December 18, 2009
December 16, 2009
Whenever I think I might have just lost a little weight between a heavily buttered-breakfast and the evening samosa, I only have to go back to one of the sari blouses that fit me well as late as January this year (and continue to do so, intermittently). Now don't say I am anorexic or bulimic; one of my teachers spoke about them extensively while teaching a course on dance. One winter night in Delhi, I slept inadequately clothed with the balcony door open, dreamt that I was bulimic and woke up with a raging fever.
Anyway, I came back to Bombay knowing that the many mirrors on walls and cupboards would not be very flattering. As expected, they did not take too kindly to all the chocolate chip biscuits one had unthinkingly downed - it is high time I admit to myself - typing is NOT a calorie-burning activity. Thinking of it, the process of studying would be so much more motivated, if, the more you studied, the more you burned calories.
Since I returned, I exercise for an hour every day. What confounds me though, is how I seem to be one of the bulkiest people in the park! Ah, I should have paid attention when a sales assistant at a denim shop in Lokhandwala patted my bum with a mixture of derision and pity - Bahut bada hain, plus size main dekh lo. I was 16. So there are these tiny people of all genders and sexes who fit into the fancy layers that were invented for tiny people, huffing and puffing away, giving great business to the enterprising man who sells soup out of the back of his van right outside the park.
We've fostered such a culture of comparision - right from the man who looks at me out of the corner of his eye to see whether my push-ups are as good as his to the I-am-Bollywood-meets-Adidas-meets-shampoo ad model who throws disdainful looks at anything fatter than a lamppost.
PS: I still cannot do proper push-ups.