Sometimes, bad memory can be hilarious!

From the womb, to the tomb, life is a journey. As the nursery rhyme about peas porridge goes, it can sometimes be hot and sometimes cold. Some years ago, I shared a dais with the legendary A Nageswara Rao, matinee idol of the Telugu filmdom of yesteryears. He was then 87.

Someone remarked during that function that they would like to see him scoring a century. His prompt response was that it did not matter how long he lived, so long as he lived those years productively and happily. What he was saying, in short, was that one must not merely 'exist' but also 'live'. Put in another way, it is not counting one's days that matters, but making them count.

As I look around, I find friends who have crossed the hundred – year mark, healthy, happy and bubbling with the zest for life – full of 'la joie de vivre' as the French expression goes.

At the same time, much younger persons, otherwise quite healthy, have passed away suddenly, and for no ostensible reason. For many years, therefore, I have been convinced that one ought to live in what Dale Carnegie calls in his "How to Win Friends and Influence People, 'Day Tight Compartments'.

Yesterday is gone for good and there is no point in worrying about what happened. A good example of that philosophy is the way the swashbuckling Virender Sehwag played his cricket. Concentrate on the ball that is being bowled to you not on the mistake you made while playing the previous one. Tomorrow is an unknown day and there is no point in getting anxious or worried about what is likely to happen, at least beyond a point.

Extending that advice I have, in recent times, practiced the art of living in 'Activity Tight Compartments' every day.

Losing one's way is quite common. Getting back on track is the important thing. That is the meaning conveyed by the Hindi saying "Subah Ka Bhoola Hua Yadi Shaam Ko Ghar Laut Jaye to Usey Bhoola Nahin Kehtey", meaning that if a person thought to have got lost in the morning returns home by evening, he is no longer regarded as lost.

Life is a journey, not merely in the physical sense, but also in the intellectual, emotional or philosophical realms. While I have had some fairly substantial experience in all three directions, it is about my specialised knack, of being able to get disoriented with very little provocation, even in familiar surroundings, that I wish to share a few thoughts with the readers.

I was in Berlin, Germany, a few years ago in connection with work related to the Indo German Centre for Sustainability at the Indian Institute of Technology Madras (IITM) in the Governing Body of which I was a member. After a four-day stay, I was returning to Hyderabad via Dubai. During my stay in Berlin, I almost never reached the hotel in which I was staying without stopping and seeking directions.

At the airport after checking in, I happened to fall into a conversation with an officer on duty as my luggage was passing through the screening machine. He happened to glance at the book which came out. It was by Harlan Coben whose books, particularly those figuring an interesting character called Myron Bolitar, I am very fond of. The officer remarked that he, also, was a fan of the author as well as the character.

The check concluded, and I was proceeding towards the aircraft when I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Mr. Myron Bolitar", the officer said smilingly, "you have left your passport behind!". And that incident, mind you, came close on the heels of my having lost my passport in a previous visit to Germany just a few months earlier. And, just in case you think that loss was a debut, I had previously performed the same trick a few years ago while in Colombo on a visit.

Readers have, no doubt, heard the joke about the professor who, while departing on a tour, absentmindedly kissed the porter, who had carried his luggage to the compartment, and tipped his wife, who had come to see him off at the railway station! My own record for forgetfulness is, I am afraid, not much better. While my wife and I were on a visit to Hong Kong, where my daughter and son-in-law stay with their children, Aparna, my daughter, had briefed, me with great patience, and in considerable detail, about how to find my way back to their flat after going out for a walk, or to the gym. You can imagine the good shape in which I keep my memory cells when I confess that, nine times out of ten, I found myself ringing the doorbell of the wrong flat!

That was probably because of all the practice I had earlier had, trying to open the door of the wrong room in the Sheraton hotel in Delhi, where I often go for work connected with IFFCO Kisan SEZ on the Board of which I am a Director. The receptionist got so used to my habit that she masked her irritation (and probably the feeling that I was slightly off my rocker), and quietly handed over the duplicate key of my room to me with a polite smile!

As a run-up to that, I remember how, while staying in my favourite hotel in Rome where I had gone to attend meetings of the FAO, the bell captain of my floor, upon just observing me approaching him, would bring the material for breaking open my door, even without my requesting him, because I lost my key so often! My absentmindedness has also often resulted in my getting into the first car I saw in front of me as I got out of my office building, until someone physically prevented me, and made me wait for my own car to turn up!

(The writer is former Chief Secretary, Government of Andhra Pradesh)