Well, its that time of the year again. Time when we wonder if there is anything to Friday the Thirteenth at all. That we do it on the damn day itself, says a lot about the supposedly ‘above-these-things’ ones amongst us. Having been incredibly lucky all my life (see? I don’t even touch anything remotely wooden looking!), I dare say I am in a rather commentor worthy position here.

Evan as far back as when I was in school, I never ever got down on my knees wishing for luck. Not that I don’t believe in luck but that I have always felt it around me. I am confident that a competent enough psychic would even see some kind of protective halo around me if he/she passed me by.

My knowledge levels in all matters cricket have never been anyone’s envy. Yet, owing to a father neck deep into it and the average smalltown cricket-doped environs, I did stand in for impromptu crickety sessions (games then were referred to as bat-ball games).

I devotedly followed the Sunday morning line-up of cartoon shows on Doordarshan. There were Disney’s Aladdin and Batman among others. I missed special art classes, family events, social gatherings for my bit of heaven. I even avoided friends who were inconsiderate enough to drop in. Sometimes when under the strict gaze of ma, I had to meet them, I tried and converted them.

If anyone maintains a list of people in peril because of passive smoking, add me to it. And it might be a good idea to move me to the top of the list too. Also, if you can, keep my name in bold… and underline it. You get the idea, don’t you?

I have long wondered why the fact that smoking is ‘injurious to your health’ makes no difference to those who do smoke. Some time ago, there was this report about graphic smoking warnings on cigarette packets. It hasn’t taken off anywhere I have cared to look (or have I been looking in the wrong places? Hmmm…).

A most disconcerting realisation streaked through dinner yester-evening. That I was paying for the food had little to do with it. People’s growing up has nothing to do with the ’stages of life,’ right? I thought so too. When after school, I noticed some of the front-benchers (Merit had nothing to do with it. They were short.) grew inches in weeks, I brushed it off as my imagination.

But what happened during last night’s dinner was an unmistakable sign. It was me and a certain Shaggy wolfing down Fish n Chips at a Bandra eatery when suddenly, we see young females. The types that would, under normal circumstances, initiate ogle programs in my system and also launch the instant movie-maker application in my head. Nothing of the sort happened. Their chirping brought annoyance. Their looks brought ‘what’s happening to these kids’ looks to our stuffed faces, and we working men, left the place soon after, wearing our formals.

I am sure it was nothing permanent. But ages seem to have passed since I last did that kind of thing. This can’t be good! Somebody reboot me!