walking off the chapatis

 Any conception of good diet is impossible to follow when faced with a five star buffet, twice a day, six days a week. I am eternally grateful for all the free food, but Taj really should issue health warnings to their interns. The long and short of it is that the weighing scales were mean today, and I am taking action.

 Central Chennai is not the most enticing place to run about in jogging gear. Walking along the roads is almost a near-death experience; the sweet twitter of birds is smothered with the blare of beep, beeeeep, BEEP; and the heat will kill you long before a motorbike takes the liberty.

 On account of all this, I joined a gym when I arrived in the city. That didn’t work either; I spent an inordinate amount on membership and then went only four times. But, I realised, it was more life-supporting than the many different ways I could die running along Chennai’s streets. I swallowed my pride and returned.

 I decided to take an energetic (treadmill) stroll. I am no fan of indoor exercise, so I made use of my imagination. I was in New York, early morning, with skyscrapers towering above me. Then Colombia, wandering the ups and downs of the Andes. Then … uh, I almost fell off. (Better to keep my eyes open.)

 This is the new plan.

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diwali boom booms

 Last Thursday and Friday, India found herself celebrating Diwali.

 Diwali is the Hindu “Festival of Lights”. Candles and lamps are lit the world over to celebrate the victory of brightness over darkness within ourselves. It is a time for new beginnings, a time to ward out internal evils and find instead an inner, peaceful good.

 It is also a time, it seems, to scare the bejibbers out of expats.

 I was awoken on Thursday morning at 6:00am. Boom, boom, BOOM! I jumped. There’s a bomb attack! … I still haven’t registered with the British Consulate … Chennai is under siege … I’ll never be found … b*gger, b*gger, b*gger …

 I looked outside. I couldn’t see anything, but I could still hear explosions. Sweet Olga was sleeping peacefully. I ran to Berat and Pasha’s room – Pasha was not there, Berat, too, was away with the fairies. BOOM! Another one. Neither of them stirred.

 Was I going crazy? How could they not hear? Should I stay inside: but I have to go to work, I am the only one on my shift! Oh: I will call them. But no, my phone was stolen, I don’t have a new sim card yet … b*gger, b*gger, b*gger …

 Olga awoke.

 Me: “Olga! What is the noise, what’s going on!” 
 Olga: “Uh … it’s the crackers … the fire crackers … Diwali …”

 Crackers. No, they cannot be crackers. Crackers make a gentle tinker-boom and release pretty lights into the sky. Olga assured me that I was not going to die, and that I should just walk to work. In the end I did, and was assured, by evil, laughing colleagues, that they were indeed just crackers.

 It seems that this is how Diwali is celebrated in India. Home made explosives, set off not by big men with big gloves behind big fences, but by teenagers in the street. I praise the Lord that I escaped the festival unscathed. (Burns admitted to hospital triple in India during Diwali!)

 Relief only came on my weekend flight to Hyderabad. We took off in darkness, and a silence descended over the aircraft. It was black outside, and I finally saw the pretty lights, as real fireworks illuminated Chennai’s (smoggy) dusk.

 I had found my inner peace.

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