Heavy Matters

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        It was the button and the hole that did it. Of that old and comfortable jeans.  When the twain refused to meet because the kabab (euphemistically employed for the flesh), for a change, played the spoilsport, the alarm bells went ringing. Damn! Should have oriented to the selfie taking mode!  That  would have kept a check on those lards settling comfortably in the places they ought not to be. Timely selfies would have reflected that one plus one free chin; or that paunch lurking under the loose kurta. Now look what  has happened! The paunch has developed into a bulging tummy that could inspire the commuters to give up their seats for fear of a baby slithering out right there in the Metro!  The final test of course was going home and facing this hyper active mother who has remained in the same frame ever since anyone can remember. It was not fair to compare actually. It was the genes you see. She got them from her mother which somehow got lost while mine were  in the making in the womb.

   A day after arrival, a period that is deemed decent before the brickbats came in, I was expected to do the Suryanamaskar  under the watchful hawk's eye. I mean, it was supposed to be a vacation! And at my maternal home at that! Healthy sprouts were pushed my way. And a 'no rice' dictum was applied. Can you imagine having a fish curry without that heap of fragrant, soft rice in the middle of the plate? Well, fish is almost like a regular vegetable dish in a normal Assamese home. And okay, a few spoons of rice was scattered on my plate that lost themselves between the piles of vegetables and salad and the bowl of dal and curd. Tucking into it like there was no tomorrow, while the others helped themselves to more servings of rice and all the while the chants grew into a chorus joined in by the children on the same side of the table as the grandmother, " have more vegetables and dal".

 The battle with the tyres has been going the yo-yo way for quite sometime now. The morning walks are not enough, some said. Yoga, is the answer to all the maladies of this world so what are these mere adipose tissues, huh? Precisely that. Stubborn sticky adipose tissues snugly wrapped around the frame and refusing to budge like those  tenants who are every landlord's nightmare . Another gave a sympathetic look...with age it is harder since the metabolic rate slows down. Metabolism. That had to be the culprit. On a random medical check up the doctor had affirmed, so many years ago.
   The doctor's cabin is glum and sad. Wonder why is it always so. Brightening it up would be good for everyone's health, the doctor including.  Come to the point says my distracted mind.
Reading the mind the physician prompts, yes what is the problem, Ma'am?
 I must be the nth person he has prompted since morning.
Yes doctor, you see I have thyroid.
Good, he answers gravely and looks me squarely in my eyes, we would indeed be in great trouble if we didn't have one.
Right, feeling a little peeved at his banal joke I said, I think mine is a little erratic.
And out came tumbling all the woes, imagined and real.
We will see after these tests are done.
That was a few years back. Since then, when the scales lean heavily, I have a valid reason . It is that errant gland, at work or not at work, to be blamed.

   Now that the clothes are bursting at the seams and some even refuse to let me in; and the love handles are all but lovely; and the chin is threatening to give another bonus, standing on my toes, the hand reaches out to that bottle of oats that had hitherto existed incognito at the back of the topmost shelf.  Trying to acquire a taste for it, with different twists and turns, I realize after all,  oats  could taste like, well, just oats.

  Meandering through the internet, the links ramble on to that  magical secret vegetable or a fruit or a weed, whose  goodness  is stashed into a capsule promising age old secret of slimness of the Chinese, the Polynesians, and all the other '-ese', '-ans, '-eans' of the world. And those screamers,  " Doctors puzzled by an Indian Mom...", have waylaid me so many times into staring at the before - after pictures of slimmer women in trousers triple their present size, holding out the waistband to let it sink in that they actually lost all that mass with a magic pill.  Have you ever clicked eagerly at  "Ten Vegetables For A Flat Tummy", only to estimate that stocking up on the avocados, the asparagus et al would rip the household budget apart. Not to speak of the diets. They have me snapping my head off at everyone. So for the peace to prevail in the home front, the diets are kept off the threshold.

  So the battle is on still and if you have any expert tips, do pass them on. Wait! There is an sms. Maybe be one of you has already sent across a tip...
But this is an unknown number...and there is a deluge of them...
" Motapa ghatane keliye call kare 98xxxxxxxx..."