Why are you giving away everything you own, when you’ll be back in nine months? Won’t you want it all back when you return?

How will you decide who has the greatest need for your belongings? Why don’t you give it away to an orphanage or an old age home instead?

Would you have given everything away if you were not going away for nine months, or, if you were not writing a book?

So, instead of giving you answers I don’t have, let me share a snapshot of what I was thinking before I made my announcement.

We derive our identity (and our happiness) basically in four ways — from the things we own, from the experiences we have, from the people we relate to, and from the meaning we create. These four elements are arranged in a “hierarchy of identities” that is not only different for each one of us, but also changes for each one of us over time.

My own hierarchy of identities, for instance, has changed totally in the last six years.

When I passed out of IIMB six years back, and had some money for the first time, buying and owning things were important to me, if only to prove to myself that I could afford to. So, I set up a full household, acquired costly tastes, ate out five nights a week, and played host the other two nights. Basically, I spent the next six years spending as much money as I could, to make up for not having enough in the previous twenty one years.

Then, one day, I realized that I had run that race (with myself) and it had left me tired. I had already bought all the things and experiences I wanted, and even some I didn’t really want. I couldn’t really buy what I wanted anymore, because the things I wanted now could not be bought. My hierarchy of identities had changed; creating meaning, relating to people, and having life-changing experiences were more important to me now than owning things. So, I stopped buying things I didn’t need, and went off consumption for a year, in the hope that a year of austerity would cleanse my soul, like a day of fasting cleanses the body.

Then, three and a half months into my experiment, I realized that it was not enough to not buy things that I didn’t need, when I already owned so many things that I didn’t need. So, I decided to keep only the things that I need and give away everything else.

I don’t know if I would have done it if I wasn’t going away for nine months. I don’t know if I would have done it if I wasn’t writing a book about my experiences. I don’t even know if I’ll want it all back when I return, nine months later.

What I do know is that my decision to give away my belongings was not driven by the desire to help someone else, the instinct for charity; it was driven, instead, by the desire to find myself, and maybe, by the instinct for whimsy.

Sometimes, I grow my hair, or my beard, to see who I become. This time, I’m giving away my belongings, to see who I become, when I don’t have my job/ house/ furniture/ bar/ books/ DVDs (my friend Kanishka, who has the gift for quotes, told me that, if I give away everything I own, I’ll basically become my blog).

So, my giving away my belongings is not an act of philanthropy, it is an act of peeling off layers in my onion-like identity. Mixing the two will only take away from both acts, make them both smaller than they ought to be.

As I read and re-read the twenty one stories that people have shared with me in response to my post, I didn’t really think about whose need was the greatest. What I’m offering is too little to really change someone’s life and, in any case, if I really wanted to find the person with the greatest need, I should have walked down to a slum near my house, instead of asking people to share their stories with me online.

So, instead of asking myself whose need was the greatest, I asked myself whose story appealed to me the most.

It turned out that the stories that appealed to me most included the MBA who is spending all his savings on a solar energy startup (Gurudatt), two newly-wed couples who are setting up their households (Alok and his wife and Preethi and her husband), and two wordsmiths who probably wrote their pieces just in jest (Trilok and Nandita).

There are two common threads in all these five stories —

- None of them really need my stuff, so the “want” is greater than the “need”, and this is precisely what appealed to me the most.
- All of them want to use my stuff themselves, unlike others who want to either sell it off, or gift it to their families.

I’m gifting my stuff to five people, instead of one, because all of them get what they really want, and none of them is burdened with what they don’t need.

Gurudatt is in Gurgaon, but the other four are coming over to my house on Sunday to pick out what they want. Whatever is left, after they have taken what they want, I’ll gift to Joanna Buthello’s orphanage in Madh Island.

I know that it’s not the most obvious decision, and I know that it’s not going to be the most popular decision, but it’s a decision that comes closest to my original intent, and it’s the only decision I could make.

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Some of these e-mails have only been pompous –

Being an educator, writer, revolutionary, holistic healer, I educate people to rise above themselves.

Like for example, whenever I travel in taxis and autos, I make the drivers give up their loathsome habit of gutka or smoking and they respond positively. If some people react the way they do, it is their problem. They have to grow up. Sometimes bitter medicine is good for the body, mind and the spirit.

I always write with a sense of purpose and I have been writing for the last 30 years. Thousands of articles, cathartic poems, 35 books, over 10,000 lectures delivered in 63 countries.

I do not like young men like you, who booze (100 wine glasses), enter in live-in-partnerships, talk of Hinduism and eat meat, work like slaves for MNCs and make money by marketing substandard Korean, Chinese Goods to India while killing cottage industries run by poor artisans of India…

Are you aware of the art of pottery? The raw clay is soaked for days, then it is pounded and dough is made. Then, it is put on potter’s wheel to give it a spin (which is what i am now doing to you). Then the potter gives shape to pots with his deft hands. Thereafter, these pots are burnt in furnace to make them strong, then they are painted nicely so that the buyers buy them. I am a potter. You are still an incomplete pot.

Others, however, have been in such bad taste that I’m not even reproducing them here, out of respect for your sensibilities.

I’m more amused than offended, except that it’s too sad to be either offensive or amusing.

My friend Kanishka said yesterday that “every obnoxious act is a cry for help”.

I fear that I’ll sound like him when I’m sixty years old, because I’ll not know how else to cry out for help.

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After a long train ride from Churchgate to Malad and an even longer auto-rickshaw ride to Madh Church, I turned into a little lane and came upon the orphanage. My first thought was — “this can’t be the orphanage!” My second thought was — “sixty children can’t fit in here!”

Well, this little shack is indeed the orphanage and sixty children do study and stay here, along with the sixty-something retired schoolteacher, a dog and a few cats.

During the day, the veranda and the little compound turn into a school, with wooden blackboards and benches and even a computer or two. At night, the girls retire to sleep in the room inside, while the boys put the blackboards on top of the benches and sleep out in the veranda.

There’s a little kitchen next to the office/ visitor’s room where she cooks food for the children. The only toilet in the orphanage is a little structure next to the main building.

The lady herself is charming, and her commitment to the children is obvious. She introduced me to some of the children and told me their stories. Some of the children shied away, while other tentatively replied to my “hi!” with a “hello, uncle!” of their own.

As I left, I asked her if I could take a couple of pictures. As I took out my camera-phone, even the children who had shied away earlier came forward, and openly posed for the camera.

On the way back, I stopped for a few minutes at Aksa Beach. It’s pretty in a nondescript way, lined with rows of little shacks selling street food, as all such beaches in India are.

So, am I going to give away everything I own to the children? If I was to make my decision based on whose need is the greatest, it would have been the obvious choice. Except that the children need a building more than they need my furniture, and selling my stuff won’t get them enough money to solve their problems.

So, if you want to help Joanna Buthello’s children, by giving a donation, do call her at 22919196/ 28804371. The Joanna J. Buthello Foundation is registered and enjoys 12AA and 80G IT exemption.

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Before we met in real life, we met online, on Twitter.

The first time we met in the real life, for a walk on Worli Sea Face, she told me that she wanted to interview me.

The second time we met, for another walk on Worli Sea Face, I felt sad when it was time to leave.

The third time we met, at a conference, we pretended that we hadn’t planned to meet up, then left together.

The fourth time we met, for yet another walk, I told her that I had a crush on her.

“You are going away,” she reminded me. “What exactly do you expect me to do about your crush?” she asked.

“Nothing at all,” I replied weakly, “except that you let me feel the way I do.”

“Are you married? Are you seeing someone else? Are you psychotic?” she cut me off with a series of quick-fire questions.

“Not yet. Not anymore. I don’t think so.” I replied, and I think we were seeing each other.

We spend most of our time together at my place, or hers. One evening, we baked cookies at her house, in an oven that didn’t quite work. Another evening, I showed her how I make pasta in my microwave, except that it turned out soggy. We spent an entire Sunday at my house, typing away on our laptops, looking up only to kiss. Most evenings, we sit next to each other, or lie down together, and talk.

Since I don’t go out anymore, and she loves going out, with friends old and new, there’s a part of her life in which I don’t play any part. Sometimes, she is out with her friends — for movie, dinner, drinks, or dancing — a few minutes away from my house, and we don’t meet at all. It’s almost as if, every evening, she has to choose between me and the rest of the world, because she can’t have both.

So, I think of every evening we do spend together, every time she chooses me over the rest of the world, as a gift. Like the bunch of tuberoses she bought one day for the empty vase in my living room.

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In the first week of August, I’ll walk out of my house with two bags or three. I’ll give away everything else I have to one lucky person, for free.

When I say everything, I do mean everything — all my furniture, all my soft furnishing, all the electronic goods in the house, all the utensils and appliances in my kitchen, all the clothes, books, and DVDs I’m not carrying with me, and miscellaneous other household items.

The first week was slow and only two people asked for my belongings. Perhaps, people were suspicious of the seriousness of my offer. Perhaps, people were waiting for someone else to ask first. In either case, it was probably a symptom of the premium our culture puts on being self-reliant, on being able to not ask for help.

Blue from Washington DC wished she was in Mumbai, so that she could pretend that my stuff would allow her to have a grown-up living space and help her feel like an adult.

My friend Namrata explained about how she would my stuff to her father, mother, brother and maid and keep the books and DVDs for herself.

Then Hindustan Times published an interview with me last Sunday, and dozens of people wrote to me with stories on what they would do with the gift of my household (and my house).

In a beautifully written post, ad man Phish called me a modern day Chris McCandless and explained how he would make friends with the little nooks and crannies of my apartment.

Second year engineering student Piyush wrote in to say that my belongings would fit in perfectly with the new house his family is moving into.

Dean also wanted to divide my belongings between his family members and keep the DVDs for himself.

Management student Apple Jain told me that he wanted my management books, and little else.

Dr. S D Sharma invited me to visit his house to see how well he takes care of his own personal articles.

Dr. Leo Rebello suggested that I gift my belongings to an orphanage in Madh Island, so that the sixty odd children who live there could have e better life.

Siddhu told me that his mother would be delighted with new furniture and he would love to have my books, DVDs and bar glasses.

In a touching post, final year engineering student Anand wrote that he would sell off my belongings to arrange for his college fees.

Bheenee wrote in to describe the very unusual film club she wants to set up using my DVDs.

Meera wrote a post to tell me that she also wanted to gift my belongings to her sister and her parents.

In a touching e-mail, Alok wrote about how my gift would help him and his wife set up their household.

In a beautifully written e-mail Nandita suggested that she would find a story for each thing I give to her, and I could use them in my book.

Gurudutt told me how all his savings will be invested in his solar energy venture, and how my furniture would fill his empty house.

Surajit Basu explained that he would use my books to start a network of circulating libraries in housing complexes.

Sister Sheeba and Sheena wrote in to say that they would gift my house to their parents.

Falguni wrote in to tell me that she wanted my house so that she and her two sisters could get married.

Kavita e-mailed me to tell me that she wanted to borrow my books for a year and then return them to me.

Class eleven student Manthan came over to my house one day to tell me that my belongings would help him finish his studies.

And, finally, Preethi wrote a comment to say that my household belongings would help her and her husband fill up their newly purchased house and make it home.

In all, nineteen twenty one people have asked me for my belongings, and many more have written in to tell me about their own life experiences. I wish I could get to know each one of them intimately, sit with them and listen to their stories, but, as always, I’m running against time.

I have to choose one of them by the end of day today and I don’t know how to decide. I’m hoping, then, for a flash of inspiration, or, maybe, divine intervention.

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I have been through many photo-shoots of late, but no photographer I have been shot by has been as inventive as Anand. It’s a mind-blowing experience to have two professional photographers shoot each other shoot you. The photograph below, taken by my new friend Kaustav, shows Anand shooting me, with Rana in the background.

The article itself, especially the headline, was a little misleading, and my mailbox is flooded with e-mails on how I’m giving away my fully-furnished house. As you know, the house is not mine to give; I’m only giving away (most of) the stuff inside the house.

I’m going through the mails, posts and comments now and I’ll post a compilation of the entries on my blog tomorrow. I don’t know yet who I’ll gift my stuff to, but I do know that it won’t be an easy decision.

Here, by the way, is the full text of the Hindustan Times story. As you can see, it touches on several topics that I haven’t yet written about — like the new woman in my life. As always, there are more than twenty posts queued up in my head that I don’t have the time to put on paper.

Home NOT for Sale

As part of his experiment with a low-consumption life, Gaurav Mishra is offering all that his home contains to one lucky recipient - for free

Riddhi Shah (riddhi.shah@hindustantimes.com)
Mumbai

Want three beds, 500 books, a huge collection of DVDs, a washing machine and a microwave for absolutely nothing? Just head over to Gaurav Mishra’s Cuffe Parade apartment today and pick it all up. It’s that simple.

On April 13, 2008, we had featured Mishra on this very page for his unique off-consumption experiment - a year-long decision to not consume anything, except that which is absolutely necessary. Since then, Mishra (an IIM graduate who works as a marketing manager for one of India’s largest automobile brands) has decided to take his experiment further - come August, he will give up his job and move to Washington DC to act as a Yahoo fellow at Georgetown University, and will continue a life of no-consumption.

But before he leaves, Mishra has decided to give away everything he owns (save for clothes and a few books) to one very lucky person. “It’s been three months since I started the experiment, and while I’ve more or less been sticking to the rules, I also realised that just not consuming was not enough. If I really wanted to get rid of my consumption-driven identity, I needed to go further. This is a step in that direction,” says the 28year-old.

How will Mishra pick that only lucky person? He’s announced the decision on his blog (www.gauravonomics.com) and asked people to write in with ‘How they plan to use his things’. “It’s open to anyone who wants my things. They just have to email me a small paragraph,” he says, during our interview at the Crossword Café. (Mishra has tweaked one of his 10 commandments since I last saw him: from barring himself completely from visiting restaurants, he can now go to one as long as he doesn’t eat or drink). He’s also grown his once-neatly cropped hair – after being unable to buy a haircut, it is now an untidy shag.

Even though starting over in another country will involve huge amounts of consumption, Mishra insists that it will also give him the opportunity to shed his old, ‘materialistic’ skin. “I will buy only what I need – a mattress, a few utensils etc. And when I move back to Mumbai after a year, I know that I will be far more circumspect in what I buy – I definitely won’t buy two bars - for alcohol - and three beds and hundreds of DVDs,” he says.

Mishra admits that seeing strangers walk away with things that he once spent hard-earned money on can be quite difficult. (All of last week, he allowed friends to each take away up to five things from his flat). “I definitely feel a twinge every time someone goes off with one of my books. Followed closely by my bar glasses. My social life over the last five years has revolved around me playing host at home, and my bar glasses are symbols of that,” he reveals.

On the flip-side though, the first three months of the experiment have opened up a host of new experiences for him. “People often do things just to cue class or taste. Since I’ve been off consumption, that need has simply disappeared,” he says. And continues, “I was also initially worried about how my love life will cope, but I’m in a new relationship right now, and the experiment has been an enabler instead of a hindrance. We end up talking a lot more,” says Mishra.

THE STORY SO FAR

Three months ago, Gaurav Mishra decided to embark on an experiment in which he would not consume anything (unless absolutely necessary) for an entire year. The self-imposed Ten Commandments of his experiment included rules like:
No mass media allowed
No house-help allowed
Paid entertainment not allowed.

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This is a post I almost didn’t write.

I was recently profiled in Indian daily Mid-Day for a story on how online and offline relationships have merged for young people in India —

I had given the interview almost six weeks before it was published, and, as I read through the interview, I was reminded that being a host is at the core of my social life, both online and offline.

The thing is, I’m not really naturally social. I’m often uncomfortable in large groups and I’m terrible at small talk. Over time, however, I have realized that I like being the host, that my preferred social style is to connect with people on a one-to-one basis, on my blog, or at my house parties.

I was also reminded that I haven’t thrown a house party for a really long time, in fact, since the middle of May when I threw a house party for my friend Rana.

I have written before on how being off-consumption has taken a toll on my social life —

In the beginning, I compensated by inviting my friends over more often, but now that my wine collection has run dry, and my stock of munchies is over, even throwing a house party isn’t as much fun anymore.

Well, this was the house party that’s responsible for the dry run. It was a house party I threw reluctantly, because Rana insisted on it. It was the house party that reminded me how much hard work house parties are, because, in spite of promising to help with the cooking and the cleaning, Rana didn’t even lift a finger. It was also the house party when my wine collection ran dry, and my stock of munchies got over, and I broke my off-consumption rules by serving (and, before that, buying) ITC ready-to-eat dishes, instead of home-cooked food. Incidentally, it was also one of the best house parties I have ever thrown.

I have learned that sticking to a movie marathon theme is more difficult than coming up with one, when GK is around. Like always, GK brought along a bunch of DVDs and we ended up watching The Red Violin, Confidentially Yours, and The Mafioso, instead of the movies we had planned to.

About ten people turned up for the movie marathon, and we started at three with ‘The Red Violin’, which was brilliant. I was getting into Truffaut’s ‘Confidentially Yours’, when the photographer from Mid-Day turned up for the photo-shoot. So, I spent the next half hour posing for photographs around the house, while my guests watched the movie in my bedroom. Rana, and his actor-model friends, turned up in the middle of ‘The Mafioso’, so I missed most of it too.

By ten, the movie marathon bunch had left and the after-party was in full swing. In the end, almost thirty people turned up in all, and we managed to run through almost ten bottles of wine and champagne, apart from a few bottles of miscellaneous other alcohol. The party ended at four in the morning, after a marathon jam session by dear friend Mohan, who is the lead vocalist in the Indi-Rock band Agnee.

After the guests had left, and Rana and GK had fallen asleep, I sat up and watched July Delpy’s 2 Nights in Paris all by myself, before falling asleep almost at seven in the morning.

So, it was a great party, and I haven’t thrown once since, and I miss being a host, which is why I’m looking forward to my next house party, which is a going away party, an open house and a movie marathon, all rolled into one.

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So, when I realized that the response to my offer to give away everything I own to one lucky reader of my blog wasn’t a unanimous “wow!”, I listened to constructive criticism from friends whose opinion I value, and made a few changes.

First, I realized that I was being presumptuous in thinking that my giving away everything I own will change someone’s life. Even though everything I own is, well, everything I own, I realized that it will only be second hand household stuff, even junk, for the person who wins it. So, instead of telling me “how my giving away my life will change your life”, you now need to tell me “what you will do with my stuff”. It will be great if you actually use everything, but it’s okay to sell it off or give it away, as long as you have an interesting story to tell.

Second, I realized that it’s too much work “to come over to my house with a team of packers, pack it all up and take it away in a truck”. So, I’m not only arranging for a packer now, I’m also offering to pay them. On Sunday, July 27th, a team of packers will pack it all up, put it in a truck and take it to your house. If you wish to, you can choose to pay the packers; otherwise, I’ll pay them myself (but only if you live in Mumbai).

Third, I realized that you might want to see the stuff before you make up your mind about whether you want it in the first place. If it is indeed the case, this Mid-Day story on cool bachelor pads in which my house was featured might give you some sense of what it looks like. If that’s not enough, you can call me at 9223366624 to fix a time to see the house.

Finally, some of my friends have asked me if they can take the things they want before I gift it all to a stranger. So, I have decided to convert my going away party into an open house of sorts. On Sunday July 13th, from noon to midnight, you can come over to my house and join the party. I’ll arrange for food and cocktails but you can bring some food (I can only cook pasta) or a bottle of wine (I’m out of wine). If you wish to, you can also bring along your iPod and plug it into my dock to play DJ (I only have classic rock on my iPod). So, we’ll make a party of it, and, when you leave, you can take upto five things (books, DVDs, and other souvenir type things) you want to.

It’s my going away party, and I’ll not be in India for at least a year, so do come, even if you don’t want to bring or take anything. And, yes, it will be great if you send me a message or an e-mail, or leave a comment, to let me know that you are coming. By the way, here are the e-mail, or leave a comment, to let me know that you are coming. By the way, here are the event details on Facebook and here’s my address: A-65, Sea Lord, Opp. Taj President Hotel, Cuffe Parade, Mumbai 400005.

(Update: My friend GK has agreed to host a Sunday Afternoon movie marathon, like last time, so Sunday will see three parallel tracks in my house — the party, the open house and the movie marathon. By the way, GK’s short film ‘The Opportunist’ was recently featured in a story in Hindustan Times.)

PS: It also means that I have less than a week to sort through my stuff and decide what I want to take and what I want to leave behind. Hmmm…

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But, first, here’s the sum total of what I have learned in the last three months –

We derive our sense of identity (and our sense of happiness) basically in four ways — from the things we own, from the experiences we have, from the people we relate to, and from the things we create.

Sometimes, all the four elements of our identity are in sync (and we are happy). Often, the things we own enable us to have meaningful experiences with the people we relate to. Sometimes, the things we own even become the tools with which we create things and discover meaning.

There are times, though, when there are trade-offs, when the things we own stop us from experiencing life, relating to people, or creating meaning (and we are unhappy). Two such related trade-offs are the time/ money trade-off and the experiencing/ owning trade-off.

The first step, then, is to figure out what is the real source of of our identity (and our happiness). Some people drive their sense of identity primarily from the things they own, others primarily from their relationships, still others primarily from their experiences. In any case, for each one of us, all these four elements contribute to our sense of self (and our happiness) in a “hierarchy of identities”. Here, for instance, is my own hierarchy of identities — creating meaning > relating with people > experiencing life > owning things.

The second step is to structure your life around your hierarchy of identities. This involves identifying trade-offs between these four elements and removing them, one by one, to free up possibilities for the higher order elements. For someone with my hierarchy of identities, for instance, it would mean giving away most of the things I own, and freeing up resources (money, time, and energy) for experiencing life, having meaningful relationships and creating meaning.

This is exactly what I am about to do.

I have already announced that I’ll spend the next ten months in Washington DC as the next Yahoo! Fellow in International Values, Communications, Technology, and Global Internet at Georgetown University. After putting in regular 9-to-7 workdays for more than six years, the fellowship will allow me to dramatically free up my time (and mental bandwidth) to think about a subject I’m passionate about, and perhaps write a book on it, help others discover meaning through it.

So, the first trade-off — time vs. money — is taken care of, at least for the next ten months.

The second trade-off is the owning vs. experiencing trade-off.

Even I wasn’t aware how serious I was when I wrote about a life that fits into a backpack –

Sometimes, I want to give away the life I have built over the last eights years — my job, my house, the cane furniture that I had designed myself, my bar with its three hundred glasses, the hundreds of books and DVDs I have collected over years — and live the rest of my life (or at least the next ten years) out of a backpack.

I have already decided to give away the job (for ten months at least), and my lovely house goes with it. Now, I am giving away everything else I have, to one lucky person. Yes, you read it right, I’m giving away everything I have, to one lucky person.

People have auctioned off their lives before, item by item (John Freyer, Brian Thompson, Reed Dunn), or all at once (Ian Usher), but I’m just giving it away, for free.

Here’s how it works.

In the first week of August, I’ll walk out of my house with two bags or three. I’ll give away everything else I have to one lucky person, for free.

When I say everything, I do mean everything — all my furniture (including bed, futon, dining set, sofa set, center table, bar and book cases), all my soft furnishing (including cushions, rugs and curtains), all the electronic goods in the house (including TV, home theater system, fridge, washing machine, and microwave), all the utensils and appliances in my kitchen (including hundreds of bar glasses), all the clothes, books, and DVDs I’m not carrying with me, and miscellaneous other household items.

You don’t get to choose what to keep and what not. You take it all or you take nothing at all.

All you need to do to is to tell me (in three hundred words or less) how my giving away my life will change your life what you will do with my stuff. It will be great if you actually use everything, but it’s okay to sell it off or give it away.

I do hope you use it though, because, otherwise, it won’t really be worth it. If you were to buy it all first hand, it will cost you close to Rs. 300,000. If you auction everything off on e-Bay, item by item, it will probably be worth more than Rs. 100,000. If you sell it off to a dealer, all at once, I’m not sure if you’ll even get Rs. 50,000.

If you have a blog, you can write a post with your story and link back to this post, or e-mail me the URL. If you don’t have a blog, you can write a comment below. All entries need to be submitted by July 18th with valid e-mail addresses and mobile numbers.

On Sunday, July 20th, I’ll choose the person with the most compelling interesting story, and announce the winner.

On Sunday, July 27th, the winner needs to come over to my house with a team of packers, pack it all up and take it away in a truck a team of packers will pack it all up, put it in a truck and take it to your house. If you wish to, you can choose to pay the packers; otherwise, I’ll pay them myself (but only if you live in Mumbai).

Simple.

The one thing you must not do is to tell me that you want it and then change your mind. In that case, I’ll only have enough time before I leave to revert to my backup plan of either putting away everything in temporary storage, or sending it all to my parents’ house in Patna.

Why am I doing it? Well, there’s only one way to find out if a life that fits into a backpack is all that it is trumped up to be — and that is to really live a life that fits into a backpack (or three). I’ll find out soon enough.

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I walked for fun. I walked for exercise. I walked to digest my dinner. I walked to clean my head. I walked so that I could watch strangers. I walked so that I could talk with friends.

After I started my experiment and gave up my car, I walked all the time. I tried waking up early so that I could walk from my house in Cuffe Parade to my office in Kala Ghoda before the sun came up. I tried leaving office early so that I could walk over to Marine Drive before the sun went down. I walked to Churchgate station to catch local trains to the suburbs. I walked to New Marine Lines to watch French movies at Alliance Francaise. I met up with friends and dates for a walk on Marine Drive, or Worli Sea Face, or Bandra’s Carter Road, or Juhu’s Chowpatty Beach.

Late at night, I wore my Nike+ shoes, put in the sensor on my iPod Nano and walked the seven kilometers from Cuffee Parade to Girgaon Chawpati and back. I kept track of the time it took me to walk the fourteen kilometers and told myself that I was on track for my goal to run the marathon before I turned thirty. One weekend, I even walked the twenty odd kilometers from Cuffe Parade to Worli Sea Face.

In short, I liked walking, no, I loved walking. It kept me in shape, and it kept me sane.

Then, two months back, my feet started to hurt.

It first happened in a hotel room in Singapore early one morning, when I stepped off my bed and recolied from a sharp pain in the soles of my feet. I told myself that I was tired from the travel and promptly forgot about it.

Back in India, on my evening walks, I found that I was getting tired by the time I reached Girgaon Chawpati and couldn’t walk the seven kilometers back anymore. I first cut my walk shorter by taking a taxi to Nariman Point and only walking the ten kilometers from Nariman Point to Girgaon Chawpati and back. Then, I stopped going to Marine Drive entirely and only walked the three odd kilometers from Kala Ghoda to Cuffe Parade after work.

I then realized that my feet hurt all the time, irrespective of what shoes I wore, irrespective of whether I was walking or not.

Worried that I was unwell, I went through a comprehensive health check-up at Bombay Hospital. The test results told me that I was perfectly well, so I decided to see an Orthopedist instead. After a few more tests, it turned out that I was suffering from serious vitamin B12 and D3 deficiency. “It seems that you haven’t been eating at all,” the grandfatherly doctor chided me as he typed out the prescription on a typewriter of European origin, “if you hadn’t come to me now, your bones would have started to break in six months.”

So, suitably scared, I massage my feet with Moov three times a day and visit my neighborhood doctor once every week, where a pretty nurse asks me to lie down and pull down my trousers, before she injects vitamins in both my buttocks. After she asked me to turn over and offer her the other cheek, she soothingly tells me: “only one more little prick, and it will be all over.”

Since both vitamin B12 and vitamin D3 are almost absent in vegetarian food, eggs and cheese now make the core of my diet.

And, yes, I don’t walk anymore, not much anyway.

No wonder, my loyal love handles are back and it seems that even a smallish paunch is all set to reappear. It’s not the best thing to happen to you when you have just started dating the perfect woman, but that’s an altogether different post, isn’t it?

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