Don't bolt the bathroom door from inside while taking your bath,’’ said the good cardiologist, smiling despite the frowns on his forehead. ‘‘And don’t go out in the forest all alone. Always carry your walking stick with you. Lean on it when you find your feet losing their grip on the ground. Lie down if you still feel unsteady.’’ That was six years ago when I went to him the third or the fourth time after my heart bypass surgery. He had examined my ECGs, blood sugar report and all that and then given me his benevolent advice. I must confess that I have not been following it strictly. I prefer to go alone in the forest murmuring, somewhat like Robert Frost, ‘‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep; but I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep.’’ Sometimes a couple of like-minded friends like T.R. Sarin and Jai Rattan join me and we discuss the gentler things of life — the difference between Keats and Shelley, Ghalib and Zauq, rather than the wealth of politicians, the ideologies they follow, the parties they change, the sermons they preach, the compromises they make, the games they play and the scandals in which they get involved. My old cadiologist has retired from service and a new one has taken over from him. Haltingly, somewhat timidly, I fixed an appointment with him. He was kind enough to get my fresh ECG done and compared it with the previous ones after I had explained to him the glorious history of my heart attacks, my forty-year-long love and hate relationship with diabetes and hypertension and my cosy sojourns in the good hospitals of Delhi. I also submitted to him that I had almost been leading a normal life though I did not drive any more and did not go to the libraries of which I continued to be a member. Impressive record, the doctor’s eyes said. ‘‘How old are you?’’ he asked. ‘‘I am getting close to eighty-one,’’ I submitted gratefully, ‘‘thanks to you gentlemen.’’ He enquired whether I had a lawn. I said we had a common lawn for the apartment block. ‘‘Better confine your walks to that lawn and don’t go to the forest. I will not change the regime my predecessor had prescribed. Whatever has to happen has to happen.’’ What can happen? I continue to go to the forest. The pathways are smooth. No pitfalls, no precipices, no banana skins, no street dogs, no cows. And more than anything else, far away from the Judeos and the Jogis who tell me that ‘‘by God, money is no less powerful than God himself.’’
