As a kid, I was fairly confident that I would someday solve the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle.

There was no research behind this confidence. I had no training in navigation, no understanding of ocean currents, and no independent source of income. But these seemed like minor administrative issues.

The plan was simple: gather my friends, cousins, brother and sister, travel to Bermuda, and do what generations of scientists had apparently failed to do.

Nobody would be left behind. This was a family expedition. Whatever was swallowing ships would have to deal with all of us.

I don’t remember worrying about whether everyone could get leave on the same dates.

Yesterday, my wife and I took Ruru to a movie in which Nobita gets to have the sort of adventure I once considered my destiny.

I am low-key jealous of Nobita. There. I’ve said it.

The boy has access to extraordinary technology, loyal friends, and regular opportunities to investigate the unknown. I have low energy, a beer belly, and a car making a sound I am trying not to hear too carefully.

Nobita encounters a mysterious noise and follows it into an adventure. I turn down the music and calculate.

To be fair, I did not enter the cinema expecting an emotional reunion with my younger self. My original plan was to accompany my family, fulfil my responsibilities as a father, and fall asleep.

It had been a rough day. The particularly irritating kind where something was finally going your way, and then you had to leave because of issues.

“Issues” is a useful adult word. It allows you to summarise an entire emotional landslide without identifying everyone buried underneath.

So I settled into my seat, ready to become unconscious in a socially acceptable setting.

Then, somewhere along the way, I started enjoying the movie. This was inconvenient. I had scheduled exhaustion.

For a little while, I remembered what it felt like to believe the world contained things I might personally discover.

As a child, I never thought, “How wonderful that explorers get to do this.”

I thought, “I’ll go.”

Distance was manageable. Danger was interesting. Funding would presumably emerge once the adults understood the importance of the mission.

And of course everyone I loved would come along. What was the point of solving an international mystery if your cousins weren’t there to witness your contribution?

Watching Nobita, I felt some of that old excitement return. I relaxed. I became invested. The man who had entered the theatre looking for a nap was now emotionally available for an expedition.

Then, at some point, I described myself as a global citizen.

I was informed that I was, at best, a citizen of Uttar Pradesh. Apparently, Indian citizenship itself required a stronger travel portfolio or at least affirmation by election commission or adjudication by Honourable Supreme Court.

It was a devastating review of my international credentials.

In my defence, “global citizen” was intended as a statement of outlook. It was not a claim for reimbursement. I had not anticipated being asked to produce boarding passes.

Still, there I was: mentally prepared to explore the Bermuda Triangle, geographically audited back to Uttar Pradesh.

Later that night, I paid my credit card bills.

It is difficult to maintain an adventurous spirit while an app congratulates you for successfully paying for things you have already consumed.

There should be a more appropriate message.

“We understand this was not what you imagined at twelve.”

Or simply:

“Courage.”

I then drank a litre of pineapple juice and wondered whether I could reverse my type 2 diabetes.

These were consecutive events. I recognise that the evening lacked strategic coherence.

I offer no defence beyond the fact that I was tired, the juice was available, and apparently my internal departments no longer communicate.

Before sleeping, I also thought about the sound coming from the back of the car.

Could it be something small? Something loose? Something that would cost very little and restore my faith in the basic kindness of the universe?

Or was a mechanic about to look at me with the expression doctors use before asking a relative to sit down?

As a child, I wondered what happened to things that disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle. Now I have similar questions about my salary.

What bothers me, I think, is how quietly the expectations changed.

There was no meeting where I agreed to give up the expedition. Nobody placed a document before me saying:

You will retain an interest in world mysteries, but most of your investigative work will concern bills, symptoms, and vehicle noises. I would have at least requested amendments.

Instead, things accumulated. Work. Responsibilities. Fatigue. People who needed something. Problems that could not wait. Each one reasonable enough on its own.

And somewhere in the middle of attending to all of it, I stopped assuming I would go.

That is the part Nobita caught me off guard with.

For an hour or two, the old plan didn’t seem embarrassing. I could remember the confidence with which I had made it.

I would like to discuss this with someone old and wise.

Someone who has paid enough bills to speak with authority, but has somehow remained pleasant. Someone who can explain how to carry responsibility without allowing it to occupy every available room in your head. Ideally, someone nonchalant about the Bermuda Triangle.

“Oh, Bermuda,” he might say, stirring his tea. “You still have time.” I would like him to say that without immediately recommending a mutual fund.

Until I find this person, I suppose I have the evening at the cinema. I haven’t solved the Bermuda Triangle. I haven’t even identified the sound in the car. But I enjoyed the movie.

For now, that feels like something worth following up on.

Later.

Jd