Running Fool

In an act that certainly felt more normal than it would have four weeks ago, I went for my first run in Chennai today. I initially woke up to my 6am alarm with the intent to attend a 6:30am martial arts class. But five minutes into my bike ride towards the beach, I realized that it was actually “cool” enough outside to go for a run. *Note to reader: Up until this morning, I have been unable to drag my sorry ass out of bed before 8:30am. Neither construction workers nor honking traffic nor humid, stale air could force me from my cot until the last possible minute. So today’s exception was quite notable!

Besant Nagar (our neighborhood) is an entirely different universe before 7am. My only fellow exercisers were all over 40 years of age: power-walking brahman men with bright white tennis shoes who swarmed about the seaside boardwalk. Cardiac health is practically a new fad here in South India, and one only adopted by retirees and those with enough money to live a healthy lifestyle. Billboards advertise life-after-heart-surgery, cereals and aryuvedic products claim to ensure a healthy heart, and obesity is an oft-discussed disease. (I actually learned a crazy statistic the other day: one in four diabetics on the planet is an Indian.) Here, wealth often manifests itself as obesity – if one has money, one can afford to eat often and much. Also, I’ve never passed a sweet shop that wasn’t swarming with customers. It is both curious and disturbing to watch elements of Indian culture interpret North American and European obesity as a mark of prosperity. There are, of course, many Indians who react against such an interpretation (the power-walkers, the yoga and martial arts practitioners), and like I said, health-consciousness has arrived on the scene in a craze quite like bellbottom jeans or American (Indian) Idol.

Back to my run: I took about forty-five minutes to run to the beach and back. I passed a temple clanging its bells and applying tikka paste to the horns and foreheads of some local cows. I breathed in air pungent with fresh fish, dog feces, cow feces, human feces, and mystery feces. Dressed in sneakers and work-out clothes, the auto rickshaw drivers knew to leave me be. An elderly foreign man who was walking in the opposite direction gave me a stern glare, as if he had hoped to be the only pale-faced outsider that morning. I saw a motorcycle carrying three men and their tennis rackets, dogs sleeping in piles on the beach, and games of frisbee, volley ball, and soccer along the Bay of Bengal. It was so quiet, relatively cool, and I felt as if I was seeing my neighbourhood for the first time…again. I’m so glad to have the chance to renew my love and appreciation for the area, as this week I had begun to feel a bit stuck (I blame the rain on Thursday).

Today we’re working a half-day at Tara (in preparation for our bosses’ departure for the Frankfurt Book Fair next week, and because of the state-wide strike on Monday). Then I’m off to the tailor, the post office, and the grocery store. We’re having a few new friends over for dinner tonight, and I’m finally exposing to the world my newfound love of South Indian cooking. I’ll be sure to post my favourite recipes here soon.

Happy Early Birthday, Gandhi-Ji!