Bring out the bugles, do some serious hand breaking applause, roll out the red carpet, call out the paparazzi. I am seriously, seriously chuffed. Make that I expect to be hounded by the news reporters thrusting mikes into my face, begging for soundbytes on how I managed the strength of will to stay clean for an entire month. And some days. I think I deserve a tiara and a cash prize. And my mug shot in the papers. On page one. Flyer. Yup, yup. And John Abraham shaking my hand on behalf of PETA.
Back to reality. I am missing animal. Let me not be a big fat liar and say it is a piece of cake and I dont even think about non vegetarian fare because I make such exciting and wonderful dishes with vegetarian stuff that I dont get a chance to miss the high brought on by animal protein. For one, I donot cook. I survive on the mercy of the cook. And this cook wields her magic best on animals. Vegetables are meant to be drowned in oil and then stirred on high flame until something black and burnt to carbon element reduction emerges. Which I stare at haplessly and then bin. And end up eating dal chawal and achar. Yup. And yellow dal at that. Did I ever mention I hate yellow dal. With a vengeance. I never in the lowest of my low moments imagined I would be reduced to eating yellow dal on a regular basis but given that the husband and the son share a sort of addiction to yellow dal, and the alpha males ruling the output of the kitchen, I am forced to comply in interests of the recession and not making one million items of food, which then serve to fatten the cook and the maid the next day. The cook who was a scrap of a thing you could blow away into the stratosphere with a gentle breath when she joined us, is today, within the year, a strapping lady a mugger would think twice before accosting in a dark alley. I have to circumvent her when I enter the kitchen now to prevent any accidents. Given that I myself need circumnavigation if anyone is to pass me on a narrow path.
I posed in front of the husband, in his usual early morning grouch and demanded to know if I had lost any weight after I embarked on my vegetarian diet. The poor man saw the barely contained violence in my eyes, and hastily nodded yes, but declined to elaborate. Thats okay. He is a man of few words. And fewer nods. So I will take what I get, and feel even more chuffed.
And do I feel any difference within my self , having totally shifted said diet from one extreme to another? Not really. Not yet. I’m willing to see how long I last before I cave in and run shrieking, like a solitary confinement escapee, into the restaurants demanding every last leg of lamb they have. And butter chicken with naan. You know. I used to OD on that stuff. Maybe I can put that on my last wishes. Before I die, I’d like to eat one real meal with butter chicken and naan. Lots of it. With no one sniggering on the side about how much I manage to pack away and every bite showing through the folds on the waist.
Never mind. I’m off to nibble some carrots now. As the husband later told me, when I was calmer and fed, if vegetarianism could help you lose weight, explain the blue whale.