End of the road

A regular in the morning run, but not to be seen again

While doing my training runs in the small lanes of Koramangala, Bangalore, I almost always ran into Mr. Nair taking his morning walk. Rather, Captain Nair, which is how he introduced himself to me. Nair was a sprightly 80-year-old gentleman. Almost bald, with a very slight build and shorter than most men. The most noticeable part of him, though, was his broad smile, which, for a first-timer on these roads, would look permanent. But when you came closer, you could see that he was busy saying “Good Morning” to anyone he saw during his morning walk. He would lift up his hand a little above his head in his own unique wave, all five fingers apart, while he greeted everyone. That included children going to school, runners, security guards of the houses lining the street and even the obnoxious bunch of walkers who insisted on going abreast, talking politics loudly. I knew he must be older than 80 because of the way he walked. His legs were bowed, he took very small steps and there was a noticeable bend in his spine. Of course, I didn’t ask him about his age when we introduced ourselves one day. I had just finished my run and I was gulping down water when he approached me. “I am Captain Nair.” He smiled. I introduced myself too. “Finished your jogging,” he asked. I was offended that he called it “jogging”, because we runners are a proud lot. But I didn’t say anything. Respect for elders has been ingrained into me by my upbringing. After exchanging pleasantries, we asked each other where we lived. We found we were just walking distance apart. He then invited me to his house for tea. I promised I would, but not today. He said he lived alone and told me his address, which I promptly forgot.