India stories: The Fitness Yogi

En route to Nepal a family visit to India was in order. Calcutta, or Kolkata as it’s called here, the erstwhile intellectual capital of India favored for its arts, literature, anti-Bollywood drab communistic history and the poverty and squalor targeted by Mother Theresa, this time around feels a bit more like home. While as mad and dirty as ever—though the air’s cleaned up quite a lot due to some stringer auto rules set forth by the new magistrate—I’ve had five years since last visit for it to sit in and, thus, we’ve rolled into things somewhat seamlessly.

Over the next month, especially during our time in Nepal; first trekking, followed by Yak Attack, I’ll often not be connected so I’ll be digging up some older stories on India, Nepal, and Beachbody from 5 years ago. Hopefully these will prove as entertaining to you as they do for me to read them again.

We’ll start with The Fitness Yogi. It’s a pretty fun look at life in Calcutta through the eyes of a western tourist. Click on the excerpt.

I get a lot of odd looks, waves, and occasional chides on my run. And, while most people look absolutely confused, the reactions are overwhelmingly positive. Because I’ve been running in an orange shirt, Brian has suspected that perhaps they see me as some type of fitness yogi. Orange, I’ve learned, is only worn by men who’ve become enlightened. This has added some fuel to the credence of Ashna’s idea that I would have an almost instantaneous cult following if I were to move here and champion exercise as a way to enlightenment.