And I have been A Very Bad Girl

Skipped Yoga this morning. Yup. Criminal offence in the husband’s books, considering he is the dedicated kind of fitness freak who could be doing push ups in a plane aisle if the flight timings coincided with his work out schedules. Yes, for a man like this to be married to a woman like me who grabs any opportunity she can to crawl into her blanket and emerge only when sharp high voice barks, Mamma gerrup, must be torture of the first degree. The scathing glance he gave me when I sheepishly looked at him over the morning cuppa was torture. No yoga class this morning, he asks, single eyebrow raised in sharp arch. I mumbled incoherently and slunk away pretending I was needed more in the kitchen than right there to answer uncomfortable questions about why I bunked something that was supposed to do me good. And make me lose weight. And get into shape. And therefore become the picture of even more perfection than I already am.

I mumbled some about Aunty Flo being on me, to which he raised another sardonic eyebrow being in the first hand know about how this had to be a development that occured the moment the cellphone began braying its terrifying screech of an alarm. Ever hear an alarm when you are deep in sleep, snug as a bug in a rug with a mug or whatever, and dreaming blissfully about Richard Gere or Christian Bale in Batman costume or Heath Ledger in Joker make up or whatever it is that makes your dreams blissful. Yup. It doesnt register at first. At second it registers and you dont want to register what it is trying to make you register. And at third, you are ready to fling it out of the open french windows right next to your bed, and hear the satisfying thud of it smashing to smithereens on the ground 15 floors below. You stop yourself with the thought that you will develop Crackberry withdrawal symptoms and have to be institutionalised, and walk around holding an invisible instrument furrowed brow, thumb punching air furiously, I swear I have developed frown lines after the Blackberry happened but that probably owes more to the lack of a visit to the opthalmologist than the instrument itself. Nonetheless, the alarm is the worst invention of the civilised world. This, along with the microwave is the death of me. Easy reheating means easy eating. This means more eating. And therefore more need of the alarm to get up at unearthly hours when ghosts and spirits walk the earth to twist and turn oneself into pretzel shapes and hope the fat cells get the message, to pack their stuff into their suitcases and take the next train out. Vicious cycle.

I didnt offer any further explanations to the man I had pledged my troth to, but went about the morning tasks with the insouciance of one who can toss her head dismissively and say my fat, my lack of will. And sucked the stomach in some more to get the button hole and the button to come together. Did some jumping and twisting and patting in of fat. And checked if I had the spare safety pin ready and available in the handbag in case of sudden button splitting situation having been experienced ever so often and in ever so public situations like waiting outside the child’s school to pick up the critter. And the Oh Mother Earth Swallow Me Now situation happening bang in front of assorted van wallahs waiting to pick up their charges and am sure having their afternoon brightened by vision of horrific CSec belly let loose under too short tshirt.

As the guilt gnawed at my cellulite but did not demolish it, I resolved to do an hour long walk in the evening. I normally stroll around behind the critter but have been side tracked these days by inveterate gossiping or finding folks I am not so eager to walk with insisting on escorting me through a frogmarch situation by placing themselves on either side of me and hauling me round the track, like a convict to the gallows while they plague me with information I dont need on  or enjoy like their digestive processes. What they take to ease their digestive processes. Aand what I should do to reduce my fat. Thank you very much. I am the only person allowed to comment on my fat. The rest of the world, hold your peace or let it be known there will be war if you even suggest that I am not sylph like.

Last night saw me pacing like a caged lion in the passage near the lifts. We have a long passage. Put a black hood over my head and lead me down it and it could be the green mile. Residents gave me funny stares thinking I’d been locked out or worse, thrown out. The child popped the door open occasionally and grinned at me cheekily, no doubt enjoying the free hand he had on his remote control to Cartoon Network. The neighbour invited me in for some chai and sympathy, assuming the husband and I had spatted it and I was clearing the head and choking on some tears.

I declined politely and ran back in. Then I tried to go up and down the stairs. Twenty storeys each way I thought would give me gluts I could crack a walnut with. But three floors up, after battling all the spare cartons, cycles and such like on every floor landing, I threw my hands up and surrendered. And returned home huffing and puffing and almost tempted to pretend I’d done the entire 20 floors two times round, but knew the state of my fat would give my lie away.

So I will make my confession to the powers above, and go down to my yoga class tomorrow morning. Do my yoga with renewed fervour. Visualise the fat cells breaking down into lipid liquid and draining out with my sweat. Feel the tingling of cellulite deposits being pummelled into submission and smoothness. Good bye orange peel.

Well a girl can hope, can’t she? Even if it means she needs to hire goons to kick her out of her blankets at 5 am on a winter morning.


About Kiran Manral

Kiran Manral published her first book, The Reluctant Detective in 2011. Since then, she has published eight books across genres till date. Her books include romance and chicklit with Once Upon A Crush (2014), All Aboard (2015), Saving Maya (2017); horror with The Face at the Window (2016) and nonfiction with Karmic Kids (2015), A Boy’s Guide to Growing Up (2016) and True Love Stories (2017). Her short stories have been published on Juggernaut, in magazines like Verve and Cosmopolitan, and have been part of anthologies like Chicken Soup for the Soul, Have a Safe Journey (2017) and Boo (2017). Her articles and columns have appeared in the Times of India, Tehelka, DNA, Yowoto, Shethepeople, New Woman, Femina, Verve, Elle, Cosmopolitan, Conde Nast Traveller, DB Post, The Telegraph, the Asian Age, iDiva, TheDailyO and more. She was shortlisted for the Femina Women Awards 2017 for Literary Contribution. She is a TEDx speaker and a mentor with Vital Voices Global Mentoring Walk 2017.
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13 Responses to And I have been A Very Bad Girl

  1. Pingback: And I have been A Very Bad Girl

  2. Divs says:

    LOL – you’re funny…as always 🙂 I can really imagine you walking around in the building’s lobby with the hood pulled up. If I was new to the complex, I’d be terrified wondering what kinda spooks lived there 🙂


  3. CA says:

    Tell us honestly … are you really repenting the yoga classes OR, you just want to avoid those looks in the long passage??
    Alarms are the worst ever discovery .. . Amen !!


  4. V says:

    Too funny!! LOL! Have u tried the cabbage soup diet? It really works! the results are worth the one week of torture!


  5. Renu says:

    🙂 make your husband get up too and accompany you to the class, like I do. Then it doesn’t seem half as bad.


  6. Manpreet says:

    OMG-you left me laughing like crazy, Kiran.
    So Bad Girl, when V tells u that cabbage soup diet, do let the secret out please, Puhleez. someone at this blog adress needs to lose a lot of that stupid fat.


  7. Orange Jammies says:

    Congratulate yourself. This post convinced me to make it to my 10 am aerobics class tomorrow. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be strolling down the Nile with Banderas.


  8. Dottie says:

    Sheesh! Kudos for doing it on all days except one. I can’t for the life of me get up at 5:00 in the morning..


  9. Jira says:

    As always, this was hilarious!
    So have you hired the gundas yet?! 😉


  10. That was really funny!I so know what you mean!My aerobics classes are in the evening but even then I have to push myself. The turning point came last week when my friend of a billion years walked right past me and then refused to believe it was me when I yelled out to her (she saw me after a period of 3 months so you can imagine my shock!). Oh how I wish we could just wish the fat away). The C-sec belly is such a delight to behold! 😦

    Ah, it will go, it will go. I treasure the damn belly and the brat that popped out of it…


  11. kbpm says:

    one day is not going to matter much. in fact its good to take a break every once in a while, the muscles like it and will perform better for it. and no, you are not fat at all! women cannot achieve sculpted muscle tone like men; unless of course we take some testosterone injections or some such. so.

    Sweets, I took a permanent break from yoga, will blog about that when I get a chance…do a couple of hours of walking everyday now…


  12. Parul says:

    get the wii fit?


  13. Sameera says:

    I agree with you that alarms are the worst invention of all time. Kudos to you that you wake up at 5 am (most of the days) and do yoga. I wake up at around 8 am with great deal of effort.


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