Feeling Weak

By weak, I mean physically weak. Today was my second day at the gym, and I am realising how weak I am and what a long way I have ahead of me. I knew I was weak before I joined the gym, but being around beefed up people is bringing it into sharper relief. Not just beefed up men, but also toned women who can lift twice or thrice as much weight as me. A gym is the furthest thing from a natural habitat for me. Low lights, booming music, lot of testosterone. But, I am here for a reason. Yoga, bodyweight exercises and physio exercises have not worked, so its time to change things up. 

First Day At Gym

Technically, it was my first day at the gym, but I didn't do anything apart from take a photo of the broad which advertised personal trainers. I really don't like gyms, and for a long time I thought it was because I was a loner, and preferred working out by myself. But the true reasons are a mix of snobbery and envy. Snobbery because I have this idea of gym rats as being bone-headed, narcists with over-developed pecs.  For years, I swore by bodyweight exercises because it made me feel special and different from the crowd. Envy because I haven't looked or felt strong in a long time. The loner bit doesn't hold water. Gym is not a group activity and its perfectly possible to enter and leave a gym without speaking to anyone. A gym is simply a place where people share equipment which they wouldn't be able to afford or house on their own. It might take time for me to find the right gym and the right trainer, and I will keep having to remind myself of this fact. But, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. 

Nice Meet-Up Walk

Just like last time, I was in two minds whether to go to today's meet-up walk. All of yesterday, I had a mild headache, which felt like a sinus infection, and I am planning to start going to the gym from tomorrow. I thought maybe I should rest up before the big day? Especially, since I am nervous about going to the gym  for the first time in more than 16 years. But, I went because I didn't want to spend the whole day alone in my house. Maybe, one day I will get used to living on my own, and will become a full-blown recluse. But, I am not there yet. 

I am glad I went. I am finally starting to build a rapport with some of the regulars. Building a rapport requires familiarity, and familiarity requires time investment, for lack of a better word. At least, it does for me. Maybe these are not people I can hold lengthy academic discussions with, at the risk of sounding like the intellectual snob that I am. But, they are a very nice bunch and the meet-ups are suffused with positive vibes. I am aware that today's good weather also played a part. But, so what?

First Day at 78, Selbrooke Crescent

After arriving at my new house, my new landlord got busy with preparing for his upcoming trip to Romania. Having nothing else to do, I immediately started unpacking. By lunch time, I was done with most of it, and I began to wonder how I would fill up the rest of the day. Time hanging heavy, which is a more glamorous expression for boredom, has been a big theme for me in recent years. But, instead of moping or doomscrolling, I decided to pick up my bike from UWE. And, the the day got better. After a hot shower, I sat sipping tea in a well-stuffed armchair in the sitting room. I must have sat there for half an hour listening to the silence. My new house is very well-appointed, which is a big change from my previous house, which was built according to the cold calculus of a HMO (household of multiple occupancy). My landlord is kind and considerate, and more importantly will mostly be absent. So, all in all, I realise its early days, but a promising start. 

Last Few Mins in 46, Romney Avenue

I am sitting in my empty bedroom, waiting for my new landlord to pick me up. The room seems enormous, especially bereft of my furniture. And, again, I am reminded of why I stayed here as long as I did. It is a very pleasant and airy room. One window looks out on the back garden and the meadow beyond and the other provides more light. It is definitely much more pleasant than the Airbnb, and bigger than the one I am moving to. But, this room was my world when I was in this house. I would cook and eat in the kitchen but apart from that I was always in my bedroom because there were no other common spaces, except for a tiny sitting room. I would have preferred to move into a similarly size bedroom and into a house closer to the centre, but you can't have everything. Anyway, over and out from 46, Romney Avenue.

Last Night in 46, Romney Avenue

 I went back the post I had written on my last night in 61, Freemantle Road. This house was supposed to be a temporary abode, purposefully chosen because I wanted to be close to UWE in the final year of my PhD. In the post, I had written that I would look for some place more homely after I had finished my PhD. I finished my PhD last month, so I have been true to my word. But, at that point, I would never have imagined that it would take me 3 years and 3 months, and 13 housemates, to reach here. Yes, 13 housemates. I ran a search on my blog with the term 'housemate' and was presented with more than two dozen posts. My housemates have been causing me grief for a long long time, and maybe I should have moved out ages ago. I feel I have been quite unlucky with housemates. The two worst housemates were here the longest. Betty was a housemate for nearly three years and Shane for nearly two. But, as a close and very wise friend, "all in good time". I should not diss this place too much. Its quite a pleasant house, especially for the price, and I was much more comfortable here than I was in the Airbnb, despite fruity housemates. The house abuts a meadow and I have a nice view from my window. Purdown was a godsend during lockdown. I remember I would go for evening walks to clear my head after being cooped up at home all day. My room here is also quite roomy, which allowed me to deepen my yoga practice. And, my landlady is an angel. Now, its time to move on. 

The walls are already starting to look bare, after I took down the appeal to get laid that Nivi had given me before I returned to Bristol. Its funny, because I can't remember the last time I looked at it. I will soon take dowj the post-it notes above my desk, which I also haven't looked at in ages. "But, I'm here.". "I enjoy". "Let it Be". "Trust, accept! Be Open! I've Got This" and "What is, Is, What Will be be, Will be".(In Hindi). A new chapter begins tomorrow. 

Modi and Baba

This morning, I watched clips from the BBC documentary on Modi that promoted a raid on their office in Delhi and Mumbai today. The clip that stayed with me was his interview with the BBC journalist. I have to admit that his rude and menacing manner sent a chill up my spine, so I can only imagine what it must have been like for the journalist. No words can do justice to his loathsomeness, and this blog is not about him. As I was thinking about the interview in the evening, I suddenly thought of my Dad, who couldn't be more unlike Modi in his personality. Soft-spoken, mild-mannered, exuding warmth and empathy, but nobody's fool. The angel and the ghoul. If there are people like Modi in this world, there are also people like Baba. And, that is heartening to know.