From heated chattugams to Unstoppable weighing scales...

“Edi penne, I am running out of patience.. Either you finish whatever is on your plate or I am going to heat my chattugam and whack you with it…”

One of the many threats (Oh, Believe me she could be creative!!) my poor mom had to resort to, to ensure that her spoilt brat of a daughter would eat whatever she had so painstakingly and lovingly slaved over in the kitchen.

To be fair to her, my mom is an excellent cook. Her cooking is the perfect balance between yummy, finger licking fare and utterly healthy, nutritious food. Her only problem though, was that she, the poor thing, was blessed with a daughter who was the fussiest eater in the whole universe. So the omlette was never fluffy enough, the Sāmbhar was too spicy, and “Why cant you make tasty stuff like so-&-so’s mom?” was a common refrain.

To add to it were the snide comments from friends and relatives that she had to bravely put up with; because you see, her daughter, thanks to all the fussy eating habits, was a lean, scrawny, underweight kid. “Why don’t u feed her some fruits? All you can see of her thin face are her big eyes..” that was my Aunt, the self proclaimed dietician who herself was, I kid u not, close to 20 kgs overweight. Her son, my cousin, used to call me a bag of bones held together by a T-shirt.

And, how can I forget my next door Bong neighbor who was blessed with 2 chubby boys, forever hungry and ready to gobble up anything she would put down in front of them. I have a feeling those monsters were let loose on Somalia or Ethiopia before they became my neighbors. That explains the acute shortage of food the poor kids there AND in the neighboring countries were facing. My mom, however, did not think so. To her they were the paragons of good behavior and were such a boon to their mom unlike the brat she was blessed with.

Anyways, thanks to my mom’s friends, our relatives and of course Sengupta Aunty, my childhood was rife with mom’s attempts to feed me stuff that would, according to her, make me put on some weight. All I remember of such forced mealtimes are my annoyed, helpless mom sitting next to me, a plate of her latest gastronomical creation guaranteed to infuse some “pachcha” into her “melinju, onangiya daughter” and of course, the ubiquitous chattugam. But alas, all in vain. In spite of all the butter, the mashed potatoes, and god knows what else, I remained, to her despair thin, gawky & well, underweight.

I wasn’t complaining though. I could eat all the junk I liked and not bother about whether my old, favorite T-shirt would threaten to burst at the seams the next time I tried it on. Because I knew for sure, it would not.

Sigh, All that seems like ages ago…… Now, I just need to look at a bar of chocolate or a plate of French fries, and I can feel the extra pounds piling on. A couple of years back, the needle on my weighing scale started exploring areas beyond my constant weight of 48 Kgs, and unfortunately has not stopped inching to the right ever since. Then, till a few months back, thanks to my mom-in-law’s lip smacking and scrumptious undheu, daal gosht, theplas, and other delectable gujju dishes my taste buds were amply exercised, but the needle’s expeditions knew no bounds. To add to it, was the occupational hazard of working for a software company, where for most of the day you are sedentarily sitting on your butt, allowing the layers of adipose to gather around you.

To give myself some credit, I did sign up for aerobics. And I loved it. Not just because of the weight I managed to lose, but also because I love dancing. It is the perfect stress buster. But thanks to my crazy working hours and the infamous bangalore traffic, by the time I reach home form work, I am so beat, all I can think of is rustling up something in the name of dinner and hitting the sack. (I sometimes feel sorry for A. After 26 years of coming home to delicious, mommy-cooked food, it must be tough to come home to a not-so-great, wife-cooked dinner. Full marks to him though, for never once complaining. Anyways…)

So, two weeks ago, after a cleaning session, as I was wrapping away all my Martin Luthers… hey, wait a minute.. Never heard of Martin Luthers? Ok, for the uninitiated, Martin Luthers are all the clothes you stash away into the deepest, darkest corners of your wardrobe, hoping that you will, some day lose enuff weight to fit back into them. Why are they called Martin Luthers? Well, from his famous speech “I have a dream…..” Still didn’t get it? Well guys, come on, do the math…

So as I was saying, two weeks back, after a cleaning session, as I was wrapping away all my Martin Luthers and feeling fat and out of shape, I decided to stop cribbing and pull up my socks and do something about it. So there I was, pulling out my yoga mat, cleaning my jogging shoes and working out a schedule for the GM diet, all set & determined to lose some chub.

And then, after a lot of diligent jogging, yoga and a healthy low carb, low sugar, fruit, veggies and grilled chicken diet later, imagine my delight when the weighing scale actually went on a decline to not 1, but 3.5 kgs. And, I finally manage to pull on one of my Martin Luthers. Well, it still doesn’t fit as well as it used to, but, wow, I am impressed with myself. Need to go on with the yoga & jogging bit for a little longer, and it will be just purrfect.. I am sick of the diet though. Trust me, there is nothing more painful than sitting at a table watching your friends munch away happily, while all you can eat for a week, is bland, boiled or raw ghas phoos. But still, I do intend to watch what I eat, at least for a coupla days more. At least, till I can fit into that favorite, cute, little Red top of mine…

:)