humour Archives - Page 4 of 4

05/07/201015/04/2017

Love hurts

I love you so much it hurts.. said a corny line from the Salman Khan classic MPK … However it seemed unusually apt for me.

Yes I am in love ….. with a slim me. And boy does it hurt. Back home from my first day at the gym, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.. everything hurt. Love sure hurts.

As I stand on the weighing scales at 70+ kgs the slim me is an ephemeral dream. It is the pursuit of this love that led me to the gym. This love has led me to the most legendary fights of all times — the battle with the bulge. There has been no truce for thirty years. It is a challenge neither of us is ready to give up. It was a fair fight and despite a few lows I remained the winner for a good many years.. till my twins happened. The enemy finding my attention diverted attacked with full force.

By the time the kids turned four and I took cognizance of the situation the enemy stood waving its victory flag all over me. Not one to accept defeat easily, I took charge. Off I went to the gym once more.

I took on aerobics six times a week. I loved the music and thought I’d have fun. My mistake. Ten minutes into the session and I was spent. I stopped mid session and stood panting by the stepper thinking I’d drop if I took another step. But the demon instructor made me get back on. On I went driven by will power alone groaning and cursing.

There were days of kickboxing, which I thought I would enjoy till the instructor told me to do 60 kicks in a row followed by sixty punches…. My shoulders protested and my thigh muscles almost gave up but on I went.

Then there were the Fridays.. bhangra days. I must mention here that I NEVER dance. Not even the casual dance one does at weddings or parties.. I am the kind that stands around and claps. When really moved by the music or the occasion I might sway a bit but that’s as far as I’d go.

The other girls were of course thrilled.. the men quietly backed out. So what does a girl non dancer do?? Not dance? Wrong.. a girl non dancer desperate to get slim.. dances, or tries to. Fridays saw a resolute me boogeying to bhangra beats. I thought that was as far as I was willing to go for the love of the slim me. However, there was more.
In a bid to make our workouts ‘interesting’ the instructors introduced Salsa every Monday. Slasa and me??? My friends laughed at the mere idea … but did I back out? No. On I went. “One two three.. five six seven.. right left right…right left right… move your waist,” exhorted the trainer. I struggled to move my feet, my waist and my hands in time to the music holding on to an imaginary partner. Once I lost my self-consciousness it wasn’t so bad. I began to have fun. And the icing on the cake – it wasn’t hard work like the bhangra.

After a well-rested Sunday I entered the gym thinking of a cool Salsa session. But love’s way is never simple. For that special ‘zing’ the gym decided to bring in hip hop. Hip hop I thought??? My mind went blank. Now that was one dance form I didn’t even like watching. But where was the choice?

Shahid’s song boomed out — Aaja aaja dil nichoden…..Dhan tanan.. I thought I would die before I’d try those jerks. But I didn’t. The instructor came on … one, two, three jerk.. one, two, three jerk.. play an imaginary guitar… now jump as high as you can…. And on he went.

Half a dozen girls shook, moved, jiggled and jogged and surprise surprise.. so did I. By the second week there I was, right in front, all of my forty years and 70 kgs trying to keep pace. No I never really enjoyed the locking and the popping and I never had the heart to even glance at the mirror at my ridiculous self. However I must admit to the thrill of having done it all….or maybe I speak too soon. I’ve moved and am looking out for a gym. Wonder what this one will make me do.

PS: I did lose weight too and am back on an even footing.. well on my way to defeating the enemy. The ‘completely slim me’ dream though is still a dream.

24/06/201015/04/2017

The big hunt

My husband is a compulsive job hunter. Oh and before his current and all prospective bosses blacklist him for lack of commitment let me clarify that he is NOT a compulsive job changer. That he spent something like nine years in his first job is more than proof enough. However a few months into a job and the hunt begins… rather, resumes. Never will he admit that he has no real intentions of switching.

When we were newly married just as I was putting up our nameplate he announced, “In six months we’ll be out of this place.” I dropped the hammer on my foot and while limping around painfully wondered why I was investing so much effort in making a home when we’ll be out in a few months. We stayed on for six years.

Let me put it this way.. The pleasure is in the journey not the destination. It’s the hunt that thrills him. That first call from the consultant, the preliminary interview, the next stage and the next.. parrying questions from a panel of company experts, the salary negotiations… the whole deal…that’s what excites him.

Come Sunday and my completely non computer savvy husband can be found puttering on his laptop. He spends hours updating, revising, renovating and beautifying his CV. He even invested in a book on the art of resume making… I didn’t even know such books existed. He then went on to try out various formats. “Different styles suit different companies,” he informed me gravely.

As a relative lay person in the field resume-making, I could never really figure why one wasn’t enough. Why would anyone need to ‘update’ a resume even while there was no enhancement of qualification or position, I wondered. Experts however seem to differ.

My dear husband is never satisfied. Otherwise a frugal spender he readily parted with an exorbitant sum to try out the services of a CV specialist. The specialist promised to draft him a deadly resume along with the assurance of forwarding it to some hundred consultants. However to his horror the ‘deadly’ resume turned out to be a rather dead one. It was littered with basic grammatical and spelling errors which stood out like red flags to my editor eyes. He safely retreated to self help.

Then there comes the first call. When the phone rings his eyes light up and I can feel his pulse quicken at the thought of a consultant at the other end of the line, the hunter in him at a total alert. A bit of cross questioning and he sets up his itinerary. “I have a videoconferencing after office today and if that works out I’ll be flying down to Chennai (or Mumbai, Pune, Ahmedabad),” he will announce with aplomb.

A complete workaholic the only leaves he takes are for attending those unending interviews across the country. He is never too tired or too tied up to rush into the arms of a waiting interview panel.

Sample this.. For that interview at Chennai he woke up at 4 am to catch a 6 am flight. After the interview he waited at the airport for his 9.30 pm flight back, got home after midnight and was ready for work the next day. Is he too tired.. nopes, not he. This, by the way, is the same man who is always, yes always without exception, ‘too tired’ to go out for dinner over weekends. We’ve had just about two holidays together in our 14 years of married life because – yes you’ve guessed it — he’s too tired.. but miss an interview.. nah.

One Saturday I found him getting ready for a meeting at CCD for a position even I, a total proletarian to the placement game, knew he would never take up. “What’s the point?” I tried to reason. “Practice,” said he solemnly. “It’s important to keep in touch,” he added.

There are other reasons he cites — ‘I might not like the company, but if I get a good enough offer I might be able to push my current company for a hike.’ And another one – ‘If I don’t keep going the consultant will forget about me and stop calling.’ Never will he admit his love for the hunt. That would be like admitting that job hunting was a mere hobby.

We’ve just moved and the other day as I was considering joining a gym. He peered over my shoulder into the membership form and said, “Go for a quarterly membership. I have a tentative offer. We might be moving.” Did I get worked up? Na na. Not for nothing have I been married for fourteen years. I gave him a serene smile and confidently ticked on ‘Gym plan – annual’.

Oh and by the way anyone out there who needs advice on changing jobs, job trends, how to negotiate salary, how to make a killer resume you know where to go. He’s really really good.. I’ll vouch for that.

09/04/201015/04/2017

Scraped knees at 40

Life with kids is fraught with danger and if one of your kids is a boy.. well God save you. Being born in a small mohalla of old Lucknow precluded much outdoor activity for me through most of my childhood. (The popular games then were kite flying and marble playing.. both of which I didn’t quite take to). I was a nice quiet little girl, reading my Nancy Drews and Little Women, playing Chinese Chequers and Carrom.

I learnt to ride a two-wheeler in my thirties.. so no falling of bikes either. The only violence I ever remember was getting into physical fights with my sister and cousins — the hair pulling and whacking. How we dwelt upon those miniscule scratches! The ‘hurts’ was examined endlessly and reproachful glances exchanged for ages till we finally made up. No scraped knees and elbows for us all through childhood.

Cut to now… there’s hardly a day when my twins come home without a scraped knee or a bad elbow. Yes.. well I know that’s part of growing up and I’m cool with it as the kids quite seem to take it in their stride. (My daughter will say “see mama ‘bread’ is coming out, but I’m not crying”).

My problem begins when I’m made to join in these games. Coming home with scraped knees at four is fine but at forty.. well it’s a bit strange.

Yesterday I was playing ‘catch and cook’ with my son. I was running with my eyes on him and suddenly zoooooom…. and there I was standing with one leg upto the knee in the gutter. Fortunately the dirty water reached just upto my ankle. I pulled out my soaking wet foot and didn’t even have the luxury of examining how hurt I was.. because my son stood there saying, “Catch me mama, catch me” while my daughter (in total imitation of me) came up with a, “Mama toh brave hai, strong hai.. mama dust your hands and get up quickly” ..Damn!

Then there was the time when my son was learning to ride his bike. He insisted I run with the bike… I would have been okay with it had he been in any real danger but he was riding with side wheels for godsake.. how dangerous could that be? But then who needs logic at three? So there I was running with the bike and then he decided to take an impromptu turn and I tripped royally. Down we went the kid, bike and I. This time I didn’t even think about whether I was hurt — jumped up, picked up the bike then hugged him. Thankfully he wasn’t hurt at all through his jeans.. I on the other hand was limping around for a week and admiring my blacks and blues for days together.

All I hope is that I get better at all this… sooon, or that the kids grow up fast and leave me in peace with my books and my laptop.

31/08/200715/04/2017

The good and the bad – H

I’ve got two things to tell you guys – one good and the other not so good. I’ll go with the good one first – I received my very own first letter – addressed to me. The letter came from Poorva didi with my rakhi, only she addressed it to ‘Hrig’ Singh and the address wasn’t too accurate but the important thing is that the letter found me! It made me feel all grown up. I’ve asked mama to write back to Poorva didi and thank her for me.

Now for the not so good one… you know how aunties are ….. when they meet us for the first time… they think
1) they must comment on the fact that we are twins and
2) the comment must have something to do with the fact that we don’t look alike.

Well mama is used to the regular ones like ‘Wow how lucky’ and ‘a boy and a girl in one shot, great’. But this aunty was a bit too much. She came up with ‘N’s so thin, H behen ka sara khana kha jaata hai, he he he!!!’ Not funny at all, I thought. Mama wasn’t amused either and she consoled me saying that she had to put up with the same comment all her life because masi was so thin. And what’s even funnier nani says nanu had to bear with it too as she was stick thin. Weird how people don’t tire of coming up with the same thaka hua lines through generations and still expect people to laugh at them.

PS
Nani also promptly told mama ‘H ko nazar lag jayegi’. So much for progress…humph!