Ab2Flab

I have been showered with lots of complimentary adjectives since I was born, but sadly, well-built was never one of them. Every time I used to meet a relative after a few months or years, I heard the same exclamation,

‘You have remained as thin as the last time I saw you!’

Or

‘You have become even thinner!’

I mean, it wasn’t as if I was a walking talking 170 cm pen refill. I am pretty sure that had I been a girl, the same relatives would have been telling their daughters,

‘Look how Ayana maintains her figure. You should cut down on all those pakodas if you want to be like her.’

But alas! That wasn’t the case. It got to the point that even Mom, who was pretty cool about the whole lean, mean, studying machine look, got worried about my appearance and took me to a doctor. Thankfully, nothing of the nature of reverse-liposuction was suggested, and time and plenty of food were recommended as the only remedies.

Now all this attention even got to me and I began to love winters even though they made my hands turn blue and my fingers swell. You see, in winters, all my embarrassing, spindly appendages were fully clothed, giving me the appearance of having a higher BMI (that insidious standard which labeled me ‘Underweight’).But summers were bad. And my sister made it even worse. She used to wrap her thumb and middle finger around my bicep (for lack of a better term) and make them meet, to my utter chagrin.

Drastic measures had to be taken. It was time for action. Enough was enough.

So I went and bought one 5 kg dumbbell.

After a few weeks of religious workout, I was rewarded just like a hen is at the end of the egg-carrying period – with two eggs (on my arms). I kept looking at them again and again in the mirror till the power of positive thinking made them look as big as Sylvester Stallone’s. Convinced that I finally qualified to classify my body as ‘physique’, I rushed to my parents and proudly showed off my newborns. They seemed to be impressed.

I realized later how adept parents are at suppressing giggles when I showed off my newly acquired assets to my friends.

Since then, things have changed a lot, and how. From being complimented on my new found bulk in final year(which came about as a result of my being dragged along with my gym-freak neighbour to the college gym every other day) , I was recently christened Golgappa by a good friend. Thankfully, I cut down on my consumption of rice just in time (which is very difficult in a south Indian city – rice rules) and avoided getting burdened by this grotesque nickname.

Be that as may, I still envy my washboard abs which I had once upon a time. Getting it back seems like a task in futility. And the teleshopping ads with the Hindi voiceovers which come late at night on a variety of channels right from religious ones to Discovery, don’t help at all. Have you seen the ridiculous animations in which flab gets reduced to abs in a matter of a few seconds? And that vibrating belt which the models wear under their shirts while at work? Just imagine this conversation with your junior, Robin.

‘Robin, can you come over here?’

Robin walks over. (Buzzzzzzz)

‘I am sorry to say, Robin that your performance in the last quarter was not at all..’

‘What is that sound?’

‘Oh, that is my ab-reducing vibrating belt. As I was saying..’

‘Your what?? Ooo-hahahahaha’

‘How dare you….’

‘Hahahaha…(holds his tummy)..Hey Sunil! Boss here wears the ab-reducing vibrating belt to work!’

Now Sunil walks over.

‘No way! (hears the sound and then sees the belly vibrating under the shirt). Ohh boy! Hahahahaha…Neeta! You gotta see this!!’

Pretty soon your entire team is in splits. One of the guys even takes a video shot of your embarrassed belly on his camera phone and rushes to upload it and mail it to all his friends which you also will soon get with the title ‘Fwd: Jelly Belly…really funny!!’

In the meanwhile, you realize that getting angry isn’t going to help at all. You try to switch off the damned vibrator. But to do so, first you unbutton your shirt and fumble inside for the off switch. That really brings the house down. But you somehow manage and the laughter subsides and people return to their places. A stray laughter suddenly erupts from somewhere as the person opens the forwarded mail or just reminisces about the whole scene in his mind. This is taken up by another, then another, and pretty soon, things are back to square one. You have no option left now. You quickly write a mail to your boss asking for 2 weeks leave and rush to the exit door. But the outline of the belt beneath the shirt makes all those in the office laugh who didn’t get to see the earlier show and your humiliation is complete.

So my dear readers, I ask but one thing of you – if you know of any reliable method of getting those nascent evil lipids away from my belly before they make it their permanent home, and which does not include wearing a corsette (like Malaika Arora did after her child birth), then feel free to write in.

Adios!