A weighty problem..

Bring on all the fat jokes. The signs are all there. My jeans talk. And it’s certainly not sugar coated. They talk facts. And numbers. I could evade it if I want to. But it’s staring me in the face; or rather, through that mirror. The pin of the weighing scale looms at a scary 56-57 kgs, depending on the inaccuracies of scales. My friends say that the scale must have been the one installed at the railway station. But I know they’re not.

What does this sudden sign of prosperity attribute to? The heavy, fatty food at Delhi? Well, I had the same diet at Indore. The endorphins (aka happy hormones) that I’m supposedly producing with the sadistic pleasure derived from my friends’ plight? I did that too all along. The ‘lowe’ bestowed upon me by the campus? Lesser said the better. The lack of exercise? Possibly. I guess I’m getting warmer here.

But it’s weird for someone who has always been under pressure to gain more weight by friends and family alike to suddenly jump over (sorry, no more agile, nimble jumping – make that lumber around) the fence to the other side and be the ‘butt’ (yeah yeah I know you’re smiling now) of all the fat jokes. Now whenever I eat that li’l extra, a hasty exchange of furtive glances and stares is rampant across the table. People give me that knowing smile these days as if welcoming me to a new club or fraternity so to speak. Make that fraternity on second thoughts.

I have never had anything against people who have been well endowed. In fact I have always been considerate towards them and have never cracked any of those kind of jokes. But I like it here - to be on the thinner side. To hear from everyone I know that I need to put on weight. I like protesting that I am made this way – genetics, hereditary factors, metabolism and all of that. And all this time I am constantly hoping that it is this way.

I don’t mind the extra few pounds either, if they are at the right places if you know what I mean. But if all the extra cheese, sandwiches and pizzas decide to focus on my cheeks, it’s not so fair, init? So help me God and lead me to the good life, the healthy life, the life where I can still fit into my old pair of jeans that I still have since the time I was 15 and the courage to carry off that little skirt in my closet. Because my clothes talk.