– Suresh Subrahmanyan is a Bengaluru-based former advertising professional

I had no cause to worry about diabetes all these years. While I have indulged in the odd jalebi, sandesh, Mysore pak, kaju barfi and sugared doughnut, I have never hankered after sweets. Until that is, a friend casually asked me what my HbA1c reading was.

‘HbA1c?’ I queried.

My friend was taken aback. ‘What, you have never heard of HbA1c? Don’t you take an annual blood test? At the very least, you would have checked out your fasting and post-prandial sugar.

‘I have but I don’t know what HbA1c is. Pray tell.’

My dear friend turned out to be an expert on matters medical. ‘It gives you a three-month average assessment of your sugar reading. This is a far more accurate way of assessing whether your blood sugar levels are normal, pre-diabetic or full-blown diabetic.’

‘And a random fasting or post-prandial test is not accurate enough?’ I asked.

‘Not really, because people tend to keep away from sweets completely a couple of days before testing which will give a reassuring reading that all is well. That is why doctors insist on a three-month test.’The long and short of this conversation was that I was persuaded to take an HbA1c test and discuss the results with my GP. Armed with the report, I waited for the doctor to give me the bad news.

The doc read the blood report carefully, laid the sheet down on his table, and shook his head slowly and said, ‘Hmmm.’

‘Well, what is it Doc? You can tell me. I can take it.’

‘Your HbA1c reading is 5.9,’ he declared.

‘Is that bad?’

‘It’s not great but as Shakespeare said in a different context, “tis not as deep as a well nor as wide as a church door, but ‘tis enough, ‘twill serve.’” My well-read physician looked pleased with his summation.

I wasn’t. ‘Doc, if it’s all the same to you, can we shelve the Shakespeare lesson for some other time?  Tell me where I stand on the diabetes scale.’

‘You my friend, are kind of between and betwixt. You are not a confirmed diabetic but neither are you free of the scourge. It’s a sort of warning shot that you should take heed. Exercise is the order of the day, apart from regulating your diet. You are at the pre-diabetic stage and need to go easy on excessive starchy foods and opt for sugar-free substitutes. Incidentally, diabetic sweets are available these days.’

‘Diabetic sweets? I am told they taste like mud.’

‘But it’s good, healthy mud. Don’t mock things you know nothing about.’

‘But Doc, I am fairly conservative when it comes to my eating and drinking habits.”

‘Drinking habits? I hope you are imbibing just a peg or two. And rum is strictly no, no,” he continued.

‘Why do you jump to the conclusion that the word drink automatically suggests alcohol?. I was referring to juices, soft drinks and the like.’

‘Aerated?

‘You hardly expect me to get through a pizza without periodic gulps of Coke? It’s a junk foodie’s sine qua non.’

‘Well, its time you put a stop to pizzas, Cokes or any form of aerated drink. We need to bring your HbA1c down to 5.7 or under. Sine qua non, indeed!’

‘Ok, ok. After I hit the magic 5.7, Can I binge? You know that old Julie Andrews song? Just a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down.’

‘Good grief man, I don’t allow singing in my chambers. Read this list of do’s and don’ts carefully.’

I ran my eye down the printed sheet of paper. ‘Hullo, what’s this? No more idlis? Come on Doc, for patients in hospitals in south India idlis are a staple.’

 ‘Just go easy on the rice idlis. Rava, semolina idlis, upma are fine.’

‘But Sir, even Shashi Tharoor sings paeans of praise to the humble idli and he looks quite fit. The MP from Thiruvananthapuram, as is his wont recently said, “A truly great idli is a cloud, a whisper, a perfect dream of the predictability of human civilisation.”

My friendly medico exhibited commendable patience while I prattled on. ‘Perhaps you should consult Dr. Shashi Tharoor regarding your pre-diabetic issue. You are clearly wasting your time here.’

Sorry about that Doc. I was just trying to keep the conversation light-hearted. “Everything I like is illegal, immoral or fattening.” No, no, no to all of them. Perhaps I should dub you Dr. No.’

For the first time, the good doctor’s face was wreathed in a smile. ‘You haven’t forgotten your Ian Fleming, I see. In that case, you can have the odd drink, preferably a vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.’

I left his chamber in good spirits, thinking pleasant thoughts of the man they call Bond. James Bond.