BLOGGING TO SOOTH THE NERVES.

I was sixteen when  Sholay  released. Now I am sixty-six. Back then, cinema arrived like thunder. News travelled by word of mouth. Friends narrated scenes with more excitement than accuracy. I hadn’t even watched the film then, but I already  knew  it. That was the power of those days. What mattered to me at sixteen was pride. The film was shot near Bengaluru, where I lived. That alone made it special. Cinema touching familiar land felt like destiny brushing past my street. And then there was Hema Malini. The Dream Girl. No analysis needed. She didn’t just appear on screen, she quietly rearranged adolescent emotions. Many hearts learned their first silence there. Amitabh Bachchan fascinated me not by dialogue, but by restraint. His silence carried weight. At sixteen, it felt heroic. Cool. Strong. Now at sixty-six, that same silence feels different. It feels lived-in. It feels like a man who knows words won’t fix everything. What strikes me today is how  Sholay...

🤠 🤠 🤠 🤠 🤠 🤠 🤠 🤠 🤠 🤠 I like the emoji with the hat because it fits this phase. Not denial. Not bravado. Just quiet confidence with lived-in joints. At 66: I walk slower, but notice more. I sit comfortably, rise carefully. I don’t chase youth — I maintain dignity. This 15 minutes is not about adding years to life. It’s about adding life to these years. Hat on. Morning accepted. Day, let’s see what you have today. 😎

66. A number that once sounded distant. Now it sits quietly beside me, sipping morning air. This is not a fitness routine. This is not a medical prescription. This is a conversation with the body, before the world starts talking. Minute 0–2: Waking Up Without Arguments I don’t jump out of bed. I negotiate. A slow turn. Feet touch the floor. The hips complain softly — not rebellion, just a reminder: “Ease into the day.” I smile. We’ve known each other long enough. Minute 3–6: Gentle Movements — No Heroics A few knee bends near the wall. Hip circles — small, like drawing commas in the air. Marching in place, as if I’m late for nothing. This is not exercise. This is oiling old hinges. The body responds politely. Minute 7–11: Walking — The Best Medicine Slow. Then moderate. If the weather is kind and yesterday’s dinner was lighter, I allow myself a gentle upward slope. No speed targets. No apps judging me. Just footsteps, breath, and that quiet joy of still being able to move forward. Minu...

Thought of the day by Edgar Allan Poe: “If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.”

After several days of glitter, gold, sand, selfies, souks, Sim cards, and survival instincts, I am finally home — fresh, functional, and fully Indian again. The Dubai trip era has officially ended. Passport resting. Suitcase defeated. Jet lag negotiating with my brain like a stubborn landlord. But oh… what a ride it was! Day 1: Landed in Dubai. Immigration staff gave me a look that said: “Welcome. Don’t expect smiles.” I accepted the challenge. Our tour manager Lokesh kept count of us like a school teacher on a picnic. Meanwhile, Dubai Mall kept count of how many kilometres I walked. Day 2: Dubai Frame! Group photo! Everyone smiling except the person who later had to pay for the printed copy — me. Evening cruise: Magic show, dance, food, joy, calories, and 200 dirhams gone for souvenir photos. Worth it. The confetti picture alone was happiness. Day 3: Museum of the Future: Looked like a giant doughnut with beautiful calligraphy. I looked like a man searching for Wi-Fi. Desert Safari: ...