Asha Iyer Kumar (LIFE)
11 February 2012, 6:15 PM
I have been on an eating binge lately. Okay, not lately. Since October last year. It was something I had promised to shrug off once the festive season was past and the guests had left.
I mean, this kind of thing can’t last. You can’t keep wolfing forever. That’s what I had thought. But it is so easy and convenient to slip into that eternal state of self denial, isn’t it, extending the days of self defence and pretexts beyond a season? So you keep saying — I am in check. This one benign piece of paneer or an occasional dip into the cloying gulab jamun isn’t going to add inches to my waist (for a vegetarian, the sweetmeat is the most evil of all foods, an absolute hazard to the midriff, and the paneer or cheese, its close lieutenant). Now come on, if you won’t summon the courage to eat the dessert you’ve made, who else would?
And weekends? They are for eating out, without question. One must be a dunce to not eat out on the weekend while living in Karama. How many times have I seen people’s face go bling bling at the mention of this gem of a locality! Blame it on all those folks who are ruining my diet with their culinary enterprises out there. A flier everyday outside the door calling out names of goodies of all shapes, sizes, contents and tastes. This is absolutely blasphemous to my sense of well being and good eating. But then, if people like me don’t patronise them in these downturn years, who would? They need to make a living too. Staunch believer of the “live and help live” theory, you see.
I hate my conscience in times like these.
You had promised to stop this soon after the festive season, remember, you glutton? Look at your friends, sweating to get down to size. From a generously sized pair of jeans in which they walked clumsily, they have whittled themselves down to wearing a modest 32, if not a petite 26. Going by their reports and the speed at which they are shedding fat, they would soon be there too.
Ah, it is the soup and salad routine. Is that some kind of food, actually? It is torture. Gosh, imagine me doing all that just so I can wear the kind of clothes I saw on the mannequin at the mall! Petite sizes and flat stomachs are for mannequins and models, for heaven’s sake.
But your friends are doing it. They are getting smaller sizes, trendier fittings, chic costumes. Why don’t you at least pull out from your kitchen shelf the equals that you so ardently purchased a while ago?
Oh, that was on an impulse. Just curious to know what these girls were adding to sweeten their once-in-a- blue-moon coffee. But tell you what? It is an awful tasting thing, though the girls swear by its merits. I am planning to wrap it in g(u)ilt and gift off to one of them on her birthday. And let me add (as an aside), all these girls have health issues that force them to cut their cravings.
Gloating over your fitness, eh? When was the last time you checked your vital signs?
Two years ago. And got a clean chit, after all. The doctor was not serious when he said that I needed to watch my fat. What he meant, for sure, was I must not flab up. A genuine advice to a lady in good shape!
You are a lost cause, I tell you!
Yes, I am. The last thing I want is to look like a million bucks neck downwards and a ghostly shadow of myself in the face – concave cheeks.. withered lips.. popping eyes..zero spice. No thanks. Sell your counsel and regimen to someone else, while I tuck in the weekend chowmein merrily.
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