Confusion personified

 Disclaimer -:A bit lengthy so only read if you have time. 

I’m not quite sure where to begin this story, but tell it I must. Have you ever been on a simple evening walk that suddenly turned absurdly confusing? That’s exactly how I felt one evening during one of my regular walks — an evening that was meant to be calm and restorative.

I’ve always been fairly fit — volleyball, badminton, table tennis, the gym — I’ve done them all. I’m not fat or podgy — at least that’s my opinion. According to my wife and daughters, however, I’m probably bordering on obese. They exaggerate, of course — purely to get me moving. So, I made my walks more regular, brisk, and determined, something my colleagues and I often discuss, comparing diets, gym routines, green smoothies, and walking habits.

Fitness is a frequent topic at work. Some colleagues are diet-conscious — green tea, salads, quinoa, kale smoothies, avocado toast, chia seeds, and other things I pretend to understand. Some are vegetarians, some meat-eaters, others vegan, and a few pescetarian (I’m not sure what that even is, but it sounds impressive). Some religiously take omega-3, protein shakes, or gluten-free snacks. Others are walkers like me, though they usually stroll elsewhere, living in various parts of the city. Then there are the yoga practitioners, gym-goers, and one dignified gent whose only identifiable habit is an impressive devotion to coffee at a regular café, reading and tapping away on his iPad; what else he does, I’m not sure. Some are slim, some like me — so I don’t particularly stand out.

It was during one of my evening walks by the lake, green and calm yet abuzz with dog walkers, joggers, strollers, cat feeders, and chattering maids (some letting dangerous-looking dogs pull on the leash), that I encountered a situation that would test all my good intentions.

A kindly-looking couple, clearly tourists, appeared. They seemed a little oldish, both wearing hats and masks. He carried a laptop, she had a camera. Masks made it even harder to decipher what they were saying, and I caught myself thinking, What if they’re infected? Every time I stepped back, they stepped forward.

They approached me with a question, seemingly searching for some place. She pointed to her watch, and that’s when I realised they needed directions.

At first, I couldn’t understand him — the accent and all. Then his wife joined in, and she was worse! They both spoke at once, words tumbling over each other in polite desperation. After about three attempts, I finally caught the word souq. Or did I? I thought he’d said soup. Suddenly I was nodding like a chef, recommending cafés, imagining bowls of steaming soup. SPRINGS SOUQ IT WAS — maybe they wanted soup there too. Life’s little confusions, served piping hot.

Meanwhile, they were smiling and bowing — she every time she spoke, he every time I replied. So naturally, I started bowing too. We must have looked like a slow-motion, strange, exotic dance troupe. It must have been quite a sight for those passing by! They looked Japanese somehow — and the bowing confirmed it. Unless they were just overzealous Chinese, Koreans, or Vietnamese. I’m not good at this, but it didn’t matter — they were polite and friendly.

I’d never seen them before, and I thought it was a strange place to get lost. I racked my brains — there are innumerable exits around the lake. The best one, I decided, was across the lake. But what landmark could I give?

“See that big tree? Go there and turn left,” I imagined saying. But what if they asked about a neem tree? Google Translate? No clue. Should I just make it up? Or take them in my car and drive them there?

I probably have a face that says, Let me help you. Maybe I look like a dignified gent who knows things — roads, directions, areas. Maybe I appear confident, though I’m far from it.

It happens often. Lost-looking people come straight to me, ignoring everyone else. I’m a magnet for confusion. Some people attract luck or love; I attract lost souls. I’ve sent people off in the wrong direction more than once, comforted by the fact that we’d never meet again.

Eventually, I asked a young man passing by to help. He did so with typical Gen Z bravado. I somehow felt he was overconfident — maybe he sent them the wrong way. Then again, I could be wrong. There is a villa nearby that has been vacant; I just hope Murphy’s law isn’t in play, and that they are not the new tenants — we saw someone shifting last evening.

As I continued my walk, I reflected on the absurdity, the small kindnesses, and the unpredictability of life. Sometimes we are lost, sometimes we are guides — often at the same time. We stumble, misstep, bow awkwardly, and yet life moves forward. Perhaps that is its quiet beauty: in the confusion and chaos, we find moments of connection, humor, and human kindness.

 And as I walked beside the calm, green lake, I realized that life, like my evening stroll, is a journey best taken one careful, imperfect step at a time.