Reading the newspaper, with a bowl of cornflakes in his hand allowed Lekhchand to put matters of his life beyond his immediate conscience. “Watching Sports and reading about it is the greatest conscience suppression tool available to mankind. For one can never connect their own life to it, in the most tense-ridden moment.”,  Lekhchand had once remarked to himself while watching a game of Test cricket.

The question of, “What does one do with their life to make it better?” though   didn’t evade Lekhchand for too long. It hit him as soon as he finished his breakfast and went out for a smoke. (His mother was given the reason of a morning walk, of course.)

“Making my life better is actually not tough.”, Lekhchand assured himself. “What I have to do is work hard academically, which will have to wait till next month since it is vacations now. There’s absolutely nothing you can do about the lack of companionship problem, for there is little or no possibility of you finding a girl that meets your criteria. Let alone, getting her. So that leaves you with health. Your one point agenda in life should be to improve it and yes, get rid of that cough you’ve been carrying for months now.”

Pumped with this self pep talk, Lekhchand decided to run a couple of miles daily from that day onwards. Even Haruki Murakami, a writer he admired by his interviews (he had not read any of his work) recommended it too. Running with a routine was instrumental to writing a novel, according to him.   And novel writing, was something Lekhchand saw as his primary activity years from then on.

So, with the noble idea, and resolve of solving two purposes with his running routine, Lekhchand made his way to the cigarette shop. “One cigarette, would not make much of a difference to my health.”, he thought.

 

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