Treadmill, etc.........
The air was scented with the aroma of sandalwood. The middle aged priest of the roadside temple must have offered this fragrance-laced devotion to the Almighty. My eyes were scanning the human faces swarming around me on the stuffy evening. What do they call it? Yes, I remember now – delusion of grandeur, or was it narcissism? I must have suffered from either of the two or both at some point of my life. I saw the twenty-something dude staring at me. Oh, so the XL – sized floral shirt from the upmarket store indeed enhanced my beauty, as the salesman had so sincerely insisted the day I bought it. And to add to my feel-good feeling, the moustached driver of the black Fortuner (who must have uncannily resembled Arvind Swamy during his heydays) smiled at me and moved out of the way to let me pass by..Life could not have been more wonderful.
I pushed open the swinging glass door of the neighbourhood gym. I smiled to myself as I remembered that it was my spouse’s debit card that I had used to pay for the personal trainer (PT) and the ‘scheme’ that promised to help me get rid of the layers of fat that accumulated on all possible free spaces of my body over the years. My PT, a handsome young man, flashed me a million dollar smile that again made me feel like a fairy. Maybe I was not that overweight. May be I just need to redistribute the fat all over my body. The PT pushed me to the treadmill, and after 30 minutes of sweating, I realized that I had surrendered myself to a bully! As if he was not content with that, he made me do free hand exercises. At one point, my legs threatened to fall of my torso (because of the pain my friends, not out of exhaustion by carrying my weight for the last decade or so). His smile looked menacing, and he himself looked like the art teacher whom I dreaded in primary school. He did not even seem human! Even if I fell down, he seemed determined enough to pull out my jaw out from the concrete floor..
As if it was not enough. Mr. PT made me ride a machine that he said would flatten my tummy. I huffed and puffed for 20 minutes more. The PT was euphoric, “Madam, not bad for someone who has exercised for the first time in 35 years!” Was it so necessary to announce my middle age to every breathing animal in the hall? I smiled out of courtesy, which I am sure, must have looked like a grimace.
Half an hour later, looking like a drenched hippopotamus, I sat staring at the huge poster of Chitrangda Singh in the locker room. The only resemblance between her and me were the pair of black Puma shoes. With a pinch of salt (literally, as the drops of sweat made their way to my lips), I realized that I am no longer the babe lost in the woods. If life was a movie, I had almost reached the interval. And before the climax, I needed to be fitter. Maybe I will never acquire an hourglass figure, but yes, I can stop resembling a lazy rhino!
A small easy smile spontaneously played on my lips as I recalled the tall lass with feathery steps who was just walking behind me near the temple, the source of contentment to the eyes of the twenty-something dude, and whom I had conveniently chose to overlook. And the Arvind Swamy Fortuner driver- of course, he had to get out of the way of a matador. As for the salesman of the shop who made me feel like a supermodel while cajoling me to buy the floral top, well, I really pity him. God knows how many overweight middle aged ladies like me he has to please every day with his not-so-truthful praises. I wish he gets either a hike or a promotion soon.
Well, I may not exactly deliver a miracle, but yes, will definitely try to do justice to the wishes of my soul…Do wish me luck, my heart knows how much I need it at the moment!!
I pushed open the swinging glass door of the neighbourhood gym. I smiled to myself as I remembered that it was my spouse’s debit card that I had used to pay for the personal trainer (PT) and the ‘scheme’ that promised to help me get rid of the layers of fat that accumulated on all possible free spaces of my body over the years. My PT, a handsome young man, flashed me a million dollar smile that again made me feel like a fairy. Maybe I was not that overweight. May be I just need to redistribute the fat all over my body. The PT pushed me to the treadmill, and after 30 minutes of sweating, I realized that I had surrendered myself to a bully! As if he was not content with that, he made me do free hand exercises. At one point, my legs threatened to fall of my torso (because of the pain my friends, not out of exhaustion by carrying my weight for the last decade or so). His smile looked menacing, and he himself looked like the art teacher whom I dreaded in primary school. He did not even seem human! Even if I fell down, he seemed determined enough to pull out my jaw out from the concrete floor..
As if it was not enough. Mr. PT made me ride a machine that he said would flatten my tummy. I huffed and puffed for 20 minutes more. The PT was euphoric, “Madam, not bad for someone who has exercised for the first time in 35 years!” Was it so necessary to announce my middle age to every breathing animal in the hall? I smiled out of courtesy, which I am sure, must have looked like a grimace.
Half an hour later, looking like a drenched hippopotamus, I sat staring at the huge poster of Chitrangda Singh in the locker room. The only resemblance between her and me were the pair of black Puma shoes. With a pinch of salt (literally, as the drops of sweat made their way to my lips), I realized that I am no longer the babe lost in the woods. If life was a movie, I had almost reached the interval. And before the climax, I needed to be fitter. Maybe I will never acquire an hourglass figure, but yes, I can stop resembling a lazy rhino!
A small easy smile spontaneously played on my lips as I recalled the tall lass with feathery steps who was just walking behind me near the temple, the source of contentment to the eyes of the twenty-something dude, and whom I had conveniently chose to overlook. And the Arvind Swamy Fortuner driver- of course, he had to get out of the way of a matador. As for the salesman of the shop who made me feel like a supermodel while cajoling me to buy the floral top, well, I really pity him. God knows how many overweight middle aged ladies like me he has to please every day with his not-so-truthful praises. I wish he gets either a hike or a promotion soon.
Well, I may not exactly deliver a miracle, but yes, will definitely try to do justice to the wishes of my soul…Do wish me luck, my heart knows how much I need it at the moment!!
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