Been meaning to write for quite some time now, but between sleeping and some more sleeping, how on earth do I find time enough to scratch my gray cells and come up with words that put together actually make some sense? But while I was busy doing nothing at all, my mind was churning out so many thoughts that at some point of time it was like a thousand different persons screaming inside my head. Well, correction….maybe it was not so many thoughts after all. Maybe it was just thousand persons screaming out one single thing.
I’m growing fat.
Anyone who’s read Bridget Jones’ Diary would quite sympathize with how that one thought can totally take up your existence. You see I was born with big bones…and like my sister would still lovingly remind me, for the better part reminded everybody of a ball of flesh. Must have been cute when I was three….isn’t anymore twenty years hence. Its been quite a few years now that I have stopped believing in the excuse I kept giving myself about it being baby fat and hence just a matter of time before I shed it all off. And its been quite some time now I have started becoming obsessed with it. Well, you can’t help it either with evidences glaring at you from everywhere! I mean, you wake up in the morning and look at yourself in the mirror…that’s the first thing any self-respecting (and even not) girl does….so there you go, for a start. And then you dress up in clothes that earlier were flattering to your perfect figure, and now all they do is to remind you of how far you are from getting back to that perfect shape again. Tell you which is the worst. Photographs and pictures from happier times when your arms didn’t resemble salami. See what I mean, its something you just can’t avoid.
So am more than a month into my vacation and sparing my tribute to laziness I call my Kolkata trip I have nothing to show for it…except oh, my swanky new hair cut which makes me look like a baby boy (yeah, somebody actually said that!) and a couple more kilos added to my weight. I, unfortunately, do not belong to that lucky class of people who can gain “healthy weight” and look all the better for it. No. I belong to the class of people who actually look bloated and have fats in all the wrong places when they gain weight. I mean, my face makes me perpetually look like I have just woken up from sleep…puffy eyes and puffy cheeks and all…and yeah, my “out of bed” hair style doesn’t help things in the least. Add to it the fact that now I have lovers’ handles (which, let me tell you, are not in the least bit romantic…wonder who even came up with the name!).
Don’t think I am giving up without a fight, though. I wake up each morning promising to set some time aside for exercising…and come evening, I finally get ready for my tryst with the treadmill. And I say get ready because that in itself is a time-consuming ritual. First I need to get into a something that has a pocket so I can carry my ipod along with me. Then comes the important task of selecting songs, which is as significant as the exercise itself cause more often than not it is the songs I’m listening to which decide whether I leisurely stroll on the treadmill like all I’m doing is taking a walk in the park or I sprint on it, huffing and puffing like I’m training for the next Olympics for fat people or whatever. So then comes the bit where I actually get onto the treadmill and realize just seven minutes later that my heart feels like its going to burst right at the seams, and that I can’t feel my legs and that I am sweating and grunting so much I might as well be a pig. And then utter torture for the next few minutes while I gasp for water and yet can’t forget that its just the beginning. I have got fifteen more minutes of twisting and contorting my body to take the shape of a boat and a lotus (though thankfully, not at the same time) while I do yoga…yeah I have got some crazy routine…don’t know which one works so I end up doing everything I’ve ever known. And I’m not done yet. The topping on the ice-cream (aah…bad metaphor)…the one in which I balance my entire weight on my head and end up with blood rushing to my head, and if I’m unlucky, all the pain from my legs concentrated on just my spine. And then bliss….the only part of the gory process I like…relaxing and waiting for the thump-thump of my pulse to reduce to the normal tick-tick its supposed to be. Plus the knowledge that the ordeal is over until the next day. Even though when I get up I almost always get a head-rush and feel dazed for a long time after that.
So there you go….I am in fact in that pathetic condition of not being able to enjoy my vacation because each day just adds to my feeling of foreboding. Can’t wait for my classes to begin so I can at least feel like I am doing something about getting thin even though its just attending classes and having hostel food (does the trick, by the way). Can’t even look into the mirror without cursing all the chocolate and pork and cheese and ice-cream I have had since the vacations started. Sigh!
I don’t want to be skinny, you know…don’t want to look like a stick either. But being slightly built would have helped. Just like not having cheeks everybody wants to pinch would have. But there you go….that’s me. Only the way things are going, it looks like with passing time there will be more to me, ahem…more of me.