Counting is crucial for me. Navigating through life has become a combination of mathematics, memory, and concentration. 

There’s a Tamil movie, Major Chandrakanth, that tells the story of a retired, blind major. Confident in his ability to navigate by memory, he miscalculates once—and falls. That’s what happens to me too. 

With limited outdoor activities, I rely on walking inside the house for exercise. Even when visiting the U.S., unless my sons take me out, the house becomes my walking arena. I try to walk in a straight line, but accidents happen. In my son’s house, I once misjudged and walked straight into a wall, sprawling across the floor. Fortunately, I wasn’t seriously hurt. 

In Chennai, I’ve had similar mishaps—mistaking the refrigerator door for the bedroom door or colliding with pillars. To manage, I’ve memorized furniture placements, and my wife ensures nothing is moved without telling me. However, distractions occasionally cause me to lose my bearings, and I have to rely on her to guide me back. 

Now, my walks are limited to our 15x15-foot bedroom. The space narrows to a passage leading to the toilet, with an inconveniently placed column. I’ve collided with it and stubbed my toes on the bed more times than I care to admit. But over time, I’ve adapted. 

Walking has become a soothing ritual for me—a mix of counting steps, gauging distances, and feeling my way around. My blurry vision helps at times but can also mislead me. Despite the challenges, I’ve trained myself to walk continuously for an hour. 

It’s not just exercise—it’s a mindfulness practice, bringing both health and joy. 

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