I am. But I also like to call myself a student of pain and running. Because I’m always learning. That helps me learn how little I know. And there is so much more to learn. Everyday. From anyone and everyone.

I’ve been a big fan of the Joker from Batman for a life-lesson that I simply haven’t been implement. I don’t feel comfortable charging for what I do. It’s because I never work. It’s never work for me. It’s always fun. When something even remotely starts appearing like work, I simply walk away.


It was in 2004 that I was told by one of my fouvrite professors at London College of Osteopathic Medicine. After having graduated from the college, which was post his Medical Specialties and working experience, in 1950-1960s, he decided to open his practice in middle of nowhere. He wanted to heal people with his magical touch. From day one, way back then, he decided to charge £40 per consultation. He wasn’t charging for his time but his expertise and experience that had taken him forever to get to. I remembered the story because it was an issue with me. I wasn’t comfortable charging the fees for my service that I thought it was worth. 

In 2008, it had been two years since I had moved back to India, a dear friend Suhas Kulkarni of mine wrote this very interesting note to me when he observed my dilemma. 


 I have been struggling even though I’ve had well-wishers repeatedly reminding me that my time is worth than I am comfortable people asking for. 

Below is an extract from a book I’m currently reading, ‘The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck’ by Mark Manson. My friend Charles Assisi has repeatedly reminded me the same a few times now but I guess sometimes a kick up your arse isn’t the solution but kick on your nuts does the job well. I let you read on what Mark Manson had to say. 

When Pablo Picasso was an old man, he was sitting in a café in Spain, doodling on a used napkin. He was nonchalant about the whole thing, drawing whatever amused him in that moment—kind of the same way teenage boys draw penises on bathroom stalls—except this was Picasso, so his bathroom-stall penises were more like cubist/ impressionist awesomeness laced on top of faint coffee stains.

Anyway, some woman sitting near him was looking on in awe. After a few moments, Picasso finished his coffee and crumpled up the napkin to throw away as he left.

The woman stopped him. “Wait,” she said. “Can I have that napkin you were just drawing on? I’ll pay you for it.”

“Sure,” Picasso replied. “Twenty thousand dollars.” The woman’s head jolted back as if he had just flung a brick at her.

“What? It took you like two minutes to draw that.”

“No, ma’am,” Picasso said. “It took me over sixty years to draw this.” He stuffed the napkin in his pocket and walked out of the café.

More than my qualifications, which are over-rated, I end up telling people number of years I’ve been running for. It’s 33 right now. 

At the end of the day, ‘Bhuke bhajan na ho Gopala, yo rakhi tori kanthi mala.’  


You’ve also got to respect yourself. Only then will you respect the person sitting across the table who you are trying to help.

No better Day than yesterday to start from. Yes-t-err-day. A very positive day. But a day where you recognise you made mistakes.