I look into the mirror. Stand sideways.....take a deep breath.....tuck my flabby abdomen in a bit. Then face the mirror.....pinch my swollen love-handles. Turn around.......and what I see is, well.....the less said, the better! Indian figure and all.....that always looks best in a saree. And why not? Since that is the only costume that can camouflage faults and hide imperfections in 6 yards of fabric, draped painstakingly around bulging abdomens and burgeoning hips. ‘You look best in a saree’ – I hear this ALL THE TIME. And know that it’s just another way of saying ‘ You are too plump for anything else!’
I don’t remember being slim – not as a child, not as a teenager and never later when my attempts to lose weight were aborted by repeated pregnancies and joys of motherhood. My mother was a very slim person. All of Salem admired her for her lissom figure despite 5 children. And I have’nt inherited that enviable attribute from her. I take after my Dad and his sisters who were pleasantly plump and cared a damn about it.
Those days, losing weight was never considered a healthy habit – and if you did shed a few pounds, you would gain the sympathy of all old uncles and aunts who would click their tongues and exclaim - ‘poor child! What happened to you? You used to look so nice and chubby!!’ ‘ Chubby’ was a safe term used to describe anyone who was clearly overfed and overweight. There was no question of dieting or exercise and no knowledge of nutrition and healthy eating. We ate too much ‘carbs’ – really.....idly, dosa, rice, puri, chappathy, bread, biscuits and more idly, dosa and rice. We did not drink too much water – that was supposed to take away your appetite!
I was never into sports, even in school, apart from the march- past and incredibly stupid ‘drill’ that we were made to perform for our sports day to the sonorous beat of a drum. At home, we had a ‘show-case’ in our drawing room – so typical in houses those days – full of cups, medals, trophies and shields won by all five of us children, juxtaposed with dolls and random curios collected over the years. The big ones were my brothers’ - they were excellent athletes and even had a cricket team of their own called ‘Tigers Eleven’. Mine were too tiny – usually won by default, for being in the winning team of some insipid game. But I always won prices for debates, elocution and dance contests – more as certificates and books. Ahhh....come to think of it, dancing kept me in reasonable ‘shape’, if ever there was one!
I stepped into my first aerobic class in 1985, desperate to shed the uncouth weight I had gained after my first baby. It was run by Steina Vasu, in her home on Cathedral Road – a small hall with a thatched roof with excellent audio system where instructors shouted 1, 2, 3 up, back 2,3, jump, 1,2,3 jog, back 2,3,down....I went to an all women class at an odd time of 10 am or 2 pm. And we were all typically obese women with a burning desire to lose weight, constantly asking each other if we saw any difference in the waist line. That was thrice a week. Other days, I struggled at home with the hugely popular cassette of Jane Fonda’s work-out, straining to catch her instructions in American English. But the idly, dosa routine continued along with bhel puri, cakes and pastries that I so loved. So, there was no question of a well toned look or improved metabolism. No knowledge of BMI, cardio vascular fitness, calorie intake, ideal heart rate, strength training, muscle toning, ideal height- weight ratio, core strengthening, abs tightening – none whatsoever! Losing weight was all I cared for - an uphill task, indeed.
Then our own Gymkhana club opened a gymnasium with some basic equipment and a few ‘trainers’ who I‘ve seen tending to the garden and serving in the bar before. I took a membership for a grand sum of Rs.200 per month and started working out there. The trainers who barely managed to switch on and off the treadmill, would give valuable advice on how I had to be more regular to lose weight around my hips (even they figured my problem area!) Soon, I found driving to the club from home and back a bit tedious. Also the temptation of snacking after work-out got the better of me. The soaring price of petrol did not help either. So, called it quits after some time. Exercise was then some sporadic walking in the neighbouring C.I.T.colony, or when in the mood, Marina beach.
And then the high end gyms started mushrooming in Chennai – with bill boards screaming fitness, good health and super toned bodies and alluring advertisements in leading publications. I would look longingly at them – knowing fully well that they were out of my reach. Was it okay to spend Rs.15,000 for an annual membership in a gym? Nevertheless, I checked out all gyms in my neighbourhood. I would talk to the courteous staff at the reception, go on a tour of the gym gaping enviously at men and women sweating it out on an EFX or pumping iron with heavy dumbbells, take their brochure and promise to ‘consult my husband’ and come home with a heavy heart.
In 2006, having survived a huge personal crisis, I decided to reward myself with a gym membership – the one that I had coveted for long. And joined ‘Fitness One’. And what a great thing it turned out to be! I loved the sessions with the physio and dietician and detailed measurement-jotting by a trainer ( female, of course) before a personalised workout chart was handed to me. I followed the chart sincerely the first few days....but soon learnt to cheat, and do whatever it took to complete my workout in an hour and 15 minutes. The atmosphere and the kind of people working out in a gym have a huge bearing on us. When you see young hunks with bulging biceps and nubile girls in capris and tank tops working out with a vengeance, some of the enthusiasm is sure to rub off on you.
But after 4 years, I gave up gymming for a year and discovered yoga. And loved it. But felt something missing in my fitness regime. So went back to a gym – ‘Score’ this time, and loving it even more!
So, it’s yoga in the mornings 4 times a week and gym in the evenings 4 times a week. Now, fitness to me is a way of life – indispensable. And when I happen to miss a few days due to travel or work, I feel miserable. It’s always tough to begin, but when you fall into a pattern, it’s addictive – releasing happy hormones that give a ‘high’ without the hangover. As for weight loss, I really don’t care anymore!
