Author Prajwal Parajuly finds Sri City fitness hacks: stairs, tofu and trash bag workouts

Like many bozos of my generation, I yo-yo between states of extreme healthy living and stuffing my face with every artery-clogging food known to humankind. When I am good, which I often am in Sri City, I stop short of counting my macros but become a hulk of protein. I eat a diet heavy on tofu, whey, paneer and eggs. Carbs have little space in my semi-functional kitchen, which has an induction stove, a cast-iron pan that’s useless on the induction and lacked, until recently, both a dish rack and kitchen trash can. There’s no coffee, which I don’t drink; no tea, which I only drink when no other liquid is available; and no milk because I can’t figure out how to source it on the outskirts of Sri City. There are ants, a wooden chopping board and an oven tray but no oven. There’s salt but no sugar. 

 Of course, where there’s deprivation, there’s bound to be imminent overcompensation. To make up for perpetually succumbing to joyous eating in Chennai and beyond, it only makes sense for me to be a health nut in Sri City. Unfortunately, it isn’t as easy getting in a workout here as it is eating healthfully. I am still uncomfortable using the Krea University gym. First, I am afraid I am encroaching on students’ space. But I am also embarrassed that someone will see how out of breath I become with half a push-up. The one other gym in Sri City, I have been told by two sources, is supremely territorial about its treadmill. There’s apparently a time limit of 20 minutes before you are evicted from the machine, which doesn’t justify the monthly fee of 2,000 rupees.

But not every workout needs to entail grunt-heavy exertion at the gym. I have learned to use penthouse living — my flat is on the top floor of a five-story building — to my advantage.

When Amazon mistakenly delivered a green bucket in lieu of a kitchen trash can to me exactly a year ago, I decided to become an … err …  plastic-lining kind of a person. What if, instead of a trash can, I used the hundreds of plastic bags that found their way home? That would force me to dispose of my garbage right away. I decided early on to employ stairs instead of the elevator to get to the ground floor, where the building’s trash accumulates.  

How I’d huff and puff my way up and down, a smug turd, just to throw away a fistful of eggs. The kitchen was devoid of trash, and I’d get a mini workout. If you were to see me cast precious glances at those waiting for the lift, you’d think I had just completed a triathlon. We all have different sources we derive our self-esteem boosts from. Self-righteous ascending and descending of stairs would never go out of style for me, I thought.

Until a friend staying in my apartment when I was away found living without a kitchen trash can unbearable. I have, therefore, joined the kitchen-trash can-possessing civilised masses who leave their trash rotting at home for a day or two. Getting rid of trash can trash just doesn’t have the same urgency — or hit the same note — as throwing away plastic-bag trash. I’d need to find another form of exercise to build into my life, especially because I had stopped jumping rope.

Right after I joined Krea, I’d wait until the adventure club at the university organised a hike. Always well executed, these hikes are the best thing I have done around Sri City. But they come infrequently. I have, therefore, taken matters in my own hands. Every so often, I walk part of the route from home to campus. I’d have completed the entire journey on foot, but half the path is a narrow, snake-filled lane with cars whizzing by in both directions when two-way traffic shouldn’t even be allowed. I cover this lane on the Krea shuttle and disembark about halfway through. Some days, you just want to use walking as transportation.

On a day of 36-degree weather, when it feels like 66 degrees, I strap on a backpack, throw in a bottle of water and walk and walk and walk on the Sri City highway. The trees are not sufficiently leafy to provide you with cover. There’s zero incline. Human walkers are few, but I have encountered a merry herd of goats crossing the street. Some years ago, when I did the Camino de Santiago—the 900-kilometre Catholic pilgrimage a version of which starts near Biarritz in France and ends in Finisterre near Portugal — a lot of the walking happened on ugly roads. If you can romanticise vehicles belching black smoke in your soul-cleansed face in Spain, you can definitely put up with a walk along the Sri City highway. 

Nothing gives me greater joy than pausing outside the gates of Krea, a puddle of sweat forming at my feet, as amused guards decide whether or not to let me in. It’s a good way to start the morning. Of course, I’ll go to Chennai the next day and shove down my throat two cloud puddings, three jigarthandas and four different varieties of cake. 

Prajwal Parajuly is the author of The Gurkha’s Daughter and Land Where I Flee. He loves idli, loathes naan, and is indifferent to coffee. He teaches Creative Writing at Krea University and oscillates between New York City and Sri City.