Though I was active toward the end of my career, I indulged in small luxuries—taking group vans or auto-rickshaws for my commute. This shift in lifestyle added a bit to my weight, but after taking voluntary retirement, I returned to aggressive walking and got back to a healthier weight. Without the tension of work, I slept deeply.

Around this time, I started snoring. There’s an odd, indescribable satisfaction in hearing yourself snore—though I doubt anyone near me shares that sentiment. One train journey stands out vividly. My wife and I had reserved lower berths, but a large woman struggling to fit through the door pleaded for one of our berths. With a sense of polite obligation and a hint of fear—what if she chose the upper berth and it collapsed? —I agreed. That night, she pinned me down with her thunderous snores, leaving me wide awake until morning. The relief I felt when we finally left the train was indescribable.

Ever since, I’ve developed a bit more sympathy for my wife’s complaints about my snoring. Over time, she started snoring too, albeit at a much lower volume. This led to a nightly race to see who could fall asleep first, to avoid being disturbed by the other’s snores.

After a retinal detachment further damaged my eyesight, my sleep was disrupted again. But the mind is a resilient thing—it adjusts. Soon, my peaceful sleep returned, and I could lie on my back and sleep soundly through the night.

Contd. 320. Temporary Leave - Part 3