If you had asked me to bet that I’d be on a ‘pendalboat‘ at the age of 50, I’d have given you no odds. But life, and my life especially, seems to be all about betting against myself. And winning.
On the Venna Lake in Mahabaleshwar, Satara, Maharashtra, India.
So, here I am, at Venna Lake, pedalling away furiously in the winter’s sun, looking like the prized idiot my life keeps making me out to be, thinking back to the last time I found myself in one of these (FWIW, it was when I was 10, back in 1982, and it was in Ooty), and laughing uncontrollably in the embarrassment of being photographed in this position while wondering if my post-lunch paunch is showing, whether I should upload whatever the results of this are on my blog and social media, and open myself to ridicule and mockery, and if & how, when I inevitably do, my daughter will disown me once she reaches 13, gets her own account, and has access to all this ‘authenticity’, because she and her friends will most certainly titter at the sight of her old man indulging in activities best left on the other side of 20, or at most 25, making her want to explain earnestly that the sins of her father cannot be visited upon her and that she’d gladly accept being cut off from my will if only I can find a way for her to unsee this monstrosity.
Sigh. Life!
