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.
Going Home to India 