Fighting the Fat

I wasn’t a fat kid. Growing up, like most normal adolescents, I had my share of puppy fat, but that did its one year round and before I even noticed it, it dissolved and gave way to a slim body. I never had any reason to be slim--I never played a sport in my life and the gym was an alien concept. But slim I was, and boy, how I took it for granted.

I would eat whenever I wanted to and whatever I wanted to—as long as my budget-constrainted college-student wallet would allow it. I had many a boy’s eyes following me in my time and I would fit into any piece of clothing I liked. Even an XS sometimes.

And then I moved to the Biryani City. And the fat just crept up on me- I was totally unaware.

For the first few weeks, when I came back to visit my hometown, this is the first thing I’d hear from my friends and family: ‘Oh we’ve missed you.’

In the months that followed (and to date), the first thing that came out of their mouths was: ‘Oh My. What Happened To Youuuuuuu?’ As if I had met with a horrible accident and the skin on my face was half peeled off.  And they had the expression to match. Either that, or they’d just shake their head with pity and make cluck cluck sounds and tell me, ‘Oh, that’s just too bad.’ As if I had contracted a life threatening disease that had no cure.

And I’d wonder what was wrong with these people. Haven’t you heard of saying HELLO by way of a greeting?

You see, all of that first year, I truly did not see my gaining weight as significant. I didn’t think the weight itself was significant.

That was before my jeans started slipping down my fat indulged hips and before I made the kind acquaintance of the unkind weighing scale.

By this time my panicky mother wanted to send me to a physician to get my thyroid levels examined. I obliged. Only to be officially told by the doctor that my thyroid was perfectly fine. ‘You’re just obese,’ he said. Looking at my alarmed expression, he immediately tried to explain that he had said ‘obese’ as a medical term for anyone even slightly over the prescribed weight limit.

It didn’t matter, the damage was done. My heart sank through all that fat right into my stomach.

OBESE. Right. Since normal society hardly accepts ‘obese’ people, was there a Fatties Club I could join and eat myself to my death?

As life would have it, I did not give up. My roommate (she had a similar case of the ‘Fatsies’) and I decided to get on the Fight the Fat program.

We started with an aerobics class that came as a benefit for working for the company we were at. We got through the first day with much huffing and puffing, but the worst of it came 12 hours later. Our thighs, arms, tummy….everything HURT. We were in agonizing pain. That was the day we realized that not only were we fat, but we were also disgustingly unfit.

Again, I wondered how the hell this had happened. I was the girl that would go on a 20 km trek without skipping a heartbeat and now I couldn’t make it through a one hour aerobics class?

Anyway, this motivated us to keep going to the aerobics class and never miss a day. For allll of two weeks. Then, we got lazy.

‘These auto fellow just won’t go there’

‘It’s sooo exhausting to go after a whole day of work’

‘The class is too far.’

And so another few months went by before we had to buy a pair of bigger sized clothes. Fatter, but smarter now, we decided to seriously consider a kickboxing class. Excitedly, we paid an exorbitant fee for three months and went for less than one.

Then came the yoga class. That lasted an enthusiastic three weeks.

Then came the office gym. This poor one didn’t last even a fortnight.

Finally, we decided to go on this ‘fabbbbbulous diet’ that a friend had gone on and lost ‘5kgs in one week, can you imagine!’ Ooooo, nothing like a shortcut!

The great GM diet: 7 days long. 5kgs lighter.

Day one, two and three were STRICTLY veggies, fruits and clear soup. We promptly went to the market on the Sunday before the week of the diet and bought out the market. 2kgs of everything- beans, mushrooms, carrots…  what have you. We borrowed a hugggge vessel from a friend and spent an hour making the broth. And it was delicious.

For one day.

Day two, Tuesday, it tasted, um... not-so nice. Day three, Wednesday, we wanted to drown ourselves in the soup- it was disgusting.

Day Four was the worst though- No veggies, no fruits, no soup. ONLY bananas and MILK.

Would you believe we made it through that one? Kind of.

The truth is, to our credit, we made it through till 7pm. Then with a unanimous vote, we made a beeline to the nearest café and ate a big fat chocolate cake.

Just when we thought we had to give up on ever getting thin, we met this incredible lady who taught aerobics for some people at work. Our eyes sparkled and we instantly knew that she was The One. We made several pacts and kept at it. For FIVE whole months. A record was set.

And you wouldn’t believe it, but we started losing some. For the first time in years, people would look and say, ‘Hey, you’ve lost weight’.

Sadly, before any real, lasting progress was made, I had to move back to my hometown, where all efforts immediately ceased. My exercise buddy and I were separated, and with that my exercise, my motivation and me were separated.

We’re still individually at it today. Despite our crazy work schedules, we try. My now ex-roommate has joined another aerobics class (she had to move out of that city and start over too) and I have started a 3-5 km run in the mornings.

We’re not regular, and we sure as hell aren’t skinny. But one thing is clear, no matter what it takes, we aren’t going to give up Fighthing the Fat anytime soon.

Pack your bags and Move on- Part 2

[Part 1 is right below in case you want to read it in order]


I had to move into my house on a weekday in the evening [which was a right pain in the arse, what with my exhaustingly long work day], and also, I had to boil milk. Why? Because my mother said it was auspicious. “No, no Saturday is no good. It has got to be a Friday. And what do you mean you don’t have a gas cylinder? Get one. Or we’ll help you find one.” Said my mother, who surprised me by taking such an interest with this move-in although she seemed to be dead against it the last time I checked. When I mentioned this to her, she quite simply looked at me like I was slow and said, “If you’re doing this stupid thing, at least do it right.”

So I did. Late on Friday evening, I brought over a mattress, some pillows and a make-do stove, and LOL brought over a packet of mosquito coils and a bottle of wine. We had great plans of drinking into the wee hours of the morning talking about anything and everything, and generally celebrating the romantic moment of moving into our first home together.

Instead, the exhaustion of the eventful day lead us to promptly fall sleep in under an hour- wine bottle unopened, mosquito coil unlit.

We did manage to do get the milk boiled early next morning though.

***

LOL was constantly a bit worried about how a live-in relationship would work for me. This was my first and his second, although to be honest this was one step further than his last live-in, since his girlfriend and him, poor college students at the time, lived with as many as six other housemates.

Still, he was worried about my expectations. And he was kind of right to be- In a way; although it wasn’t for any of the reasons he had anticipated.

Because what actually happened was The Return of the MonsterME. Like I said, in my earlier post, I am the kind of madzer that proactively looks for change in my life every few months, but gets extremely frustrated with that very same change! It’s almost as if I’m offended by the change. How can that be though? Seeing as how I inflict it on myself most times?


This is what happened:

a.I was struggling with the move to this branch office of my company and the job role change (also self inflicted)

b.I was struggling with having so much sudden time with my family

c.I wasstruggling with not having my roommates to fall back on—we were best friends who lived and worked together and I was missing precious face time with my support system

d.And I HATED that LOL was never home- LOL was still doing a night shift at the time

Therefore a+b+c+d = MonsterME

I think I might have just missed the routine. Plus, being as I am, a social person, a talkative social person, I hated coming home to nobody, not seeing LOL all week or very late in the day (sometimes as late as 1am), I hated not having to talk to someone about my new job etc. In those early days, I thought of the TV as my best friend who entertained me and/or I entertained myself by attempting to talk to myself. Now, looking back, I think I even remember being the kind of person who hung on to LOL’s legs (metaphorically obviously) every chance I got to see him- like a kid who didn’t want daddy to go to office (although I can’t be sure since I’m hoping it’s a figment of my imagination). (Plus, I don’t like the idea of that having freaked him out). Anyway, like I said, madzer.

Gratefully, my best friend slash previously house-mate moved into town soon after and crashed at our place for the first month, until he found a place of his own. I think he might be the reason I remained sane, and LOL didn’t need to ship me off to a crazyhouse in exchange for a basket of fruits (imagine what I’d be like if I kept muttering to myself—and if I’d continue to unconsciously keep doing that in public. Oh, the shame.)

Don’t get me wrong though. Moving in with LOL has been the most beautiful and exciting experience I’ve ever had. In the first few months, during the weekends, and the few days he managed to get home early, we cooked together, bought beautiful things for the house together (thank God he’s a boy with good taste; they’re such a rare species), set up the house together etc.

We didn’t have any other teething problems; we were like a perfect fit, like a couple of people who were meant to live under the same roof. Gradually, I even started getting used to his erratic timings.

We settled into this perfect way of being around each other and spending time together, and also being around each other and doing our own thing. Like reading our own books in bed, him watching TV out in the hall and me writing inside, etc. 

The one thing I always knew I’d enjoy about living together was the Small Things. Buying little artifacts for the house, drinking green tea and watching crap on TV, lying awake late into the night talking about our day (we call it TalkTime), grocery shopping, reading together (and reading little excerpts of what we like to each other), taking care of each other when we were sick, choosing which toothpaste to use, waking up next to each other-- smiling that this is the first thing we open our eyes to, and a million other dazzling, little things.

I don’t know if the Boiling the Milk and the Moving in on a ‘lucky’ Day helped, but if it did, whoever or whatever you are that made this happen (apart from my mum), thank you-- because I’m having the time of my life.

Pack your bags and Move On- Part 1.

A year and half ago, I found myself in a peculiar situation. I was moving back to the town I was from (having lived in another for work for a couple of years) and I had to move back in with my parents. The thought both excited and terrified me. I was happy because I didn’t need to worry about what I’d have to cook for dinner or about the laundry not being done. Scared because I had gotten used to living life on my own terms, aka living unhealthy and whimsically and now I’d have to someone to answer to.

Oh, and the main reason? I was mostly terrified because I had to move in to their house and then move OUT very shortly. To move IN with my boyfriend. So I had to spend most of this stop- gap move -in with them trying to convince them about why I wanted to move OUT. (Yeah, you can imagine, a South Indian girl from a 'good family', not only wanted to rent a house and live separately in the same city as her parents, but she ALSO wanted to move IN with her boyfriend. Shaantam Paapam.)

In those months, the conversations with my parents mostly revolved around topics like these: a) Pickle: explaining to them that I find that pickle is an essential part of my meal and that’s why I eat so much of it, and no, I don’t think I’ll stop b) Living in Sin: trying to explain to them why live-in relationships were not SIN and why I wanted to move in with the Love Of my Life (Lets call him LOL for convenience).

These months were spent eating nice homely food,having super fun pyjama parties and bonding with my baby sister, talking to LOL and being excited about looking for a house and setting up a home, fighting with my parents about well, almost everything, missing the life I’d left behind- my roommates, my penthouse-, getting used to the very, very new job role and job environment. And mostly freaking out about everything.

You see, ‘change’ and I have a very love-hate relationship.

I go looking for ‘change’ every few months- I’m a person who gets fed up of life the way it is and wants it to be ‘different’ and ‘dynamic’, but when it actually happens- oh my, I have a near nervous breakdown. ‘Trying to cope’ I tell myself and all my poor friends who are always trying their damned best to be supportive to a mad girl who will at one heartbeat be crying and pleading for change and in the next crying ABOUT that very change! (I love you guys- you know who you are!).

Anyway, while I was still fighting for this live-in relationship at home, I was almost also regretting making the decision- It was turning out to be way harder than I thought to find a decent home to live in. After all of three rounds of looking for houses, LOL declared that he’s done.

So there I was: All alone, making spreadsheets with To-Do lists, calling brokers and trying to make them understand that a hole, the size of a letterbox, cannot be a home. My patience was running out, the insanity was setting in.

And there LOL was: Sending me little joyful texts that said, ‘hey babe, what about a bathtub? Or maybe a big balcony with a grill for BBQ parties?’ And although all I wanted to do was poison his green tea, I’d text back and say, ‘Hey babe. What about the budget? Did a rich, 100 year old grand-aunt die and leave you money recently?’

After many useless brokers, useless real estate online and offline portals I decided to go on ‘walks’. FINALLY, thanks to many ‘Walks’ around the area we wanted to live in, talking to every gurkha and watchman and thanks to my best friend RO’s patience and generosity, one rainy night, I found the house LOL and I moved into.

WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?

I was told by someone

Five times younger

But five times wiser

That the whole world was attached.

Country to country,

City to city,

My house to yours

And you to me.

Then what are we fighting for?

If, by default it is

Ours?

Is the creator the problem then?

Or is it the Creator's creation?

I MISS YOU

So much to say.

So much to tell her

But she is not here.

She has been swept away.

Like a strong, but short wind

Passing by,

Not stopping to stay a while,

Even if I needed more breeze.

It's hot

And suffocating sometimes.

But I wait.

For the sound of wind

Rustling the leaves on the trees.

For the sight of

Clouds meeting up.

For the smell of the drizzle

Wetting the mud.

Because I know

She speaks to me a million times

In the million droplets of rain.

NO, IT'S NOT ABOUT THE JOURNEY, IT'S ABOUT THE DESTINATION.

I recently flew to Bombay for a conference. I love these work related trips. I’ve done quite a few of them over the last few years. It lets you travel. It takes you out of your usual work environment, into a newer more refreshing one. New ideas, people, offices etc.

But the most amazing bit? You get to holiday for FREE! Well, not for free exactly but for a few hours here and there spent on doing ‘actual work’, but that’s a smart and fair trade-off I’d say!

Before I say more, I need to be clear about one thing though. I HATE the travel bit. I love getting there and being there. But being on a bus, a plane, a train, a car, a boat… oh my! So very taxing.

Let’s take the ‘easiest’/ quickest way to commute known to man at present. The Aeroplane. This is what a typical airplane journey consists of:
a. You’re never packed on time. If you’re like me, you almost always pack two hours before your airplane departs.

b. The one time you are packed on time, your taxi is ridiculously late.

c. If, like me, you live in a big city, your travel time to the airport is 60 minutes+. At the very least. So you’re best choice is to take an early morning flight, say 8am, to beat the peak hour traffic on the road.

d. So if you did chose this flight, you get there in say 45 mins, but what did you have to sacrifice? Sleep! Ah ha! It means you woke up at 5.30am (even the sun is barely up at that hour!), got ready and left home by 6.15, reached the airport by 7, took an 8am flight and landed at around 10.30am. Sometimes you’re barely even alive by the time you’ve landed.

e. Ok, let’s talk in between. So you got to the airport, waited in that long check in line. Why do I have to check in if I have only one bag? Because you see, I brought shampoo and they’re afraid it could be something chemical that I might use to blow up the flight.

f. And of course not, I may not have the window seat. ‘I’m sorry. Everything is already booked madam.’ Why? By whom?? I got here early didn’t I? And puh-lease, you’re not sorry. I’m pretty sure you hate your job! You’re all dressed and made up at 7am for God’s sake.

g. Fine, so no window. As luck would have it, no aisle either. So you’re stuck in the middle. Great. But what’s next? Security bloody check!

h. This is the part where they frisk you, after you have taken off your watch, jacket, cell phone and even you bloody hair pins! Also, I’m almost always paranoid about my things. The bag goes in and comes out, but your own check takes longer (don’t even get me started on the icky-ness of the frisking). By the time I’m out, my bag has been waiting there for a good five minutes or so. So who is to say that it’s not been whisked off by some klepto?

i. And my God, have you ever had those times when your bag has something you didn’t know it had? Like a lighter that has no gas and doesn’t even belong to you, but was put in with your stuff when you were out drinking with some friends last night? Oh they scare you silly. They keep saying, there definitely is something there, what is it? And for the life of you, you can’t remember! How can you be expected to think so hard at an hour when you’re normally in deep slumber dreaming your last dream?

j. Then there’s the waiting. One hour of waiting for the flight to board you. First, you’re too sleepy to read a book. Second, the seats are too damn uncomfortable, to sleep or to read a book! Third, and definitely the worst, you’re flight is almost always DELAYED. Oh, that dreaded word.

k. So then you board, and behold! You are sitting next to the fattest, smelliest man that burps like clockwork. How are you to survive a trip like this? 2.5 hours of this? No sir!

l. Say you did survive. And the plane ride is almost over. You land. In one piece, thank you. Barely. Then the lines begin. The bee line to get out. Especially with Indians, who have no idea what the word queue means. There is shoving and pushing and unloading bags and holding up everyone behind you. Relax! How does it matter? We’re all getting on the same bus from the plane to the airport!

m. And besides, why rush when all you’re rushing for is the luggage, that simply does not arrive before you do. As a rule. You wait at the carousel, hoping that it comes soon. You wait another ten minutes, with people pushing and shoving to look if their bag has come. I wonder if they’re scared someone might nick their bag too!

But you see, all this is definitely worth it, when you finally get out of the airport, into a taxi and check in to your hotel. The uber comfortable bed and pillow, the snug fit under the comforter, the AC that’s set at just the right temperature, the beautiful room and the pristinely clean bathroom and most of all, the knowledge that you are in a city that is not yours; new things to see, new people to meet, new beers to drink. Just the new air of the new place is all very worth it.

That said, let me just say, I’m still hoping someone will discover teleportation soon.

ME, MYSELF AND EVERYONE ELSE.

-->

I’ve talked about relationships earlier here and I’m still thinking about them, so you’ll want to skip this one, if you didn’t like the first rant.

Let’s begin by talking about the first of the relationships we make, the first bracket:

[the parents]

These are normally one of the first few people you lay eyes on. They teach you everything you ought to know to get by—how to walk, how to talk, how to eat, how to excrete hygienically (!)... They also teach you a set of secondary things— the things that essentially mould you into the person who you are to become…

No wonder people freak out when they find that some little person is going to call them Mom or Dad.

Increasingly often I hear people around me talking about how their parents screwed them up—their mothers' obsessive-compulsive behavior made them a neat freak and their fathers had a drinking problem and now they fear they might be heading towards the same place… their mothers’ worrying has made them a nervous wreck, their fathers’ anger issues have made them a resentful person…

Then there’s the genes—can’t really blame your parents for it—they didn’t really ask for the diabetes or the borderline personality disorder… but there you are, stuck with not one but both of their genetic ailments.

Whatever the complaint is, the one thing you hear most of us saying is—'I don’t ever want to turn into my father or my mother!' And one day you stare at yourself in the mirror for just a few seconds longer than you should have, and you see that terrifying image of one of your parents.

Almost every parent knows how important the first few years in a human being’s development are… and still, if you really look back, you will find at least ten things your parents did absolutely wrong. They fought in front of you too often, treated the help with no respect, were never on time, didn’t give you enough attention… These are the people who are supposed be your largest window into what the world looks like and how life is meant to be lived; and when they screw up, you’re screwed up.

Sure, you grow up and you have altered opinions and have moved into a groove of your own-- become your very own person. But there are still those wounds from your childhood that probably stopped hurting ages ago and are now a dull background ache, and the the sad thing is that there will always be a scar.

All that said, there are two things we have to remember..

1. Besides being parents, they’re people too… they have their own personal demons to deal with-- some passed over from their own folks, some of their own making.
2. More importantly, they’re also learning how to be parents. After all, they’ve been parents for exactly the same amount of time that you’ve been their child… how could they have known better?

_______________

[the sibling]

It is my personal opinion that siblings are really the only people who will be able to connect to everything you are—when you’re 8 or when you’re 80. They were with you when you learned the things you learnt and they grew up into almost the same person you have become. They remember all the happy moments… the ice creams in the summer holidays or the new toys you both played with… They also remember the bad stuff. The stuff that made you both weaker and stronger. The stuff that makes you both shudder when you think about it.

I think siblings have a great potential to be your soul mate—the other side of the same coin. They will always love you… they have to. You might fight over small things, both when you are 5 and 50, you might not spend time as often when you’re both older and have separate kids and families… but they will always know who you are at your very core. They might be obliged to love you because you are related by blood, but the bond also got sealed when you spent those 18+ years under the same roof, being each others only saviour.

You were never given the choice of having this sibling in your life, you just got picked for that person. The person who will understand where you come from, no matter where you went. Your soulmate.

_____________

[the best friend]

I wonder if we make friends to take our minds off our family! I wonder if they fill the gaps and voids in our lives.

When you’re growing up, your friends, your social window, are the ones who give you a break from the sometimes claustrophobic four walls of your home. They’re that much needed breath of fresh air.

When you finally do ‘grow up’, you find that the best of your friends are the people who keep you real. They become the voices that you try very hard to find in yourself and fail. They’re your anchor when you think you’re sinking—they remind you that there is much to live for… that there will be many sunny rays if you just hang in there… when you achieve something of much importance to yourself, they will remind you to be happy and celebrate it with you…

These bonds that you have made with these supposed ‘strangers’, with their different backgrounds and the different blood, are the bonds that keep you from tipping over. Ironic as it may be, these made-up, hand-picked bonds are intuitive- Your best friends are sensitive when you need it, and they dish it out to you when you don't have the balls to do it to yourself. How this just comes to them, I don’t know. I am some one’s best friend too, but the only way I can describe my reaction to them is intuitiveness.

____________

[the better half]

The ‘better half’ is the person that you’ve dreamt of finding all your life. This person who will make you whole, make you see the new picture, bring you hope for a new and shiny life you are yet to build. Your re-birth of sorts.

This companionship is supposed to be the most beautiful of all. This is the companionship that demands for the benefits of both [the family] and [the best friend]. It is that union that is best suited for the life you’re meant to lead.

Maybe that’s why it does not work out for most people! This notion of the ‘perfect relationship’. The pressure to have this un-ending, unconditional love for someone and to be loved back in the same way, all.the.time, for all.of.life seems like a bit much, doesn’t it?

Not to say that it does not happen. In my lifetime, I have seen some couples like that… so in Love… so in Happy! I think the reason why people call it the ‘magical’ connection is because of how incredibly rare it really is! Imagine the odds of meeting that one person who is compatible for you in every way possible… there are approximately 3 billion people out there that you can choose from and you get to pick only one, and ideally you should get it right the first time you commit! Phew!