that I found myself in a pastry shop in the dead of noon, while the world was busy with earning an honest living, trying hard to evaluate which of the sugar laden delights beckoning seducatively from the display counter would do the worst possible damage to said waistline gone to waste. How did this worst case scenario come to pass, you ask? How did it happen that the kleptomaniac was let loose in the departmental store with the security cameras switched off and the guards with their feet up on chairs and caps covering their snoring faces? Hunger. Pure and simple hunger. Blame it on the weather. Blame it on my metabolism. Blame it on my complete lack of discipline and focus on whittling down the waist to fitting within pants without muffin top falling gracefully over waistband size. In my defence, my day starts at 6 am. And I donot have breakfast. I survive on a cup of tea till lunchtime. Tea with sugar. I kill myself with the guilt over the sugar. Yes, yes. Unhealthy, but laziness and a lack of inclination to make myself any breakfast before the cook arrives are to be blamed. And anyway, the morning is so rushed that one doesnt actually get the time to even think about ingesting anything solid, and preparing it myself??? Blasphemy. Therefore, when it came to pass that strange cramps gripped my stomach and twisted it into various combinations that began from the mild to the fullblown seemingly uterine contractions of labour I wondered whether, unknown to me, I had passed the ninth month point without noticing it. A sort of fast forward to delivery point with no morning sickness. But it was not to be. And when the head began swimming, I knew. This was something I had never allowed myself to feel before. These were the feelings of a stomach deprived of food to digest. Anger at not being given the opportunity to do the task God set before it. And the swimming feeling, and the blackingout sensation was sugar levels gone awry. Therefore the pastry. Therefore the shop. And therefore the greed that made me buy two big boxes comprising five of them sugar bombs each. You never know. Tomorrow is another day. Forewarned is forearmed. I sail forth tomorrow with a pastry in a box. Low sugar levels can be dangerous I believe.
Do you think the fact that the weather is hovering around the 11 degree celsius mark in Mumbai is adding to the hunger levels? All I can seem to do is dream of immensely fattening and fried foods. Plates loaded with piping hot bhajias and pakoras set before me, with adrak wali chai hot off the kettle. Thick chicken soup, the way mom made it when I was snorting my gills out with a bad cold in my childhood. Even khichdi. Piping hot khichdi with dollops of ghee dribbled over it, with fried papad. Yes, none of these will do nice things to my waistline. But I digress. I seem to be on a food overdrive. Is this what they mean by winter hibernation of the animals? Eat till you burst and then sleep it off. Sure could do with that.