Dehradun, July 28 -- The late Agnom Teenup.

A stranger glares at me in the mirror, but he doesn't seem to know me. Instead, what I see is a fat slob taking a peek at me through the shifting shade and smoke of the past. If only the fellow knew that I, who now runs like the winded, had once been a long-distance runner who ran like the wind. A song I had heard during my schoolboy days at Bala Hisar has kept me going. When the going gets tough, the song rings louder in my ears. So far, I have managed to hum the tune without the words. It helped on my jogs as I went up the incline near the little post office, past Whymper's swimming pool, on to Sikander Hall and past the Douglas Dale spring to arrive breathless at the old Kincraig bus stand f...