Weight Troubles

There comes a point in life when, no matter what you eat or how much you work out, you will gain weight. There also used to be a time, in my life, when, no matter what I ate or how little I ever moved a muscle, my body mass--or, should we say, my girth--increased by a kitten's whisker.

But, as Oscar Wilde would say--or, rather, as the folks at Uncyclopedia would like to paraphrase the Irish playwright--"Things change."

Regular readers, the ones still left reading this pseudo-intellectual tripe, would recall that your humble narrator is in the US, at the moment. The discerning reader would even know that said humble narrator was in India for a brief period not so long ago; the December-January period, to be exact.

The story begins at this point, where the humble narrator changes the mode of narration to the first person, seeing as it helps the narrative process, while also exposing his limited command of the English language to narrate this tale otherwise.

It started in India when I went home suffering a year and a half making self-cooked food. Self-cooked food, as one who may have cooked food by self would recognize, is an intensely boring process. It's not so much in the act of cooking itself that might appear drab but more in the effort needed to get the proverbial arse off the couch/chair/bed and head to the kitchen that takes some doing. As Newton, in his famous Inertia of Rest law, would have it.

Sample this: Man comes home. Man feels hungry. Man goes to kitchen. Man sees there's no food. Man thinks he has to cook to eat food at home. Inertia of Rest kicks in. Man takes wallet and heads to nearest Subway.

It's one of the few occasions where I wish I was married. I hope I don't come across as sounding sexist here.

Moving on, I had fun in India. Ate to my hearts content. Slept. Watched the India-Australia test-series and Navjot Singh Sidhu, post-Sydney, with unbridled emotion--which, by the way, might have been the only time I may have expended my body energy. This is life, I thought. I cooked once, but that was more to show off my culinary skills to my folks back home--after all, I had to show what I learned during my stay in America.

I happened to weigh myself upon reaching India. 63 kilograms was what the weighing machine indicated. I checked my weight the day I was flying back to the US. 69 kilograms, barked my trusty machine this time.

For those who know me in person, you know this is nothing short of phenomenal. And, as a note to self, the increase in weight--6 kilos in about 4 weeks--is unprecedented. And it showed. A cursory glance at my bare torso in the mirror, on one of the days I got out from a bath, made me cringe. Surely, I couldn't have accumulated so much lard? The mention of lard, of course, is only metaphorical. I am vegetarian.

But then, I knew, like I always usually know--like anyone who has been only slightly better built than an HB pencil would know--that I would get back in shape without breaking much sweat. It was simple, really. I head back to the States, get into a routine of having irregular meals. In between skipping the odd lunch, and occasionally gorging on the 'healthy' subs at Subway, my weight would follow a steady downward curve. The fat around my waist would be gone and I could get back to living life as a skinny lowlife.

But I didn't return to College Station, a place in the heartland of Texas that helped me maintain my lean frame. I instead headed over to Austin, the capital of Texas--generally termed a Blue dot in the Red State. How is that related, you ask? Well, it isn't related; I was just letting you in on a bit of trivia.

Anyway, to my horror, I found millions of Indian restaurants in Austin; my apartment--a four bedroom one at that, albeit, shared with three other fellow desis--was outstanding in its comfort level and it was fully furnished with nice sofas and proper beds (plus mattress).

And, my room mates loved rice. Breakfast, lunch, dinner--everything involved rice in some form. And that fact that we always had something to have it with made regular meals possible throughout the day.

And so it goes now. My waist line hasn't shown signs of shrinking. My solitary attempt at skipping a meal for reducing weight resulted in a badly gassy stomach -- I think it is acidity because of the number of times I've been belching since morning.

So will it be uphill, as far as my weight goes, from here on? Or will I ever recover my lean frame? Bigger questions for me to answer than to watch Barack and Hillary debate on the subtle difference between their healthcare proposals. Because hey, who the hell wants healthy, well-fed people when it can only end in tears?

Back to my Starbucks, Java-flavoured ice-cream. You must try it sometime.