"Gentlemen, welcome to Fat Club."

I’m ashamed of myself. This is not because I watched the Nithyananda video, which I had to, for solid journalistic reasons of course. No, I’m ashamed because I just had three gulab jamuns. I’m supposed to be on a diet, so as of now, eating three gulab jamuns is criminal, kind of like drop-kicking a child (unless of course it’s that kid from Balika Vadhu.)

Yes, I know what you women are thinking: “Why does he need to diet? He looks great in the picture above. In fact, I want to do things to him that cannot be mentioned in a family newspaper.” Alas, the fine visage that accompanies this column is only the tip of the iceberg. Underneath that face, I *am* the iceberg. Darwin would be amazed at how I’ve managed to evolve into Free Willy, minus the stamina.

I blame my profession for this. Writers don’t really get much exercise, unless they write about the burqa and have to run for their lives. I mean the most physically demanding aspect of my job involves scratching (usually myself, unless someone else makes a very good offer.)

It’s not just writers – a huge percentage of young, urban professionals, as a result of being confined to their desks all day, are facing a multitude of problems, ranging from weight gain and chronic back pain, to more serious mental issues, such as the need to play Farmville.

Dieting aside, I also went ahead and hammered the metaphorical final nail into my happy spot. That’s right – I joined a gym, also known as ‘the place where you go to feel like a little girl as men twice your size benchpress weights the equivalent of a post-buffet Mayawati.’

Now don’t get me wrong. I quite like my new gym – the trainers are helpful, the music’s not bad and even the air-conditioning has its moments. But these little joys don’t count for much when I’m sweating it out, dark spots dancing in front of my eyes, as I wonder who I molested in my past life so as to deserve this ordeal.

And that’s just while filling out the application form.

(I must add that the management at most gyms is very optimistic, imagining that they can actually sell me the one year package, including ‘sauna’, which is just another way of saying ‘a local train compartment, except that everybody’s dressed in towels.’)

As a new member, I had to undergo a physical evaluation, a process wherein a trained professional measures your BMI, body fat percentage and endurance levels, all the while maintaining a solemn expression, when what he really wants to do is go all Navjot Singh Sidhu on your fat ass. (“Oye Guruuuu!!!! Your body fat percentage is more than my SSC score!”)

The actual workouts involve a machine called a cross-trainer, which is a certified weapon of ass destruction. It may well be my ultimate downfall. A cross trainer to me is what Waterloo was to Napolean, what Stalingrad was to Hitler, and what grammar is to Chetan Bhagat.

Of course, I needn’t kill myself in the gym. Instead, I could try the Kareena Kapoor method *coughbulimiacough*. It’s simple – I’d just need to make myself puke. It might help to watch that Nithyananda video again.

(Note: This was my HT column dated 7th March 2010.)


10 responses to “"Gentlemen, welcome to Fat Club."

  1. Dont lie!You joined some swimming crap, no? And went for it just once or something? And how would U get so "much exercise" if you constantly sit in front of the comp and spend your time on gtalk?!! :PAnd who told you that the women are thinking 'he looks great in the picture above'?!! Pffft. :PAlso- QUIT DRINKING SO MUCH!You will lose 80% of your weight if you stop drinking so much beer.Oh btw, forgot to say, awesome article! 😀 See I gave you a compliment too, along with revealing everything about you! 😛

  2. As a writer, I feel your pain. Except mine is manifested in the form of my mother who comes in my dreams(and on Skype) and says, "Aai ga! who will marry you now?!" Clearly, M had a lot more revelations about you in the first post which have been removed. tragedy. And, don't listen to her about the not drinking part. i don't drink(from Sun-Wed) and it has not done a damn thing to help.

  3. Ok, firstly, generalisation alert!I'm a writer with no, absolutely no pathological weight issues. Neither have I EVER played (ew)Farmville. Ok, so technically I'm a copywriter with chronic back pain but… erm… uh… nice article, man. *hobbles out of chair and goes for a walk*

  4. @Aah- No no, it was the same comment in the first post too. Deleted it cos there were too many typos. :PThough I can reveal a lot more about Mr.Shakya, if anyone's interested. This is what friends are for.. no shakyaman? 😀

  5. @Veda: you were born with Mach5 metabolism and even though I am Kobra I lack that gene, cannot tell you how sad it makes me that I missed that bus. Thoguh I have to agree with you on Farmville. I want to throw a real cow at whoever plays and posts that shit on FB. For real. @M: please, dish it out already. maybe a new post on ze M blog? Use code like AS(S?)

  6. usually i like your blog posts but this one wasn't khaas.Was expecting more.anyway next time.start is excellent but you falter like a movie gone wrong.Please try to get back ur humor shine. To be on th safer side anonymous

  7. Don't blame the beer, man! If you want to play the blame game, talk about your gym, your genes, your profession, your 4 year old neighbour, your lazy dog …But do NOT blame the beer!!By the way, I see you have been victimised by CB's incorrect grammar too..I feel the pain!!

  8. hahaha mental problems like the need to play farmville too good

  9. OMGGGG, after reading this,"kind of like drop-kicking a child (unless of course it’s that kid from Balika Vadhu.)"and this"ranging from weight gain and chronic back pain, to more serious mental issues, such as the need to play Farmville."and Finally this:"what Waterloo was to Napolean, what Stalingrad was to Hitler, and what grammar is to Chetan Bhagat."I DO WANT TO DO THINGS TO YOU THAT CANNOT BE MENTIONED IN A FAMILY NEWSPAPER!

  10. You read delicious

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