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Lunch hour is so much fun. And it’s specially so because I can enjoy the sheer agony of dear friend of mine. (Slurp!) The poor dieter is now paying his comeuppance for all the vile plotting he’d indulged in, in the not too distant past.
Back then, he used to drag the rest of us friends and colleagues, fretting and fuming, often sacrificing our lunch boxes, to greasy joints that served the most sinful biriyanis and parattas and burgers with piles of cheese and dollops of mayonnaise even!
In the process our gent gained weight where he shouldn’t, along with the rest of us. The belles were no longer giving him a second look or so one should assume because then he went about dragging his angel of a wife over to a gym where he paid 34,000 to get his flab off!
And did he? We thought he did about a month ago. I even complemented him by calling him Slim Jim. But true to my impulsive self, I’d said things too soon. The Slim Jim persona that our dieter friend had taken on to deceive his poor wife and maybe the gym instructor too was a well-planned farce. He fell ill! No…that’s not it. How do you say it? Words fail me now. It must be the magnitude of the deception. It went like this.
He took himself willingly to a Chinese flea restaurant, ordered himself a spread and promptly came home ill. Here I actually feel for him. The gent was indeed ill. So ill that his concerned brother had to remind him gently that the upper body orifice empties into the washbowl and the lower into the potty! Endless trips over the next two days between the washbowl and the potty left our gent a few kilos less. And one fine day he came to office looking all trim, fit and glowing too!
He ate only carrots for a week. And just when a Hollywood production house that had got wind of a potential replacement for the tired Buggs Bunny, were doing a background search, our dieter was spotted by one of the production house’s spies digging into a juicy double decker burger! And another the next day!
Guilt gnawed at our dieter again and he went into a rehabilitation diet. But again I suspect it’s all a farce because the waistline is pushing the shores! Now I didn’t say that. The gent himself did. So he furiously plays table tennis with a paddle he over paid for. And when he falls for our vile persuasion and accompanies us for lunch he sips soup or nibbles on poppadom!
Hoo! (That was a verbal cartwheel!) Isn’t someone’s waistline phobia blissful lunchtime amusement? That reminds me, it’s about lunchtime. About time I played the Lucifer again! Bless me! But then I’ve been trained by the Devil himself!
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Showing posts with label gym. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gym. Show all posts
The Ugly Duckling of Fitness
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Jus’ this morning, there I was, all smiling and happy. I was preparing for my ‘Mallu’ bath. A Mallu bath, for the uninitiated, is the post-dawn bathroom ceremony of a Malayali. And it’s a ceremony only because it involves rubbing oil ceremonially all over your body before the bath. I don’t believe in the all-over-the-body thing. So I reached out for the bottle of Parachute, poured a liberal quantity into my palm and rubbed in the coconut oil into my scalp alone. I was almost done when it happened.
I broke my neck! Now, I am not in the fittest of physical conditions. Never have been. I’ve always broken myself. In the leg, in the back in the everywhere. When I thought that things were getting out of hand, I did attempt gyming. (I just found out that there’s no such word as gyming! Now I’m a wordsmith…)
The gym was this wow-wow wonderland for me and the equally daft Soos who doesn’t know his elbow from his knee. We used to be up by five each morning and make a beeline for the gym, all eager and ready. The instructor there must have figured out that his fresh recruits would always remain the ugly ducklings of the fitness world because even two months after, he insisted that we notify him on finishing each round so that he could carefully direct us further. This wasn’t going any further, literally. And I gave up.
Then I drew up this agenda where in I’d go jogging on the beach each morning. I happen to live near the Marina. (On the Marina, you mollusc!) Well, I’m a hop away from the beach and a jog there at dawn sounded like a good idea. The horses wouldn’t be around, neither the hawkers. As it turned out, the beach at that time of day was a revelation. There were people of all dimensions there, running, jogging, walking and shuffling. I had company! And here I could even sneer at most of the crowd. It looked like I had it all cut out. So where did I lose out?
The devil himself is asking me to turn back so that he can have a good laugh at my ‘stiff’ expense! My neck is getting worse as we reach teatime. A time I don’t await too eagerly, because I hate the tea they brew up here in office. It’s a lot of powered milk with a hint of decoction and saccharin. Should I stay up longer in office or should I go back and get horizontal? Where was I? Ah! The jog… I must start the jog once again if only to keep off the Top 10 Molluscs list. I won’t be doing the Mallu thing tomorrow. I’ll just have a bath without the rituals. Pin It Now!
Jus’ this morning, there I was, all smiling and happy. I was preparing for my ‘Mallu’ bath. A Mallu bath, for the uninitiated, is the post-dawn bathroom ceremony of a Malayali. And it’s a ceremony only because it involves rubbing oil ceremonially all over your body before the bath. I don’t believe in the all-over-the-body thing. So I reached out for the bottle of Parachute, poured a liberal quantity into my palm and rubbed in the coconut oil into my scalp alone. I was almost done when it happened.
I broke my neck! Now, I am not in the fittest of physical conditions. Never have been. I’ve always broken myself. In the leg, in the back in the everywhere. When I thought that things were getting out of hand, I did attempt gyming. (I just found out that there’s no such word as gyming! Now I’m a wordsmith…)
The gym was this wow-wow wonderland for me and the equally daft Soos who doesn’t know his elbow from his knee. We used to be up by five each morning and make a beeline for the gym, all eager and ready. The instructor there must have figured out that his fresh recruits would always remain the ugly ducklings of the fitness world because even two months after, he insisted that we notify him on finishing each round so that he could carefully direct us further. This wasn’t going any further, literally. And I gave up.
Then I drew up this agenda where in I’d go jogging on the beach each morning. I happen to live near the Marina. (On the Marina, you mollusc!) Well, I’m a hop away from the beach and a jog there at dawn sounded like a good idea. The horses wouldn’t be around, neither the hawkers. As it turned out, the beach at that time of day was a revelation. There were people of all dimensions there, running, jogging, walking and shuffling. I had company! And here I could even sneer at most of the crowd. It looked like I had it all cut out. So where did I lose out?
The devil himself is asking me to turn back so that he can have a good laugh at my ‘stiff’ expense! My neck is getting worse as we reach teatime. A time I don’t await too eagerly, because I hate the tea they brew up here in office. It’s a lot of powered milk with a hint of decoction and saccharin. Should I stay up longer in office or should I go back and get horizontal? Where was I? Ah! The jog… I must start the jog once again if only to keep off the Top 10 Molluscs list. I won’t be doing the Mallu thing tomorrow. I’ll just have a bath without the rituals. Pin It Now!
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