Food and Workouts

Broke my trainer's heart,

By telling her I eat a handful of chips each night, she instantly made me do 10 more squats,

I eat two pieces of dark chocolate too, 

I confessed, she increased my dumbbell reps by two,

Excercise and food don't go hand in hand,

We have to turn our taste buds bland,

To have washboard abs,

Grinned like a Chesire Cat as I wrote those words, for at present I have only jiggly flabs,

Filled with chocolate and oil,

Despite all that toil,

It is what it is,

I love food and food loves me, without something edible, my brain goes fizz.

Beauty And The Beast Can Never Be Rubbished

I think I was 21, when an older cousin, very rudely announced to me, "Real life is not a movie Gayatri. You cannot do such things." Honestly I still hate her now as much as I hated her in the moments that this sentence tumbled out of her ghastly mouth.

In my head, I'll always be 21. Who cares that I'm hitting 40 in less than 2 years. Forever young, is always the way to go. 

This morning though, that illusion burst in my head, all thanks to a dreadful Instragram reel that I saw. It revealed the real story of The Beauty and the Beast. I wish I had never seen it and I wish someone poured acid in my eyes, as I watched it.

The greatest fictional love story of all time, rubbished in less than two minutes. Whoever made that reel has all my curses. My entire childhood and adulthood's idea of romance was based on this iconic tale, as old as time.

I've seen the cartoon 50 times, the live musical once and the movie twice. In those few minutes, my not so favourite cousin's voice echoed in my mind. My heart didn't break, but my spirit certainly did.

This just cannot be. Gaston could not have been Belle's first love. I just cannot believe it. And so I choose not to.

I'm happy to live in a world filled with fairy tales, hot chocolate and crazy little boy play zones. Of course life is a movie if you want it to be. Take charge of it and burp out pixie dust along with unicorn flavoured poop. 

Now that that's settled, let's quickly move onto bigger life problems now. Next! 

Find Your People

The world is full of psychos, ourselves included. It's very important to find your bunch of psychos and stick to them. Those bunch of special people who've figured out the cuckoos in your head and don't flinch, get scared or run away. Those people are keepers.

Let the rest run. There is no such thing as an "almost person", "could have been", "almost happily ever after". Just no. This is not a romantic comedy with Adam Sandler trying to make Drew Barrymore remember their life together every single day, aka 50 first dates.

Those things exist only in the movies. Very sad realisation. But I've at least realised it now, close to 39 years later. In real life, romance is your mom-friend telling you in detail, the homework to be completed during the pooja holidays. Your mother pinging you 10,000 times a day asking if you've eaten. And your father investing in the mutual funds for you. That's real life. Solid. Constant. Steady. 

Let's not forget the siblings and their spouses, who also pamper you shitless and make you feel 10 years old, all over again. By you, I mean me, of course.

Go and find your people. And drink hot chocolate after you drown yourself in a bowl of luscious butter chicken. 

For everything else, there's HIT workouts and weight training. One minute of those bone crushing workouts and all your sadness will fly out the window, like it never existed.

Peace! ☮️✌️🏳️🕊️

Fluctuating Scales

The last two or is it five kilos,

Keep going up and down, like a blow,

To the ego, this proves that the metabolism,

Is on a perennial break, like a beautiful illusion, almost a prism,

That keeps you hoping against hope,

Almost like gripping onto a slippery rope,

As I popped luscious butter chicken,

With makki di roti for lunch, and then dessert after dessert, like I was grief stricken,

With the seasonal flu,

Not all grief is of the mind, some are of the body, that make us feel blue,

And so I ate,

And I ate,

Like I'd never seen food,

Each morsel lifted my mood,

A chocolate brownie, followed by a Biscoff cheesecake,

That ended with some pakodas and tart, today I'll take a break,

Back to the grind,

I've made up my mind,

It's a Monday morning,

There's no time for mourning,

Breakfast has been skipped,

The mouth will be closed and I'll remain tightlipped. 

Overcome

I think we're all in pain,

The least we can do is try to stay sane,

Fight those demons we must,

We certainly should not combust,

Mind over matter,

Even if you feel like the mad hatter,

Chocolates and weight training work for me,

It gives me the courage to free,

Those rabid thoughts,

Throw in a couple of squats,

And there's no time to feel sad,

Every drop of sweat makes me feel glad,

Strength begins on the outside,

Only then can it trickle inside,

Stay kind,

And just don't mind,

The white noise around you,

Just say boo,

And lift those weights,

You'll quickly start thinking straight.

Almost Seven

Almost seven,

Life together has been close to heaven,

My toothless wonder,

Makes me ponder,

With his 10,000 questions per second,

As I answer one, he's ready with the next, his chattering mouth, his weapon,

My personal All India Radio,

Sometimes I wonder if my house is a studio,

From morning to night,

This is my plight,

I can hardly think,

As his questions keep flowing in a wink,

What I don't like is that he's growing in a blink,

Where's my tiny baby with his diapers that stink,

Don't become seven so quickly,

I still want you to be that sleeping baby, tiny and picky,

Strange this feeling of watching my little bean,

Turning into a beanstalk, and into a wannabe teen,

100km/hr the speed of his mouth,

Anyone's ears will turn south,

My tiny chatter box,

With too many toy blocks,

I watch with you pride,

As you make the whole world ride,

Around your tiny fingers and mouth.

Little Hurricane

I've lost track of the number of times,

Your face has bashed roughly into mine for no reason or rhyme,

Was that blood mixed with pain,

Or the feeling of my teeth as they strain,

Into the obscure corners of my lips,

What joy to be a boy mom with you perennially stuck to my hips,

Or calling out for me every two seconds,

Like a baby dragon who beckons,

My house is a mess,

Toys in excess,

A tube of Fevicol to add to the confusion,

Smelly baby hands, however much I wash them, cleanliness is an illusion,

He's either sweating from running around too much,

Or spilling food everywhere as such,

When do they grow up to become less monkey like,

He's a little tyke,

He's also the apple of my eye,

Even if we don't meet eye to eye,

On many things, 

My ears ring,

With his constant nattering,

His speech both flattering and unflattering,

Off to bed I go,

Where we'll hopefully not have another row.