It was the 'winter' month of December when the Chennai sun blessed us with a lighter dose of its usual summer warmth. It was during this time that my nephew paid me a visit.

As the old man of the house, our conversation naturally turned to health issues. He was aware that some parts of my body were still functioning, while others perhaps were not. He mistakenly thought my health experiences were interesting enough to be written down and encouraged me to do so, suggesting that I could decide later what to make of it. He had the misplaced belief that I could write and express myself well, trusting that whatever trash I might pour out would somehow be readable.

With my ego thus nudged by someone who writes exceedingly well, I was tempted.

What should I write about? After grazing—not gracing—this earth for over 75 years, health, or the lack of it, seemed a logical starting point. But then what? I had to awaken whatever little creativity I still possessed. Perhaps I could write about books, movies, people, places, random thoughts, food, work, and so many other topics. But then, my constant companion, a familiar friend named 'doubt,' crept in.

I decided that the best way to complete a task is to start doing it. Without even realizing it, I had already jotted down a few lines. A good beginning. I hope it continues well and ends even better.

Wisdom has dawned on me at dusk. I only hope it’s the real kind.

To be continued...

Next in line to bore you: I have a heart.