People in Bombay, the women I mean, are fat. Not so much on the trains though. Middle class ness keeps your weight under check. But any half-affluent area is flowing over with burgeoning hips and a Hey Thats My Issue, You Please Bugger Off type attitude. Which is great for my vanity, but I'm sure in that tendency to go the blimp way lies a drawback. I don't recall seeing this much over weightness even in tippity tappity high-heeled M block market in GK.
I'm going to buy a skipping rope and injure my knee, given the limited greenery and plenty of cement around. I need to be fit, father keeps reminding me about the importance of being exercised.
I eat out a fair bit, but I'm happy to announce that the fridge at what is now home stays rather well stocked. My flatmate and I ensure that. She has GLOWING skin! Not that I'd like her less if she had blemishes, but then one is known to have been fickle.
Besides the sea breeze in Bombay I love this Natural ice cream chain. Divine flavours. I just had anjeer ice cream. (Figs, you bloody firangs, figs). Sitaphal, and kaju-kishmish, it's all perfectly delightful. It's good to see chocolate taking such a backseat on the one palate minded populace.
I'm at a friend's place. Impromptu stay over. She's making me listen to the Eels and passing me a mug of hot milk, for I complain of feeling a little under the weather. The combiflam shall take affect soon, and I shall remove my lenses and put them in little katoris, as the usual white twin case lies safe in my cupboard at what is now home.