Leaving this space unattended was not intentional. It just happened. Perhaps, Facebook is to blame as it devours a bulk of my time; especially, I find posting quick and short film reviews, without much editing or thought, easier and convenient. Here, I’d labor over grammar and vocabulary and definitely a deeper thought process would be involved. Plus, most friends are there who read it immediately and give a quick comment.
However, past week or so I realized the downside. Leaving home unattended meant cyber-tramps barged in. Spam comments has shot up to an unbelievably high levels; the menace has reached a stage where I have to put my foot down, so here I am updating the site and hoping this will curb their barrage. Of course, the spam comments ranged from the hilarious to the fescennine but still I’d do without them.
Life’s been mostly routine, normal and hardly post-worthy. Or, and most likey that’s the correct reason, my life-vision has dimmed to not view it from that angle any longer. Picking up the thread from my last post, I settled comfortably into my new house. Err, much too comfortably, as my friend pointed out. Though I’d somewhat disagree. I have gone and seen (and rejected) a few houses (for buying purpose) but yes admittedly the effort has carried the same amount of urgency as it did at the beginning of this year. Which reminds me, 2011 is almost over. Strange, how time flies.
After the disastrous attempt at losing weight the last time, I took matters in hand again. This time in a more structured way. I consulted a dietician. She took measurements, ran through some tests and probed my lifestyle. In the end, she sceptically took me on-board for a month’s trial. Living a bachelor’s life and eating out (most of it junk food – oh how I crave for Domino’s ‘cheese-burst’ pizza) were not really an ideal situation. Her first advice was to hire a cook, which I hesitantly agreed to because it meant setting up a full-fledged kitchen. Was I sure I could continue it? Heavens, no! Yet, armed with a list of ingredients which I would require (including various jars and bottles and storage boxes), I attacked Big Bazaar for three exhausting hours and returned home armed with seven bulging mammoth bags. As I sat amongst the strewn carry bags against a dying Sunday sun in my house’s eerie quietness, absolutely enervated and a dull pain traversing my limbs, the same old apprehensions crawled in – had I done the correct thing? It was May, and peak of summers and incredibly hot, and I felt sweat trickling down my spine. With blank eyes, I looked out of the window taking my gaze away from those criminal carry-bags, limply holding the ingredients list that my dietician had given, a fear gnawing incessantly into my heart. The night muffled the evening with its long dark shadows and a thick cushion of depressing humidity.
Hiring a cook was fraught with its own hiccups. The first one never came, the second one ran off within two days. Having cracked umpteen jokes at a friend’s expense with respect to her driver shenanginans, it was solid pay-back time. Mercifully, the third one stuck on (and is also currently employed). In between, I tried my hand at cooking. Like cycling I realized one doesn’t really forget how to cook. It was creative and satisfying. But the meal plans the dietician had suggested were elaborate and time-consuming; so that aborted any further attempt to do my own cooking; after all, creativity and time are not ideal bed-mates!
Troubles also take solace in multitudes : the second cook and my maid, who also happened to be brother and sister, decided to leave employment at the same time. While I managed to find a replacement for cooking, searching a new maid proved a little more difficult: they all usually come at a time when I have to leave for office. On a sick-leave, with a temperature running to dizzying levels and body ache that kneaded every pore, I sat alongside the security guard below my apartment and managed to hire one who was ready to come at the hour I needed (early morning; not that she has really ever come on time, but still she is a good one in her work). Whoever said that living alone is so much fun?!
The dietician also advised regular exercise, preferably 30-45 minutes of walking. Now that was a bit much, but having committed to the task in hand, I even managed to do that quite religiously, barring those few days when I got extremely late in office.
A month later when I stepped on the weighing scale, my heart leapt with joy as it showed a figure quite less than what it had displayed earlier! My dietician was pleased, and she on-boarded me for the full course. I had passed the trial, now I set forth to the final war against weight, which wasn’t easy but retrospectively I think it was fun. There were distractions (one foreign trip to an unlikely Kazhakstan, a few parties, one three-day training session in a five-star hotel and more), but I either steered away from them or passed through them unscathed.
And the entire credit goes to my dietician who did rigorous follow-ups, always kept a check, and obviously gave the correct meal plans. The end result? I have lost a whopping 18 kgs! A lot of gratitude to her!
(Today, I look back at that May evening and feel relieved that I had taken that plunge.)