Nandhini says: Keep your jobs, don't quit school, stay healthy and grow older people!

Hello, hello.

I’ve not accustomed myself to running around for a long time now. And then, suddenly, my parents decide to go to India (again!) and take a dip in the dirtiest river in the world, the Ganges. Now, I’m racing around, back and forth work places and home - where the poor doggie awaits someone’s return with a philosophical determination that baffles me – and trying not to succumb to the threat of stuffing myself with chocolate to feel slightly better.

I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m close to collapsing whenever I get home. I have uneven work hours and days. I get my leave days not 2 days in a row like in other mentally sound professions, but separated by three days. Id est, I get a Monday and a Friday off. How rubbishy is that!?

Since I have three different locations to get to every other day, I think of myself as an ice floe, drifting about, disjointed from a desk I can call my own, a work station – is that too much to ask? I need a place to sit and do my work. I don’t want to bring back students’ scripts and mark them at home. I don’t need to. I didn’t sign up for a 24/7 job! But. There sits a stack of essays on my table at home. Something’s wrong.

And my shoulder has been at the receiving end of this arrangement. I think my shoulder blade is going to shatter or something from having to put up with my heavy bag. My wrist, too, hasn’t escaped from early signs of osteoarthritis. I have no computer to work with at any of the locations I go to so I have to lug around my siblings’ laptops to get on with my curriculum development duties. Talk about inconvenient.

I’m so over it. I’m quitting.

Oh, and happy Christmas and all that...

For quite some time now, I've been at home... I quit my job months ago and decided to take a well deserved break. I told Mother I needed a month to recuperate from the accumulated stress - from the 'daily grind' you know. It became two months, then three... Well, I'm still here, suddenly facing the end of another year. How did that happen?

So, yeah. Now I've got a lot of time on my hands. I've been doing quite a bit with it too - except updating the much neglected blog. That's why I'm going to regale you now with the story of my weight loss. -_-'

When I quit, I was 12 kilograms above my proper weight. Now, I'm only 2 kgs overweight. And I'm super hyped about it. I've never been one of those girls who are on perpetual diets of leaves and shoots and nothing else. I eat proper Indian food, home cooked meals and things like that. I love my food. Absolutely adore chocolate. I like to eat. But I've not had serious weight issues until I started the teaching thing 2 years ago. I guess the stress and the time that it took away from my personal life brought me crashing down. I couldn't be arsed about my weight and I didn't approach the bathroom scale.

And then, all of a sudden, I made a "shh shh" sound whenever I walked. My thighs were rubbing against each other in an irritatingly uncomfortable manner. You can imagine how embarrassing it got when I could hear the sound I made even above the loud music I listened to on my iPod. I started thinking about what others would be thinking about me as I walked past them - a big deal to me, cos normally, I don't get my feathers ruffled over what someone thinks of me. Another thing started bugging me. I had stretch marks on my clothes, especially at the back. I couldn't walk properly and my upper body weight gain also gave me weird feelings of tension when I reached out to take something or other - as if I would tear my shirt if I overreached (in the Faustian manner of course).

I began to exercise like a maniac. My clothes would be drenched in sweat and my hair would be damp with more sweat. Sweat. Ugh. I have to say I hate that word...

Anyway, after a few months of sweating like the fat pig I was and eating only 2 meals a day, I began recognising the difference. I couldn't remember when was the last time I had fallen ill. No longer did I have unsightly love handles. (Too much information? Hehe...) Consequently I didn't have to wince at any stretch marks on my clothes (huzzah!). By this time, I was practically grinning at my reflection on the mirror. It's the first time, you have to understand, that I've stuck to any exercise regimen and reaped the benefits.

So yeah. I've surprised myself with my determination to do something and actually getting it done. I still have to lose just that bit more and I know I'm gonna do it cos it's the easy bit after losing like 10 kgs already. Wish me luck :D

Zimtsternes are cinnamon cookies traditionally eaten during Christmas but I decided to make them one rainy Sunday afternoon last month. I thought, "Why not? I haven't baked anything in centuries. Must polish what meagre skills I possess..." So I set about with a premonition of delicious cookies decided in my head. The recipe I fished out from my book of recipes which I'd gathered over some years; the ingredients numbered 5. It should be easy - doesn't matter that I've never made Zimtsternes in my life.

The cookies ideally look like this. Mine were different since I don't have a star shaped cookie cutter.

But let me go back to the beginning. I mixed all the ingredients in about 2 minutes but started yelling for assistance in no time. The dough was too wet and sticky - how could I possibly roll it out?! Mother came to the rescue and demonstrated how much sense she has and how little I have. She simply offered me some plain flour. I made a protest inwardly as the recipe didn't call for flour at all but I knew I should listen to her. It worked. I managed to get a somewhat less sticky consistency so I followed Mother's next instruction as well. I put the dough into the freezer even though no mention of that was made in the instructions. In 20 minutes I had the dough rolled out and cut.

The first batch turned out fine even though some of the cookies proved to be a handful when I tried removing them from the tray. As a consequence, they had bits of parchment paper stuck to their backs.

Still, I was somewhat surprised that they were something of a success. Mother said she liked them. So did Sister.

Bursting with premature pride, I put the second batch into the oven and went about the business of clearing up instead of sitting in front of the oven and watching the cookies being baked. I think 15 minutes went by and, yes, I got carried away with the cleaning and washing up until Mother pointed out (from her bedroom) that she could smell something burning.

Moral: Never follow recipes blindly. And never do the washing and cleaning as if your life depended on it.

Switch off those lights. Vote Earth.