Protected: Happy birthday Shanti
Protected: It’s diwali and I have a cold
The great battle of the bulge
No prize for this one but I did get a special mention at the Blogadda contest ‘Good over Bad’.. yay yay yay. Here’s what judge Vidya Sury had to say…
Tulika (yes, I scrolled your blog to find your name) – more power to you! You’ve proved that one of the really ‘good’ qualities of an individual is the ability to laugh at the self. Humorously presented – and fun to read, you’ve waged the battle against that “bad” xxl and emerging victorious on the path to looking “good”. Yes, when you talk about health, good is certainly better than bad. Listen to your body talk to you!
 |
| This is what I think I look like when I exercise |
This is the story of the war I’ve been fighting for as long as I can remember — the battle of the bulge — the biggest battle of my life. There has been no truce for nearly thirty years.
For many many years I had been on a winning streak… 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. My cholesterol was soaring and my knees hurt from carrying the excess weight. My ten chins showed themselves off proudly like the ten heads of Ravana. I needed to take charge. It was gym time.
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 stood panting by the stepper. “Giving up?” Taunted all of my seventy kgs? “No way,” said I and on I went driven by will power alone.
There were days of kickboxing, which I thought I would enjoy till the instructor told me to do sixty kicks in a row followed by sixty punches…. My shoulders protested, my thigh muscles cramped but on I went kicking and punching away at the enemy.
Then there were Fridays.. bhangra days. Now, I NEVER dance, never ever. Not even a casual step or two. But I was a woman on a mission. Fridays saw a resolute me boogeying to bhangra beats. I thought that was as far as the War would take me.
My mistake again. The instructors introduced Salsa every Monday. Slasa and me??? My friends laughed … but did I back out? No. On I went. “One two three.. five six seven..… 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 is a war ever easy? No sir. The gym replaced Salsa with Hip Hop. Gawd I don’t even like watching that. But where was the choice? Shahid’s song boomed out — Dhan tanan.. Half a dozen youngsters shook, moved, jiggled and jogged. I thought I would die before I’d try those jerks. But I didn’t. The second week there I was again, yes all of my 40 years and 70 kgs, trying to keep pace. I never dared to glance at the mirror at my ridiculous self. I hated it.. every bit of it. But I did it… again and again every week.
For two long months the weighing scales refused to budge. Then slowly.. very very slowly.. gram by gram.. they moved. Within four months people were commenting.. my XXLs are now XLs and I’m waiting for the Ls.
I war with fat because I love myself. Oh yes I intend to be around for a long long time.. my kids need me and I like being alive.
Buy Social Causes T-Shirts
online at
Myntra.com and visit the largest community of Indian
Bloggers at BlogAdda.com
The reluctant convert
I’m not really a cellphone person at all.. at least I thought I wasn’t.
Back in the nineties since when mobiles were launched I have doggedly stuck to my landline. Each time we changed homes and the husband suggested we do away with the landline I protested. Each time he offered to get me a mobile I balked. I didn’t need the interference, I proclaimed.
Mobile phone etiquette leaves a lot to be desired … they ring at the oddest hours.. during official meetings, cosy dinners, in theatres even in temples. And people leave mid-sentence, mid-prayer, mid-meal to answer the call of the call.
I dismissed it as a fad, a tashan. It will fizzle out just like the damp squib pager, I said. I waited patiently with my blinkers on. I had a long wait coming.
I moved to Pune and my new editor insisted I carry a cellphone. I cringed, then allowed the husband to get me one. I kept it but vowed not to use it. I’d give people only my office numbers. Each time someone asked, “What’s your mobile number?” I’d reply grandly (and a tad rudely), “I take official calls only at office.”
Then I missed a story because when the girl I was supposed to interview called me I was out on another assignment. Then I missed another one and another. The boss’ sour face made me start handing out my mobile number. It started to ring more and more frequently. “Oh okay,” I agreed, grudgingly. “It’s a bit useful”. Slowly, silently, insidiously it worked its black magic on me. I found myself reaching out for it in times of happiness and stress.
I got a promotion, it let me gloat in private.
The doctor said I was having twins, I couldn’t call my husband fast enough.
My aunt passed away it helped me lighten my grief.
My son fell ill it let me share my worries.
We moved to a different city it lessened the heartache of parting.
My daughter threw up in school it summoned me in a flash.
Yet I refused to acknowledge and accept its significance in my life.
Then two days back it died. I felt like my whole life had come to a standstill. I had to beg my husband to put an alarm on his phone for the next morning. We’ve long since done away with the alarm clock. I went to drop the kids to school and the bus seemed late. I had no way of telling the time. I haven’t used a watch since I got my mobile. “How will I call the driver,” I wondered. Thankfully the bus came and the kids went off to school.
My son had a cough and I worried as I left for the gym, “What if the school calls and I’m not home?” I ran home from the gym because I had no way of telling the maid, “I’m on my way.” Is it anyone’s birthday today, I wondered as I got home. The trustee mobile never fails to remind me. Oops gotto run now… almost forgot, time to pick up the kids.. no alarm today, damn I’m late.
Whew! Got there just as the bus was arriving.
I have a battery of friends who I catch up with every single day. The husband who shells out the bill will vouch for that. Come evening and the landline started to ring. Where are you? Where have you left your phone? Why is your phone switched off? Why aren’t you taking my call? I must have called you 200 times.
Even my friends and family are missing my mobile. When did it become so important? When did it progress from an unwanted accessory to an official necessity and then to a friend and confidant?
It’s supposed to come home today and I’m ready with my welcome song and aarti ki thali. It’s all about My Friends, My Life, My Phone.