Extra Kilos - Perpetual Melody

(Also on Sulekha)

“I love you”

“Oh gorgeous lady!”

I said that while blowing a flying kiss at the stunning woman staring at me through the mirror. Mirrors: things I’ve found most attractive ever since I could remember! Be it home, or the shopping mall, or the pocket mirror; the moment I spot it, I have to adore that somebody looking back at me through it. My romance with the mirror doesn’t stop there. Even my Kinetic’s mirror always reflects my image rather than giving me the hind-view information of vehicles passing by, putting into jeopardy everybody’s lives along with mine. To cut it short, I’m obsessed with those opaque things.

Something else I’m passionate about is sweets! Now that doesn’t imply I have a Bong connection. But I’m in love with all varieties and flavours that they come in. Right from tea (with extra spoons of sugar) to gulaab jamuns to rosogullas to barfis to rasmalais to cakes to pastries to ice creams to chocolates, I love them all! The list is endless. And since none of my uncles, aunties and grandparents is diabetic, I have attacked them greedily at every possible attempt without giving much thought to the health implications.

So far so good. Then one fine morning as I was waiting at the railway station to receive my husband, Akshay aka Akki, I happened to walk past a weighing machine. For lack of better things to do, I climbed onto it. And the very next moment it cringed, it cried, it shrieked! The pointer sped fast to show me a whopping 74 kg! I jumped down; and it oscillated vigorously as it screeched again.

“It can’t be true” I shouted.

“It can’t be true!” for someone who always thought of her body akin to that of Zeenat Aman and Aishwarya Rai, it came as a crude shock. I shrugged it off as I diverted my attention to the nearby rack of books and magazines. As I flipped through the pages of ‘Femina’, my heart sank deeper and deeper looking at the fragile exposed bodies, and the accompanying height/weight chart and an article on ‘10 ways to stay slim’. I resented. Now these skinny creatures are going to tell me how much I should weigh? Those touch-me-not types; you touch them and they would fall. I strongly doubt they wear those high platform heels so they don’t fly away when the wind blows hard. Am serious!

I flipped through the pages, but kept coming back to the ’10 ways to stay slim’. Slowly and steadily, the notion that I was probably overweight started percolating deeper and deeper in me. But I shrugged the thought off, explaining to myself that it probably was a gimmick to draw people to health saloons that charge exorbitant amounts, and thereby contribute to the growth of the health and beauty segment, not to mention fill up their own pockets too.

Since I still had some more time in hand, I went off to the refreshing room. Need I say that the first thing to catch my attention was the mirror? And to my dismay, instead of the pretty young woman who used to stare back at me, I now saw a bloated balloon!

“I am hallucinating, or am I? I’m sure it’s a nightmare. It can’t be true.”

Gosh! That very moment, I promised myself I would never read fashion magazines again! Their only USP is making the reader feel ugly by making useless comparisons with those skeletons. Not my cup of tea. They give me an inferiority complex and tamper with my self-confidence.

“But you are obese!” my reflection talked to me.

“No, I’m just a little above size 26!”

“A little?” now it was mocking.

I re-examined myself. I even used my pocket mirror to get a rear view. I didn’t even realize when and how over the years my waist grew exponentially from 26 to 36, after which I stopped wearing jeans. I blamed it on my age -don’t ask me what- and two pregnancies. Blame game is generally good for self-ego. You don’t have to justify to your own self. But the fully blown football staring back at me didn’t allow me to revel in that bliss anymore.

“You are short and fat, Twinkle, your sweet tooth has betrayed you,” I sobbed. Another blame game.

Reeling in that realization, and before I could come to terms with it, the announcement happened, “Mumbai-Pune express will be arriving at platform number 1 shortly”. I rushed to meet Akki. There I saw him after a long four days! Ok, we are married for the last 11 years, but we are still in love with each other. I was glad to see him, I assume so was he, but he was quick to spot the nervous energy in me, as the number 74 played havoc in my mind. He enquired, but I was too overwhelmed with self-pity and agitation to talk about it.

After the silent treatment that I gave him way back home I was feeling very guilty. And Akki didn’t have a clue as to why I was so scattered. The moment he dumped his luggage in the room, he said “I have got something for you. Now be a good wife and close your eyes while I unwrap it”. I obliged. I was pondering over what the gift could be as I heard the unfurling of a paper. Maybe a black sari? The magazine told me dark clothes make one appear thin.

When he finally asked me to open my eyes, I remained fixated looking at the huge packet of my favourite groundnut chikki in his hands. My frustration soared at rocket speed, and I yelled.

“I hate you!”

************************** Part II *************************

Akki stood there, dumbfounded; not knowing which of his actions had invited my hate. He kept the chikki box down and held me by my shoulders. “What’s the matter with you? What is it that’s bothering you?”

With a scarlet red face, I sat down on the couch. “When I was awaiting you at the station today, a sudden realization dawned upon me”, I said, meekly looking into his eyes.

“Realization? What kind of a realization?”, he sat beside me.

“That I am obese, fat, a bloated balloon!”, giving a misty-eyed shout.

Holding my hand he said, “Oh darling! Whoever said you are fat?!”

“Oh as if I don’t know! The mirror never lies!”. I was on the verge of crying. “I am a whopping 74 kg!”

“But as pretty as ever! Why trouble yourself for such a small thing! A little bit of exercise is just what you need to get back in shape.”

“So that means you agree that I am really not in shape?”, I pulled myself away from him.

“Of course you are! I mean… you are in shape… just a little chubby, that’s it! I like you just as you are. But if you think you need to reduce, then go for it!”

A smile flashed across my face. “Yeahh! That’s the first thing I’ll do tomorrow morning… Join a gym!“, I chuckled. He looked relieved too.

The very next day I visited WeightKamKar, signed up for a 3-month slimming program… ‘Tomorrow will be the first day of your life! You’ll never be the same again!’… ‘Glamour Plan’ as they told me! I was so enthusiastic I couldn’t wait to start.

The alarm blew off the next morning at 5.30am. I promptly woke up, got ready and stepped into the gym at 6am. The lady instructor, with an athletic built, took my measurements and chalked out a 7-day diet plan for me:

Substitute 3 heavy meals in the day with 4 light meals. Have lots of fluid food and coconut water. Various juices and fruits for breakfast, tuna, cottage cheese or eggs for lunch, and a vegetarian full dinner. The eatables mentioned in the plan didn’t appeal to my taste buds, but did I have an option?

For the first week I followed the regimen strictly! Lost half an inch, not boast-able, but very much a good start. Second week onwards my excitement started dwindling. MacDonald’s double cheeseburger called me, rum balls haunted me, and the thought of fried chicken steak made me go weak in my knees. How I longed for apple pies, cookies and biscuits. But all I could eat were carrots, cabbage, lettuce, cucumbers, watercress and celery stick. Sigh!

The other day Akki and me were talking about one Mrs. Zhuralmaare in our neighbourhood. Mrs. Zhuralmaare being fat, the couple looks like Laurel and Hardy together. Akki said, “You should see how funny they look on his Yamaha. Poor Mr.Zhuralmaare can barely sit! She’s so fat that if she steps out on the road wearing a yellow T-shirt, people will mistakenly take her for a taxi!”, and burst out laughing! Why do you do this Akki? Hit where it hurts? I took the joke too personally and stared at him. His laughter came to a gradual halt.

“Now this is some foot in the mouth act!”, he murmured to himself, but was audible to me.

Looking toward me, he apologetically said, “Sorry darling! That was for Mrs. Zhuralmaare!”

I kept quiet, and resolved to myself… Come what may; I’m going to continue the diet/exercise plan.

But there’s this funny thing about fat. The longer it resides in your body, the longer it takes to leave. Didn’t shed much fat in the subsequent week, but started losing patience. It became more and more difficult for me to staple my stomach. Pushing oneself out of the bed on cold rainy mornings is one helluva task. But the brighter side was that the treadmills, cycling, wall push-ups, leg/bench press gave good exercise and kept me fresh through the day. Although there wasn’t much reduction in my statistics, my energy levels soared and lousiness slowly began to disappear.

It wasn’t all that bad! The ordeal had started paying me off by taking away those extra ounces and imparting a healthy glow to my face. And what with Akki complimenting me on my reformed look! My joy knew no bounds. The old clothes in my closet had actually begun to fit me! As I started feeling better I also realized that I couldn’t possibly compete with the Aishwarya Rais and Zeenat Amans, but it didn’t matter as long as I felt good about myself. It’s all about aging gracefully. Just as being obese doesn’t always mean being unhealthy, a slender frame doesn’t necessarily symbolize good health. What you feel within shows without. And I felt as light as air and as fit as a fiddle.

The diet plan ended in 3 months, leaving behind a new me. Now I follow a healthy diet. Regularly go for morning jogs, and also practice yoga. Once in a while I also gorge on potato chips swaddled with cholesterol, ice creams, chocolates, fruit-cakes, and of course the chikki!! And by the way, I still weigh 70 kg and have never felt as beautiful!