Living dangerously

It's a man thing, living dangerously is. Confronting death. Looking it in the eye, unfazed. Not flinching at the prospect.

Different people do it differently.

One J. Bond of London, England, for instance, likes to get his kicks by driving cars off cliffs and shooting people for one reason or another, and getting shot at in return. Spectacular, but too loud for my taste.

Middle aged MBAs, especially those of us from the more reputed institutes, prefer subtlety over pomp. Thus, my old mate Shrinath and I went on Tuesday afternoon to Highway Gomantak Restaurant in Bandra East, Mumbai and decimated some 17000 Kcalories each by way of fried fish. The waiters had realised the moment we started ordering that here was a duo not to be messed with. No one dared question us, or suggest a serving of lettuce and broccoli salad in lieu of the Jumbo Surmai Fried. The question might have trembled on some lips but the glint in our eyes made them avert their gaze and run for cover.

And flirting with death it definitely was. My triglycerides are discussed with bated breath at the monthly meetings of the Royal College of Physicians. And Shrinath's blood pressure has been the topic of more PhD theses than any human ailment including Bo Derek's Herpes.

But we thought nothing of it, nothing at all. And in a sterling example of how the tough never carry their tensions home, we both went home to our respective spouses and told them we were lunching on salads and soup.

I'm not crowing or bragging here, just trying to set an example to the young folk out there, a few of whom might have mistakenly logged on to this page. Fear nothing. That's all I'm telling you. Fear nothing.