He has lived with me for almost 25 years. During these many years he has maintained himself rather well, actually. A disciplined routine, regular exercise, fairly positive outlook on life - despite an acid tongue, targeted usually at such hapless victims as Yuvraj Singh, Yusuf Pathan, Greg Chappel and, more recently, Virat Kohli. He has, however, always had a soft corner for Sachin, Dhoni and Dravid 

Over the years he's tried - and failed, for no fault of his - to get me to join him in those Ramdev Babaesque stomach churners, and other sundry fitness things. Breathing in, out, stretching up, down and about etc. While his advice has been good and well intended, the unfortunate man has been talking to an uninterested audience more keen on single malts and Old Monk. Consequently, conversations have been polite but not too frequent. 

We first spoke, seriously, man - to - man when his wife passed away four years ago. My mother in law, a sweet darling whose good nature exceeded her beautiful smile, his wife of over 60 years.... We all thought he'd be devastated. He surprised everyone with his resilience and zest. During the days that ensued he and I engaged in conversations on life, his wife, death, religious rituals, money, children, etc.

I had seen him fight back from a near paralytic stroke and a subdural hematoma to a fit 93. And in this fightback he was driven almost exclusively by a desire to not be a burden on any of us. That, in one sentence, sums up the man.

Now 93, gunning 94, he has had 3 falls in the span of one month. And that has left him shaken. For the past few hours I've sat by his side, in hospital, seeing him looking his age for the first time. A swollen, purple-red eye, signs of blood clotting around his left temple, stertorious breathing, the vitality seems to have ebbed out. This last fall, last night, was bad but we were lucky that it was not worse...
We've spoken again today. Not of boring matters such as life and/or death. We're talking, even as I type all this, about much more serious life & death matters - the pure malevolent evil of Ravi Shastri in seeking to remove MSD and bring in Virat Kohli (a stream of Marathi expletives - I blush!)

I have the confidence this man is young still! That wicked gleam in that one unswollen eye gives me hope. 94 is young. Yet.

Heaven - A (very) short story

The holding rooms were bare and austere, with a naked bulb and uncurtained windows. The locked door was bereft of handles and could not be opened from inside. I must have waited perhaps for about twenty minutes. The acolyte who processed me had told me that a higher power would be with me shortly.

Meanwhile I reviewed my past life and conduct. I was satisfied. I had lived a good life. Devoted to prayers and a study of the scriptures. I hadn't indulged in any vices. Eaten modestly. Stayed true to my wife. Been a responsible father. I had lived conscientiously. 

Now that I was dead and coming face to face with my Maker I confidently looked forward to a life in Heaven.

The door opened. The Being that stepped in had wings and carried a lute. He spoke, "Hello, I'm your guardian angel. I trust you like this accommodation that we have allotted to you?"

"It's nice for the moment. I'd like to see Heaven though. All my life I've lived virtuously, denying temptation. I'd love to enjoy the pleasures of Swarg now, forever. Where is the somras? Where are the apsaras?", I asked.

He smiled kindly and said, "No, no. It doesn't work like that. Your life on earth is a preview. You are given the freedom to choose. We saw you willingly lead a virtuous and simple life. We saw you very happy living thus. That is what lies in store for you here, in Heaven, too. For eternity. I hope you will be happy here too."