But the problem is that we often take too long to understand what our forte is, and what it is not. Also, we may want to pursue a vocation or a hobby, and realise only much later, and with much disappointment, that our capabilities do not match our interests.

I have personal experience with such situations. When in college, I wanted to take up photography seriously. I took my father’s Rolleiflex camera and pursued this hobby with vigour. But soon, I discovered that photography is also a highly technical subject if you have to process your own pictures in the dark room. This was, of course, much before the digital age. My enthusiasm waned when I was politely asked to leave the St Stephen’s College photography society after I carelessly put on the light in the dark room while processing my pictures, and exposed several boxes of light-sensitive paper.

Similarly, I liked the idea of cooking. In fact, it is my belief that any mechanical activity that unfolds sequentially — rinse, cut, heat, bake etc — is a great mental voltage stabiliser. Unfortunately, for all my professed interest, I was not very good at it. Early in my marriage, I asked my wife, Renu, if I could help her as she cooked in the kitchen. Her brusque reply, based on some earlier disastrous experiences, was: “Yes, stay out”.

One of my more embarrassing moments was when a leading TV channel in India asked me to be part of a show where a “celebrity” cooks a dish while they are being interviewed about their life and career. I flatly said no, because I knew that I could not cook to save my life. However, they were more than normally persistent. Finally, to stave them off, I jokingly said that the only thing I could make was khichadi. To my utter surprise, they welcomed the idea enthusiastically. Now I was caught.

That evening, I told Renu about what happened. She found this very amusing, but reassured me that it was a very simple process, and she would make me memorise the ingredients and the steps to make it. In fact, on the day of the recording, she accompanied me to the studio, going over the details till the last minute.

Despite this, and the encouraging words of the rather charming lady interviewing me, I knew that I was making a thorough mess of the whole process. A horrible mishmash was the outcome. The moment of truth was to be revealed when the anchor would take a spoonful to taste it. I was deeply worried, but should have known better. She put a spoonful in her mouth, and ecstatically exclaimed: “Pavan ji, this is so delicious! Wonderful! It takes me back to the days when my mother used to make khichdi which was my favourite.”

Undoubtedly, she was a superb actor, and fortunately, the audience could never know how far from the truth it was. I was told that the programme was quite a success, and greatly liked by viewers. But from then on, I decided that I would never do something I'm not good at, even if it is something that I would like to do. And this is my advice for my readers too.

Shovana Narayan and Herbert Traxl’s New Year lunch

Shovana is, as most people know, one of India’s leading Kathak dancers. She is married to Herbert Traxl, who was once Austria’s ambassador to India. He is now retired, and spends his time between Vienna and India. Both of them live on a beautiful farm in the suburbs of Delhi.

On the first day of the New Year — which was, fortunately, a wonderfully sunny day — they hosted a lunch where my wife and I had the opportunity to meet many a great artist and other common friends. Shovana and I go back a long way. She produced and choreographed a remarkable dance-drama on my long poem, Yudhistar and Draupadi, in collaboration with well-known theatre personality, Sunit Tandon. It has been staged all over India, as well as abroad.

Pavan K Varma is author, diplomat, and former Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha).

Just Like That is a weekly column where Varma shares nuggets from the world of history, culture, literature, and personal reminiscences with HT Premium readers

The views expressed are personal