the Car?”

“I said of course. Something is there in my pocket.”

When the door was opened, son searched my pocket and discovered that it was a toy …Toyota RAV 4. Son has preserved this toy till this date.

Disappointment was usual and often they used to forgive me. Both the kids spent a lot of their time surfing on the net. It looked like we have an additional window in our house. It opened their horizon. Son started dreaming about being entrepreneur and give a tough competition to Microsoft. Though we didn’t have a car, but we were one of the few families in the middle class colony in Delhi; to own a computer. Both the kids had their email ids.

Finally we bought a family car, after working for eighteen years. We must have visited most of the showrooms one after another, except Mercedez, Audi and BMW. First week, though children had a school bus, I used to drop them to school. Each day we used to travel to a new place. It was indeed a source of joy.

 

Children are now adults and independent. Daughter is a marketing professional. She bought her first car, after working for three months. I tried to persuade her to buy a second hand cheap car, but she bought a sedan. She is now settled abroad and gifted her car to me. I prefer to book a taxi, for local travel. I find it hassle free. I don’t have to hunt for car parking. I am not alone. There are quite a few residents who prefer a taxi than to drive. Their cars are getting rusted.

 

In the coming years I understand electric with autonomous driving cars will take over. People will shift from ownership to renting. In fact gradually I try not to own things. I had a huge collection of audio tapes, Video CD, feature films on DVD, Hard copy of books. I have got rid of most of them. I am not going to buy a car, ever.

 

Son is a Robotics Engineer. He bought his first car in the first month of his employment. He had several choices, but bought Toyota RAV4, instead.

 

 

Footnote

Computer and Internet have helped my children in their growth.

After completing my high school I came to Delhi along with five friends. I asked my friends what college and the course they are applying. Most of them had preference for one college and Physics Honours. Like a cattle, I applied for Physics Honours. Finally all five of us studied in one college and took the same course.

After one generation, son on graduation applied for several universities in USA with a computer and internet. Not only he got funding from the University, he also hired an apartment on rent in Pittsburgh, found roommates there while being in India. In addition he found two students boarding flight from Delhi to Pittsburgh so that excess baggage can be shared.

 

THE IRON TRUNK

When I was ten years young, I was sent to a boarding school in Jhumri Tilaiya, in Jharkhand, a state in India. It is indeed one of the most beautiful places in India, located right next to the Dam. We used to have two vacations a year. The school bus will drop us to Koderma, close to forty minutes drive, the nearest town. It had a railway station as well as a bus stand.

On one such holiday, I carried an Iron trunk, weighing up-to 15 kilograms. Bought a train ticket and landed at the platform. Waited for the passenger train. Train did come but it was too crowded. It was just not possible to enter either from the gate. I gave up. Waited for another passenger train. The subsequent train was equally crowded. There was no way I could enter through the regular gate of the compartment. One of the vendors at the platform felt pity on me. He pushed me inside the train through the window. The passengers pulled me inside the compartment. The trunk was at the platform. The vendor was a nice man. He could have run away with my trunk. But he picked it up; and pushed it inside the compartment.

There were several stations on the way to my destination. Gradually the crowd thinned. I managed to find a place to sit and kept the trunk underneath the seat. At one station, a person in his thirties took a seat next to me, and entered into a polite conversation. Asked me where I am coming from, where do I study, if I am traveling alone, the destination etc. By this time the passenger train was about to leave the platform. He moved his body close to me and said: “You are a student from a reputed school. But you need to be careful. This station is full of crooks. Do you know what they do? In a moving train they will grab your trunk like this, and jump out of the moving train. And you can’t do anything about it. “

As he was talking to me he picked up the trunk and jumped out of the running train.

Am I worthy of a loan

When I was Thirty five years of age, I was desperately looking for one bedroom apartment in Delhi. This was the best that I could afford for my family with two school going children. The cost of the flat was close to 6 lakh rupees (US$9,000), but I had 4 lakh (US$ 6,000) in my savings account. Approached not one but several banks with all the possible documents like Address proof, Electricity Bill, Telephone Bill, Income tax Returns for past three years, Bank Statement, Three Photographs, Passport etc. Not one of them sanctioned a loan of Two Lakhs Rupees (US$ 3000). I was not found worthy of.

I waited for another two years to accumulate a savings of 6 lakhs.(US$9,000) By this time the property price escalated to 8.5 lakhs(US$12,800). Approached several banks on my two wheeler. I was denied once again.

When I turned forty, I had close to 8 Lakh Rupees(US$ 12000), but the price of the flat headed to double digits( more than a million rupees). Thought I was chasing a mirage. Banks refused me for the third time.
Today I am fifty five years of age. The banks who thought I am not loan worthy, have to recover 7000 Crore rupees from just one private sector company. Moreover it is a wilful defaulter.

The company was worthy of loan. I wasn’t.

A Recurring Dream

I have a recurrent dream.

I am surrounded by middle aged women. They are all standing looking down at me. I am sick suffering from diarrhea for several days. I am an infant, lying down on my back. I am so weak that I am unable to open my eyes. The ladies are not counting days; but hours.

My father married before he had a job. Not only that, he had two children before he was offered his first job of an Assistant Engineer at Damodar Valley Corporation. He was posted at Maithan Dam, a hydroelectric project, where there was no family accommodation. My mother stayed back in Daltonganj, in Jharkhand that happens to be her hometown as well as our ancestral home. My age should be around two years. I had an attack of diarrhoea. My mother was matriculate. For reasons unknown to me she got in touch with a Traditional Practitioners. Not one but several of them in rotation. Instead of treating me with medicine they were removing the spirit – a form of Exorcism. Diarrhoea worsened. Things went out of control. Mother visited several temples in the vicinity to offer prayers for my life.

I was passing motion multiple times a day. My mother was advised not to hydrate with water or juice. My skin was getting dry. One can pull it by several inches.
We didn’t have a telephone. Father was sent a telegram
COME SOON. SON IS SERIOUS.

He arrived by late night train. Looked at me. He was shaken up. Carried me on his lap. He didn’t own a scooter or a car that time. Walked three kilometers to the nearest hospital. No doctor was to be found. He left me with the mother. Walked to the doctor’s residence. Woke him up. Requested him to come to the hospital. On examination doctor advised several bottles of intravenous fluids. None was available at the hospital. Father again walked to a medical shop. Found out the address of the shopkeeper. He was woken up. The shopkeeper asked for money. He didn’t have money in his pocket. He promised to give it to him the next day. The shopkeeper trusted him. I survived.

Since then I have not followed a traditional practice, blindly. But the dream often occurs.

How I learnt swimming

Our ancestral home is Khiriama, a village in Bihar, where my grandfather and his ancestors were born. I am told he was a landless farmer. He used to survive on daily wages. Once he was crossing a river carrying a sack, half his body weight on his shoulder. He felt so hungry that he picked up the sand from the river and put in his mouth. Then he gulped water from the river. My grand father, a poor man later shifted to Kolkata with his family. My father was a school going kid. Migration worked for them. Business flourished. Grandfather bought a car, the first ever in his entire family. Among the five siblings my father was the only one who went to a college. He was educated in one of the reputed colleges in Kolkata.

He was a civil engineer with the state government.  He wanted to visit his ancestral village, after he bought his first car. I still remember the number plate BRV 5000. He got this number from Regional Transport Authority without greasing any palm.

We stayed at Khiriama for a couple of days. He took me to a pond where he used to bathe, as a child. We all took a round of the pond. I should be around seven years of age. My father met a person who studied together and both of them indulged into a conversation. I was bored. Without telling my father I slipped and came to the edge of the pond. I kept throwing pebbles to make ripples. I then collected a twig and played with the water. My feet were unstable in the slippery mud. Before I could realize and react, I was in the deep water.

I didn’t know swimming. Cried for help. Saw my father on a cliff. I asked him to save me. “Father I am drowning.. Save.. Save.. Save..” Even my voice was drowning.

Father was wearing a pant and a shirt. He was able to remove his belt but was unable to un-bottom his pant. Those days there was no zip. Obviously father panicked seeing his son drowning. Mind ceased to function. How can he jump in the water with pants on? I emerged once again. I could see father still struggling with the button of his pant. I was disappointed that he is not jumping to save me though he is a good swimmer. He could cross the breadth of Hooghly River in Kolkata, when he was a college student.

I had almost given up. I was counting my last breadth. Miracle does happen. A landless farmer, who had come to the pond with his cattle, jumped and saved me. Father offered him money. He refused. Father asked him if he is interested in a government job. He politely declined.  Finally father invited him for dinner. He said No again. It is rare to see a person, like him. I don’t remember his name. For me, he is a Hero.

On the way back father told me to keep it a secret and not to tell anyone. Reluctantly I said I would keep my mouth shut. Somehow the word spread in the village. My mother threw fits. She couldn’t even dream of loosing me. She didn’t talk to my father for a week. When my father wanted to speak to her, she will turn her face away. Father used to pamper his sulking wife by offering an ornament. But she did not budge. She thought she had married a wrong person and we are not safe in his hands.

But I said to myself why I am helpless. Why I am dependent. Even my father was unable to rescue me. Come what may, I must learn how to swim. Later I found a relative who lived next to a river. Requested to teach me to swim. Father offered me to teach. But mother put her foot down.

When I became a father of two I said to myself I won’t take any assignment for ten days. I taught them to swim, so that they are not helpless like me.

Footnote

Several years later there was an earthquake. We all were running out of our house. Father was looking for a comb.

A Conversation

Son : Name a profession in India, where one can make tons of money?

Father: Not one. There are several of them. Join Merchant Navy and work on a foreign ship. Be a pilot of commercial airlines. Problem is you have to study.

Son : Then tell me where I can make six figure salary without a school or college degree.

Father : I know of one Food Corporation Of India; not all but a few loaders earn more than the Chairman of the company.

Son : That’s cool Dad. Do the loaders get a pension?

Father : When you make so much money as a loader, why the hell you need a pension?

Son : Any profession where I get the pension for the whole of my life. Then it is passed to my wife and then to growing up children?

Father : Join a government service. However while you are employed, you have to contribute 10% of the salary and the government contributes 10%.

Son : Why should I contribute 10% each month? Any profession where I don’t have to contribute at all? And earn a pension for life. And where pension will be more than the salary, in due course of time.

Father : Yes I know of one. But I can’t tell you. If they come to know I will be called Anti national.

Son : Do people earn dual pension as well?

Father : Yes. It is true. But it is a sensitive issue. I won’t like to name it. Why don’t you google?

Son:  Is there any job or profession, where you work for a few days or months then lead a jolly good life?

Father : Yes win an election.

Son : But most people have poor opinion about politicians. Can you suggest me a job where people will touch my feet? Treat me with respect. Offer cash as well as kind. I don’t have to pay tax. And listen to my sermon. And occassionally travel abroad.

Father : You know it already. Can I have the next question please?

Three Generations

Once upon a time, there was a middle-aged person, living in a small town. By profession he was a Clerk. He was an honest citizen. He used to go in time, to office. Did his work sincerely. Paid all his Bills in time. He used to spend his time with the children. He valued education. His perpetual advice to his kids was to be study hard, get a government job and then retire in peace. This was the only way to make money, that he knew.

But he could not inspire his son. There was always a scarcity for money. Son could not see any movie in a theater. Could not own even a second hand motorcycle. Once the father took the family to a restaurant, the day he got a raise. Limited food was ordered. All of them pretended to be full. On reaching home, mother had to cook once again. Could not attend weddings, because he never had proper clothes or shoes.

Son does not want to follow the footsteps of his father. He wants to make money, come what may. One night he runs away. Changes his name as well as surname, so that his parents need not be ashamed of him. Grew beard so that the no one in his town, recognises him.

Initially he sells an elephant tusk. Makes huge profit. He lives off for a couple of months.  He then sells Tiger skin. This time it is a super duper profit. So he specializes in animal products.  He lives happily there after. Goddess of Wealth is kind to him. He has not one but several properties.

in due course of time he gets married and has children. Like his father he gave the best of education to his kids. He wants to have three children, one of them to be a police officer; to make sure he is not caught. Second one to be a judge. Incase he is caught, judgment could be tilted in his favour or delay the proceedings. After his death he wanted to spend time in heaven, therefore third one has be a priest.

God is kind to him, once again. Gives him three able children. Instead of protecting helpless citizens, the kids have one and only one agenda; to protect their father.

Ths is a work of fiction. But it could very well be a factual case study.

A Shattered Dream

Somewhere in the Indian Ocean, there happens to be an island.  The populace are primarily agrarian. Food gatherers and pastorals co-exist. It is cut off from most of the world. The people are poor. Needs are limited.

Huge reservoir of Iron ore is discovered. It can last for generations. It could make the nation and its people rich, the way oil did to the Arab countries. However, there is no factory to make steel. The entire production of ore is exported, as there is no demand in the island.

After exporting ore for nearly 3 decades, the people are still poor. All the money that the nation earned seems to have evaporated. The mining company, politicians, contractors, engineers and the bureaucrats seems to have cornered all the benefits. Salaries of government employees who constitute one percent of the population, have quadrupled in a short span. The social benefits are unmatched anywhere in the world. Mining companies export at market rate. Huge bonuses are paid to senior staff of the company. The CEO of the mining companies earn a hefty bonus. Investors are laughing all the way to the bank. Government collects its dues through taxes and royalty.

For decades there is hardly any visible social development in the island. Most of them are forced to believe that the airports, shopping malls and parliament building are symbols of development. All the tax collection both direct and direct; goes into salary, pension and interest. The retired armed force personnel, living happily on the pension, is asking for more. On the other hand there is no social security for the farmers and un-organized labour.  No money is left for school, hospital, canal or road. The people, who once lived upon the mining sites, have been evacuated, without any monetary compensation. They have no claim over the land. It all belongs to the Government, like the erstwhile king.

A new party takes power in the island. It wants to eradicate poverty on war footing. It puts a ban on the export of iron ores.  The country would like to sell steel.  It  would like to  encourage steel plants. From the very next day, iron ore export is banned.

Greenfield steel plants are set up all over the country. In the first phase they are set up at the constituencies of the Party President, Minister of Industries, Minister of Iron & Steel, Speaker of The House, and of course the Prime Minister.  Public Sector Banks are asked to fund on easy terms.  Special Economic Zones are created on coastal areas. Tax Holidays for ten years are provided. Land is provided on long lease at throw away price. Electricity is subsidized. Roads from mine to factory and then to port are constructed, in the name of development and progress. Entrepreneurs smell an opportunity. Steel plants are set up far away from the raw materials, market or port. Property Dealers with connections are now steel barons; as licenses are distributed on first come first served, like railway reservation tickets.

Excess steel is produced than consumed. No takers of steel in the domestic market. People are poor to make houses. Government is broke to invest in school buildings, hospitals, cemented roads and canals. Factories are not running to its full capacity. Industry is not able to pay interest, forget clearing principal. Loan is restructured again and again. Non performing assets of banks pile up. The Central Government creates a cell by the name Steel Exports promotion Council to look for market abroad.

Chinese come to the island. They are keen to buy every ton of steel that it produces. They are willing to pay international price. A committee is set up.  Chinese will be richer by transforming steel to white goods. Government then decides not to export. It will make our island poor. It imposes 80% export duty. Instead it now encourages entrepreneurs to set up manufacturing plants to make automobiles.

So we have cars all over the place, made with technology imported from the west. Loans for automobiles are provided at cheaper rates than education loans. More cars are produced than required. Poor islanders can’t buy the cars, except for a chosen few. Upper middle class can afford a car, but does not want to spend substantial amount for fuel. Rich prefer to import.

The think tank of the nation decides to export car. Our land is cheap. Our manufacturing cost is cheap. We have talent. Our infrastructure is in place. The five-year plan is to make the island into an automobile hub. We will export cars, not steel, not iron ore.  We can manufacture car at a fraction of cost, to the developed world. Special economic zones are created.

So the cars are supplied to the developed world. They put stickers on the cars – front, back and the third one on the steering wheel, with international brand names. Cars are sold at double the cost price.

So there is a catch again. Why should we make International Car companies make rich. Why can’t we develop our own brands?  We will sell cars in America or Europe with our brand names. If Japanese can sell why can’t we.  A delegation is sent to Japan.

Brand names are developed. Names are inspired from their rivers, mountains and ministers. These brands are not selling in international market. Factories have a pile of unsold cars. Banks are unable to recover loan. Non-performing assets are high. Tax collection is at all time low. Government is functioning on borrowed money. Fiscal deficit is high. Inflation refuses to come down. But who cares as long as the salary and pension is credited to their bank account, at the end of each month.

The dream is shattered. The poor islanders blame their fate and ancestors.

Health Wealth Character

Like most schools, we had a notice board that was used for quotations, to inspire us, to be good citizens. There used to be a Header, QUOTE OF THE DAY, followed by the content that used to be short and precise, written in multi-coloured chalk. One of the favourable quotes; that I continue to remember is :

When Wealth Is Lost Nothing Is Lost

When Health is Lost Something Is Lost

When Character Is Lost Everything Is lost

As children, one and only way to make money was to study and study hard, to become an employee. Given a choice, join the Government service. Second choice was the public sector. Private sector was not high on our agenda. Profit was considered a dirt word.

We were not inflicted with life threatening diseases while we were students. Occasionally we had fever, throat infection, loose motion, bruises, swelling and ringworm, malaria etc.  Character was not understood very well. Occasionally we stole our friend’s homemade food, cookies and chocolates. Often we told lies to get sick leave, to exempt from Physical Training.

I am now in my middle age. I am beginning to understand the depth of the three magical words. I see people who are healthy. I also come across persons who are wealthy and on a few occasions, an honest person. Rarely a person combines all the three elements. It appears that health, wealth and character; come in stages.  Between 25 to 50 years of age we are interested in wealth; and ignore our health and character. In the late forties or early fifties, quite a few of us, are afflicted with lifestyle diseases like hypertension, uric Acid, high cholesterol and diabetes. It is like a wake up call. We visit the doctor, who invariably advises us to buy a pair of jogging shoes and shorts. By then it is usually too late.

Whenever I go for a walk, I come across obese middle-aged persons trying to cut the fat. Even if they manage to trim the excess fat, the diseases are irreversible.

I understood this when I was nineteen. I was not satisfied with my height. I was a vegetarian all these years, but started on a protein rich diet. Instead of growing vertically, I expanded horizontally. On a few occasions I told my father that I would have been a few inches taller, if he had fed me non vegetarian food regularly. My son is five inches taller than me. He has no reasons to crib. He is twenty four now. He is thinking to go slow on meat.

One of my neighbours, with one foot in grave, was pushing his friend’s car that refused to bulge. After a few seconds his knees gave up. I wonder if he had pushed when he was an adult.

This morning, on a rainy day, I was unable to change the tyre of my friend’s car, who was drenched in the rain. I was going on an assignment and I did not want to get wet. Both of us looked at each other helplessly. In the evening on my return, I looked at the tyre. It was still flat. I am still carrying the guilt.  And this article is an outcome.

The wording on the board should have been:

When Wealth Is Lost Everything Is Lost

When Health is Lost Something Is Lost

When Character Is Lost Nothing Is lost