Hundreds of years have passed since the Renaissance, yet the art from that era still serves a vital need in modern society, i.e it gives rich people something to frown at while they sip their wine. I’d like to join the frowning contest, but honestly, I’m as much of an expert on renaissance art as Britney Spears is on childcare. However, I do know the true history behind the Mona Lisa and its creator Leonardo Da Vinci, who, as you can tell from the ‘Da’ in his name, was South Indian. No seriously, I’m mesmerized every time I look at the Mona Lisa. It’s as if she’s reaching out to humanity from behind that enigmatic smile, and asking us the all-important question, ‘Does this dress make my ass look fat?’
Let’s face it – women just love asking that question. Despite the knowledge that straight men are genetically incapable of answering correctly, they persist like Nazi interrogators on crack. In fact, given a choice between answering their girlfriend’s weight-related questions, and having a fanatic German yank out their genitals with pliers, most men would, without a moment’s hesitation, introduce the woman to the German, who would then end up using the pliers on himself. America used this very tactic to win WWII.
So as you guys can see, we’re dealing with an issue that has enormous consequences.
However, you needn’t despair, because there is a way to offset the impact of the deadly ‘fat’ questions – just use humour to distract your woman. All you need to do is to come up with a sincere, yet light and humorous reply that also reflects your unconditional love for her. For example, you could say something like ‘Yes you’re fat, but it’s absolutely fine because luckily, I have a whale fetish!’ (Yeah I’m single. How did you guess?)
However, this article isn’t really about poking fun at women. Ok, so they’re creatures who believe that men are turned on by ‘Haute Couture De La Somali Refugee.’ That’s no reason to make fun of them. And yes, these otherwise independent, outspoken beings allow thong-wearing, coke-snorting, flowery-smelling men with unpronounceable names (How the hell do you pronounce ‘Yves’ anyway? Is it ‘Wives’ or ‘Aaives’?) to tell them what to wear. We must refrain from making cheap digs, even if their sacred fashion rules change more frequently than Shilpa Shetty’s nose. (For instance, it seems like just yesterday when voluptuous women like Marilyn Monroe were considered hot, whereas compared to the hotties of today, Marilyn Monroe, with all due respect, is an oil tanker) But we shall ignore all these idiosyncrasies and focus our attention on a group whose weight issues really need to be tackled – men.
Unlike women, men have always been blessed beings who go through life completely oblivious to their ballooning weight. Things may reach a stage where even their shadows are causing craters to form on the ground, yet in terms of Stud Factor, they will still think of themselves as John Abraham, only smarter.
But what if, hypothetically speaking, there’s a young, dashing humour writer who’s had enough of this ignorance? What if this writer, still hypothetical mind you, put on so much weight during the course of his sedentary career, that he now has his very own personal moon orbiting gleefully around him? What if this hypothetical writer, who once worked with JAM, is not kidding when he says that he feels physically tired after simply watching a sports channel? What if this hypothetical…oh never mind! I might as well own up. The ‘hypothetical writer’ I’m talking about is none other than – you guessed it – Sidin Vadukut.
Haha! Just a little media fraternity-humour there! No, I was indeed referring to myself. If you’re wondering how this happened, then you’re as bright as the hero’s batty old mother in the Bollywood village movies of yore. I’ll explain. You see, when the old woman learns that her nubile, unwed daughter is pregnant, she screams the most redundant question at the trembling waif. ‘Yeh kaise hua?’ (How did this happen?) the old cow wants to know. It’s a stupid question, because everyone in a 300-mile radius knows that the chick has been knocked up by the Thakur’s son, because – let’s face it – no one else would have the cojones to screw around with the hero’s sister (although I’m sure many wanted to, especially his bumbling sidekick).
So yes, if you still want to know, my answer is – the weight gain happened pretty much like the incident with the hero’s sister. Like her, I too was aware of the risks, but thought that nothing would happen to me. And just like her, I was having fun, until I realized that I was eating for two.
Even after all this, I’m not worried, for there is still some hope. After all, the Olympics are on, and there’s no better inspiration to lose weight than an unabashed display of muscle and sinew by men in tights that look like they were originally designed to fit 2-year olds. I’d go out and exercise, but honestly, watching all these athletes run around has left me exhausted.
PS: This is a guest article I wrote for JAM’s 13th anniversary issue (dated August 15-29)