Finally, the day arrived when I cared to look at myself in the mirror. A shabby mess (yes, my face) looked right back at me. Ignoring the ignominy I looked down (a little up) in the mirror. What I saw was huge and yes it was much more than just mortifying. I was a humiliated owner of one of the fattest bellies. To make matters worse, it seemed to be laughing back at me. I felt helpless unable to deflate or kick it like I had done twice when my childhood park friends had allowed me to touch their football. Without thinking much, I thought of joining the nearby much hyped gym. The theoretical beauties at the reception gave me measured-to-three-seconds smiles each (and I asked myself if I was being smiled or laughed at?). They asked me to get myself registered. The fee was extremely ill structured if you think in terms of normal trade practice. I was there to give them my flab and they wanted me to give money too? What happened to the good old “Ek haath(pet?) de, ek haath le” adage?
I tried bargaining almost like a child – “What if I don’t lose the entire flab? What if I develop just a 2 pack? What if I run on the treadmill without power? What if I plug my ears and don’t listen to music?” Each question evoked just a shake of heads. But I had worked hard on developing my bargaining skills and popped the ace-question with a 99% chance of earning a 10% discount, “What if I come when there’s nobody of the opposite gender?” Now that got their eyelashes batting. “We’ll still be here, won’t we?” Feeling awful about my bargaining ability, I came home, collected cash, ran back to the gym, thought about throwing it on their face but peacefully handed it over.
Once on the floor, I saw some extremely fit people and many extremely unfit people. Looking at the latter category (with a sense of belonging), I just knew I was being laughed at (rather than being smiled at) at the reception.
It’s a fascinating scene if you happen to be there for the first time. Picture these:
- Guys in their teens who believe that they’ve reached the pinnacle of their built walking like Stallone but in reality are bony enough to be forcefully admitted in hospitals for anorexia.
- A chubby couple wearing identical clothes running on the treadmill; after they’re done, he goes the extra mile to bring her glucose, pulls her cheeks (for some reason) and gives a hi-five as they move towards the stepper. The excruciating pain, my friend, is subdued by the extreme vows of togetherness.
- A trainer shouts at his trainee lifting weight, “Come on. You can do it! Lift!!” In the mean time, the trainee falls down, looks at the trainer, smiles back and gently says the same words.
The only thing more interesting than the floor is to hear conversations in the changing room. My picks:
- “Weight lifting and cardio don’t help in the long run. It’s the other physical activities that do the trick.” (Let’s leave it at that.)
- Looking at the ladder (kept for repairing the heater) in the bathroom, “Yeh ladder pe chadh ke kaun shower leta hai?”
My first day’s heroics at the gym showed their true colors the next day. Almost every muscle ached and screamed in pain. My gait had assumed a manner that would not make me (or the watchers) comfy outside the house gate. I returned to gym the next day. Looking at my shakuni-ish walk, one of the trainers whispered in my ears, “We call this walk, the ‘First Day First Show’ walk.” Considering my walk and the momentary situation of being whispered into by a super fit trainer, I quickly moved away from him.
That was the day I resolved:
“Not very long from today, I would be a jabardast gabru jawaan,
Everyone would point at me and scream, 'Hey there he is!The Bunty Pehelwaan!”
