"A one.. two... three..." She swung gracefully, like a ballet dancer before me. Open mouthed, i stared. How could she possibly contort her body like that ? With such grace too. "Hey mum, c'mon," she egged me on. You can do it too." I looked at her, my seventeen year old, standing slim and tall before me. In her leotards and high ponytail, she could have easily been a model for any yoga magazine. I looked down at myself. Fat, frowsy, wrong end of forty, yes. Stiff with the happy lethargy of years, huffy and so far content, yes. I smiled self deprecatingly at her. "It's easy ma, don't knock it till you've tried it," she cajoled. I looked down at my tires, so called love handles, then looked disbelievingly at her. "It's taken me years, to put all this on, If i lose any of it, i'll sag at all the wrong places and end up looking like... like Adnan Sami : thin cherubic face on a once fat body." She chuckled, so did i. " Besides, what if i bent like you, and got stuck, bent into two. Think how difficult it would be to cart me off to the hospital, just like that."
I was happy being me, i had such a loving family around to help me fetch and carry. Then one day it happened. I got the invite. It was an old girls' reunion, at college. The friend who sent me the email, had posted a photo of herself, ( forty going on thirty ! ) She invited others to do so too, so that we could recognise each other after the long gap of twenty years, and the travails of life, not to mention my penchant for walnut brownies. Peering over my shoulder, my teen carelessly tossed a " don't worry mum, your face is still almost the same, that is if you are going ? " I heaved myself to my feet. The time for action was now. I still had three months. I was going to knock some of my weight, and their socks off. The thin svelte, collegeite within me was raring to go. Go, i did. First of all to the kitchen. Over the 'Death by chocolate' cake i vowed, the next one would be at the reunion.
" Breathe in, breathe out, yes! Ma! You're doing great." Looking like the before and after versions we stood, our yoga mats in place. " Ah.... " she breathed in, "Ummm.." she exaled. "Ungh....." i lunged, "hrrrrrrr........." i panted, trying to reach the elusive toes. So it went on for a few days, much to the merriment of the hubby and the bai. But i was determined. Once fired up about something, i rarely give up, specially the desserts, but i did this time. However i was not sure about yoga being the ideal thing for me. All it would do was help me reach further down the table for food, no ? I reasoned, to get out of it. My teen disagreed. She had charted out my diet, and my exercise regimen, and with a role reversal i sulked about, made sure i followed it. I went for long walks, i even went up to the gym to enquire about a three month membership. After translating the fees into the number of five star meals they could fetch, i returned back to my in-house trainer, much more appreciative of her services.
The days flew by, each time my daughter caught me mooning over food, she banished the food, the recipe book, the magazine, even the maid, whose lunch i was eyeing, contemplatively. The last straw, came sooner than later. There i was, at the unearthly hour of eight in the morning, standing still in the 'vrikshasan' or tree pose, while an irate maid, tittered sarcastically, then glowered and muttered trying to dodge around me with her duster. Doing my best to ignore her, i hung grimly onto my balancing act on one foot. Unfortunately, her washcloth, as it was swirled furiously around my feet caught me off balance. I teetered. I swayed, then reflexively flung an arm out to regain balance. At the same moment she rose, hurriedly, thoughts of my landing on her, making her leap out of the way with an agility i hadn't ever seen in her buxom frame. That didn't happen. What did happen though, was that as she stood up, she caught my flailing arm smack on the jaw. Our screams in tandem were followed by total silence.
When the neighbours peered in, they saw the lifeless body of my maid lying splayed on the ground, down to the classic tongue, sticking out of lifeless mouth pose. The poise of my teen restored sanity as she hurried to the kitchen, and poured a glassful of water on the poor maid's hapless head. "Aigo !" she groaned as she came to, rubbing her jaw which had swollen. Ice packs were called for and after she retreated back to the kitchen, we collapsed in a heap, my near hysterical daughter gasping stuff like " public hazard ma," and " oww, my stomach," as she clutched at it, staggering around, shedding great tears over my doubled up form.
Weightlifting. The fastest way to lose weight according to the net. So now i'm on to that. As for my maid. She's changed her timings to eleven a.m. much after i'm done with my regimen. The rest of the household disappears with alacrity, my teen guides proceedings from behind the long suffering sofa.
Gone two months, and yes, i can reach my toes. It's the thought of the 'death by choclolate' pastry that keeps me going. I'm going to have only desserts at the party. After i meet up with my friends. Also after the no hold's barred dinner.
I was happy being me, i had such a loving family around to help me fetch and carry. Then one day it happened. I got the invite. It was an old girls' reunion, at college. The friend who sent me the email, had posted a photo of herself, ( forty going on thirty ! ) She invited others to do so too, so that we could recognise each other after the long gap of twenty years, and the travails of life, not to mention my penchant for walnut brownies. Peering over my shoulder, my teen carelessly tossed a " don't worry mum, your face is still almost the same, that is if you are going ? " I heaved myself to my feet. The time for action was now. I still had three months. I was going to knock some of my weight, and their socks off. The thin svelte, collegeite within me was raring to go. Go, i did. First of all to the kitchen. Over the 'Death by chocolate' cake i vowed, the next one would be at the reunion.
" Breathe in, breathe out, yes! Ma! You're doing great." Looking like the before and after versions we stood, our yoga mats in place. " Ah.... " she breathed in, "Ummm.." she exaled. "Ungh....." i lunged, "hrrrrrrr........." i panted, trying to reach the elusive toes. So it went on for a few days, much to the merriment of the hubby and the bai. But i was determined. Once fired up about something, i rarely give up, specially the desserts, but i did this time. However i was not sure about yoga being the ideal thing for me. All it would do was help me reach further down the table for food, no ? I reasoned, to get out of it. My teen disagreed. She had charted out my diet, and my exercise regimen, and with a role reversal i sulked about, made sure i followed it. I went for long walks, i even went up to the gym to enquire about a three month membership. After translating the fees into the number of five star meals they could fetch, i returned back to my in-house trainer, much more appreciative of her services.
The days flew by, each time my daughter caught me mooning over food, she banished the food, the recipe book, the magazine, even the maid, whose lunch i was eyeing, contemplatively. The last straw, came sooner than later. There i was, at the unearthly hour of eight in the morning, standing still in the 'vrikshasan' or tree pose, while an irate maid, tittered sarcastically, then glowered and muttered trying to dodge around me with her duster. Doing my best to ignore her, i hung grimly onto my balancing act on one foot. Unfortunately, her washcloth, as it was swirled furiously around my feet caught me off balance. I teetered. I swayed, then reflexively flung an arm out to regain balance. At the same moment she rose, hurriedly, thoughts of my landing on her, making her leap out of the way with an agility i hadn't ever seen in her buxom frame. That didn't happen. What did happen though, was that as she stood up, she caught my flailing arm smack on the jaw. Our screams in tandem were followed by total silence.
When the neighbours peered in, they saw the lifeless body of my maid lying splayed on the ground, down to the classic tongue, sticking out of lifeless mouth pose. The poise of my teen restored sanity as she hurried to the kitchen, and poured a glassful of water on the poor maid's hapless head. "Aigo !" she groaned as she came to, rubbing her jaw which had swollen. Ice packs were called for and after she retreated back to the kitchen, we collapsed in a heap, my near hysterical daughter gasping stuff like " public hazard ma," and " oww, my stomach," as she clutched at it, staggering around, shedding great tears over my doubled up form.
Weightlifting. The fastest way to lose weight according to the net. So now i'm on to that. As for my maid. She's changed her timings to eleven a.m. much after i'm done with my regimen. The rest of the household disappears with alacrity, my teen guides proceedings from behind the long suffering sofa.
Gone two months, and yes, i can reach my toes. It's the thought of the 'death by choclolate' pastry that keeps me going. I'm going to have only desserts at the party. After i meet up with my friends. Also after the no hold's barred dinner.
Hilarious! you could actually try that once in a while!
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