How to Lose Weight in Winter

Honesty upfront – The full title for this blog post is “How to Lose A LOT of Weight in Winter Doing Nothing that You’re not Already Doing” with the subtitle of “No pills, no diet, no (additional) exercise! Magic miraculous formula!” Yes, yes, but don’t get too excited (Side-note: If you did get excited, let me know because I need to de-friend you. Like I would write one of those demeaning, horrible articles that are virtually EVERYWHERE on the World Wide Web!) But I do have a magic formula that will make people come to you in hordes and tell you you’ve become a lot thinner. There will be a lot of wrist holding and comparing, you will be forced to stand profile so that the horde can make a show of examining your (real-life) waist and then say that the waist in question is non-existent or imaginary or whatever, the list will go on. Anyway, my formula is that *whispers* you have to already be that thin (Please note here that when I say “you have to be thin”, I am not arguing for a preferable body-type or anything, it’s only for the sake of this blog post); thin enough for the majority of Indians you know to want to feed you or at least express their desire to do so.

So far, Sterlagoist (proudly named in 2008 and I will not change it) has seen months of great activity and long periods of dormancy (the last two years were not my proudest as a blogger). My writing has been stuck – and was possibly slowly but inevitably turning into oil – in some translucent resin type thing (imagine a cartoon of dinosaur skeleton) under layers of rock and soil; I’d become a writer fossil – to call this a writer’s block would be just way too mild – and the translucent goop around me was a coagulant variety of the poisonous, carnivorous acid waters from the trippy island in Life of Pi that quickly corroded any blog post related idea that came out of my skeletonal bone head, before that idea could even dream of worming its way up through kilometres of rubble and breathe the beautiful polluted air of the world outside! ...I get lost in my fossil metaphor - *sigh* how I miss getting lost in metaphors, even the process of editing out large chunks of these metaphors for it become easier reading for you – you are welcome. But this one will have less cuts and bruises (yay for me :D I’ve been away a long time, let me have this one). Aaanyway, I felt that urge to blog again today – my father will be delighted. He’s been trying to locate this urge creating factory in my body for a long time, and tease, command, coerce, do-whatever-it-takes to get it to function again, unfortunately he wasn’t very successful. I too have been looking for it but it eludes everybody, like a spoilt brat who’s an expert at hiding. I also feel like making it more personal – if this trend continues, dear reader who might not me, you will get to know me (I’m Kalyani btw, Hi!)

Now that that ^ is out of the way, back to “How to Lose Weight in Winter”. I’m thin and I’ve mostly always been thin. I know people who’d be like “WHAAAAA! You were so chubby when you were younger!” True I have had my fair share of cheek pulling accompanied by strange sounds reserved for cheek-pulling, but that’s because I have awesome cheeks :D And those who hold fast to the chubby view are people whose memories are stuck in a time capsule that cannot nudge its way past the year 2000 (This is accurate, I have photographic evidence). So believe me when I tell you that I was built to live out my years as a small person. That being said, the past couple of years I have been at my most consistent weight – which unfortunately provokes involuntary head shaking and frowns in a lot of people – owing to beautiful exercise (read dance) that doesn’t let me keep fat.

If I don’t change my diet and my amount of dance is the same (it’s not the same same, though the hours I put in are constant, we’re always trying to grow, so we have to push push push. For this article, though, this point isn’t too relevant coz while this changes the shape of my body but it doesnt affect the mass (or mass+gravity) of it, I only mention it for full disclosure) and I’m definitely not taking any shady experimental pills – if you do take them, cease immediately! Like now! Flush it all down the toilet! – Then how is it that I get so significantly thinner, and by the end of the indulgent delicious months of winter, no less? The answer is buried in my sartorial eccentricities. I love the cold, but I hate being cold. When summer is considering moving out, I try to scream at it my approval by wearing sweaters (and warranting it-really-isn’t-that-cold comments from girls in tiny shorts and crop tops). Before Diwali – when people free their winter wardrobes from their stuffy forgotten-cupboard/under-bed confines – I’m already in full-blown-winter jackets. In January one can only see my eyes squinting through my glasses (FYI, it doesnt get too cold in Delhi. The coldest it gets is around 4 degrees Celsius) Finally, I hold on to my warm layers till it's absolutely not possible to take it anymore, and at that point, all the layers go off – almost every single thing! Right now, it’s really nice weather here. Last week I was in sweaters, this week I wear my summeriest clothes (literally shorts and crop tops) to wring out the last bits of coolness before Summer comes barging in to squish us under its devastatingly sweltering bottom.

In conclusion, how I lose a lot of weight in winter (when I really don’t) is by strategic removal of sweaters. Simple as that.

PS: I know everyone who tells me to eat more and ask about my tiny wrists are doing so because you care for me. Let me invite you to dinner – it’s not a good habit, but that’s when I eat the most and I can drive home my point – and I assure you, after that you won’t worry or you will immediately take me to a doctor because you’ll be convinced that I have a ginormous colony of tapeworm in my intestines that is stealing all my food. (If you go for the latter I will point out that Wikipedia says that tapeworms cause loss in appetite not disappearance of large quanitities of food) Whichever the case, I'll still love you guys J

On Fried Eggs and Disappointment

I have a plan. It always works out in my head, but never does outside it. But every time, I go about doing the very same things convinced that this time would be it. This time I'll make the perfect fried egg ‐ hot from the pan with just the right amount of butter and cooked to perfection, accompanied by the two pieces of toast, golden and crispy, the likes of which the world has never seen. The plate, the fork and spoon (the knife is a pointless eating instrument), the salt and pepper shakers, a glass of water; all ready. 

Timing is everything. If I could manipulate time, I'd be eating perfect egg‐toast meals all the time. Unfortunately, I can't and that is why I have a plan. The ultimate experience lasts all of ten minutes. Five minutes to cook and five to eat. Compromise on either and all is lost. 

I digress. You see, I am extremely passionate about my egg cooking and eating. But this blog post is more about plans, made both consciously and without any consent whatsoever of the conscious mind, that never work out. The perfect bulls-eye does not exist. I know this. I have broken the yoke, burnt the bread, forgotten the bread altogether (the list in endless so I'll just say ‐) and so on. Then why do I crave it? Why is it that I let myself believe that just because I deserve it, I would achieve the impossible? And why do I settle for something short of this; eating cold eggs, in dark rooms, without enough pepper, cooked in oil? Because the stupid egg would feel bad if I didn't eat it. And because I would feel bad if that it would feel bad, sometimes I would feel bad just because I didn't eat it. 

But do you know what the worst part is? (It isn't that bad when it seems like I have a chance. The pan isn't too hot, the butter is melted and I crack my egg on it, the yoke is intact. I run to the toaster, stuff my slices of bread in and return to my egg. I adjust the heat. Everything is going well. But then, my egg gets cooked but the toast isn't out yet. This is okay, is it perfect? no. Can it be fixed though? yes. I turn the stove off but let the egg stay on the pan, cooking it verrrrrry slowly and keeping it warm until the bread it done.) The worst scenario is when you the egg is on the pan and you're about to deploy the bread only to find that the last two slices of bread have mold on them. So your mind has seen the near perfect future, everything you need is available, but at the last moment you find that that wasn't true. You really didn't have everything. It breaks your heart. Since I've killed the almost baby chicken anyway, I eat it despite it tasting horrible, I don't have a choice. 

On such days, I'd like to turn to corn flakes. And since we're talking worst case, there wouldn't be any milk and the corn flakes would have gone bad and the shops would be shut. Don't you just love these days. What do you do then? Whine about it to the world through some messed up metaphor because in doing that you parcel up all your horribleness in a blog-post and present it to anyone who will read.

Habitat

Little people live in my ear.
When I plug my ears, their oxygen supply is cut out. They get agitated. I can feel them running around frantically. If I still don't let air in, they start banging the walls.
Sometimes, they use fire.
I give in, eventually and they stop.
If I listen hard enough (I'm not exactly sure on how this listening hard inside your own ear thing works) I can hear them. I can't specifically hear what each one of them says, but I can hear a buzz of multiple conversations and tones. They're just like us, btw.

There you go. Your quota of thought provoking bullshit for the day :)

The Aftermath

I am in love with Nasr city. There's no other way to explain my obsession with it. And right now I've been dumped on my butt. I'm still crazily in love with Nasr city while the place is in another continent and time and the reasons for my unyielding devotion (my people) live in tiny pinpricks spread all across the freaking globe. I, like some hopelessly heartbroken people, hold on to a Utopian idea that isn't ever going to exist outside my imagination, and I won't let myself get over it.

I'm the reacher in our relationship. Nasr city was so completely out of my league that I never thought it would settle for me, but I'm ever so grateful that it did if only for a short time. Those few days were life changing. Having established the amazing but inaccessible awesomeness of Nasr city, I think it's safe to say that I was a bit insecure. Alright, very insecure. Each of those brilliant days I felt loved, like I belonged, sometimes even like it was my destiny to find my way there. The whole deal about how you only appreciate the value of something after you've lost it? Yeah that didn't happen with me; I always knew exactly what Nasr city was and how much it meant to me, I even had a fairly accurate idea about how I'd be after I left. So every day I had hoped and prayed that time would freeze so it wouldn't end.

Despite having the greatest time, there was an extremely annoying voice that I couldn't shake, one that makes gives me hell today, that kept telling me (reminding me, the voice corrects) that while it was true that I felt like I belonged - one of the wonderful charms of Nasr city - it would never really be mine. Even now I call it "Nasr City" not "my apartment", also my destiny had planned for me to NOT go to Nasr City... Heheh but I went anyway. And that could be why the Fates are pissed off at me now? ityby making the Fates really pissed off at me, and maybe that's why they're being so mean to me now.

I mean this shit SUCKS!! Like really really really REALLY sucks! I hate being back. Don't get me wrong, I did miss being home. But this is different, I can't really explain how it is. And I'd give just about anything to go back (back in time as well).

It's also completely unfair. It's been over a month! I'm hardly any better than I was when I got back. I still spent half my time playing the same memories over and over in my head. Dreams are still abusive, in the sense that I'm disoriented when I wake up in my room. Other memories ambush me constantly, for example when I say something like "Fine, don't tell me shit." A phrase I use almost daily, except now I can't say it because it takes me back to a place or a person or an incident, and that would be the end of any decent mood coz I'd start sulking. It's made me verbally handicapped, dammit! To make shit worse, my brooding seeps into my memories and swirls around in my insecurities and pukes out a concoction of poisonous thoughts. It starts with how it's over, then how I didn't get enough time, how it never was mine, how maybe it was all in my head, how maybe I had misinterpreted simple things and made them out to be much bigger than they actually were, how maybe I was an inconvenience, how it was wrong and selfish on my part to try to wriggle my way into their home and lives, making it less perfect for them. Thankfully, the concoction reaches a point where things are so toxic that they're not believable anymore, and I go back to thinking Yay! I have amazing friends! I'm loved ...Well, I was loved and then I relapse.
I should say I know amazing people! I'm so glad I got to spend time with them. I know that my joy of having spent time with them is incomparable but the question is, were they happy to have me around?

You see what I mean by it sucks, I suck - I loathe the voice! The I'm loved phase lasts for about a minute, the rest of the day I mope at the mercy of the voice. SUCKY SHIT!

But in spite of all this messed up drama within, I can say with absolute certainty that I will always cherish my memories and love the people in them unconditionally. If any of you come across this blogpost and want to pull out my internal organs, all I can say is I cant help thinking this shit; it's not like I like have these thoughts. I hate it. Also, during the YAY phase, I completely dismiss them. Im not fickle minded about the other part though, I honestly do love you guys and I will continue you to do so until you make your way to Delhi and manage to pull out my intestines and end my life.

The Clock's Ticking

Under the brown bean bag, there in an unnaturally large gathering of tiny red ticks. One of them stand on top of a grain of sand and addresses the crowd.

"Chicku (Kalyani's beautiful amazing Labrador) has been home to us for generations. Until that wretched day a week ago when the humans forced us to evacuate; polluting our pristine ecosystem with chemicals so lethal that the eggs wouldn't hatch, the elders went crazy and even breathing became impossible. With no alternatives, we left Chicku. Leaving everything behind! Our homes, our food source, our livelihoods, and some cases even our children ...we had to, because no matter how much regret, sorrow or guilt we bear in our hearts, we must survive. 

But the ravenous humans, the despicable, deplorable, dreadful, decietful creatures that they are, won't ever stop. In the worst of times, when millions of bugs are trying to adapt to a new and hostile environment, do they stop? Oh no. They kill. Merciless. Too many innocent ticks have died!

Yes, the humans are huge. And yes they have metalled shoes and pesticides. And we will all die... 

Yes, we will all die. But our story will not be mentioned in their easy wins. Oh no, we will die but we will give them hell before we do. We shall fight! Fight with all our numbers, all our strength! WE WILL FIGHT!"

On cue, Kalyani walks into the room. She's thinking about something and doesn't notice the ticks. She turns on her laptop and folds herself onto her regular spot on the floor. Her brain has already given most of the grey matter a break as she gets sucked into the world of Facebook where she will do god-only-knows-what-ish things for the next few hours. Little does Kalyani know that those would be last hours.

Within minutes, the entire tick population is ready. they split into groups. Two lines advance along the edges of the red wall - perfectly camouflaged, the bravest group moves over the lines of the tiles on the floor, the fastest ticks scuttle around the entire room to attack from the far side. 

Kalyani doesn't know whats hit her. One second she's going through her notifications, and the next she's got a live coat of ticks engulfing every inch of her. She feels them plunge their tiny fangs in at a thousand places simultaneously. At the same time she can also feel their feathery movement all over her skin. She's terrified beyond the limit she thought was humanly possible. Her mind, in full panic mode, shows her jumping wildly and thrashing her limbs to get the bugs off, but before her body can pull itself up the ticks make their ways into her brain. They find their entry points in her eyes, nose and ears, and steadily bite through everything they see until they reach her brain. Once there, they work on severing every nerve connection they found. Before long, Kalyani goes limp. Her pupils dilate, her muscles give way and she collapses in on herself like a bedsheet that was suddenly bed-less. There is no peace in death. Not in hers, not in any of the tick's she'd killed.

The ticks celebrate their victory and wait for the other humans to come and wipe them out. 

Cool Dude

(Through college I've volunteered with an NGO called Adharshila where we provide supplementary education to the kids of the neighbourhood)

At the centre we have a sort of semi class between the main class and the lunch break. During this time a few kids drop by, I’m not sure what exactly their relationship with the NGO is though. One day, a larger group came in and I saw some faces I didn’t recognize. This is when I saw cool dude for the first and only time.

Cool dude was a skinny little kid, just barely three and half feet. He was tiny! Winter had ended and it was getting rather hot, but cool dude was too cool for that; he wore an almost cowboy like jacket which flapped around behind him as he walked, underneath he had a tight shirt which was had the top few buttons undone and skinny jeans. But the outfit wouldn’t be complete without the pair of shades hooked on to the back of his collar.

Cool dude walked into class swaying to a rhythm in his head, was completely indifferent to the volunteer madam-s who the other kids went to. After a while he decided to grace these madam-s with his attention. He dropped his book in front of me. “Madam, kaam do.” I was very impressed with the attitude of this little creature who was barely as tall as my elbow, I asked him what his name was. He shot his arm out and pointed at his tattoo – DEEPAK. He really did not seem interested in doing work; when I asked him if he knew the alphabet and counting, he looked at me like I was being ridiculous. So I just gave him some simple sums. He came back looking proud. As I had suspected, he didn’t know how to tackle large numbers. So I explained to him how the carrying numbers over thing worked.

You should have seen his face! The simple act of leaving the units number down there and adding the other one with the tens seems to unlock all the mysterious secrets of the universe! Uninterested cool dude who would barely talk to me had disappeared, and Deepak was in top form; ready to tackle all the math sums in the world. I gave him sets of eight sums that he would bring back faster than the rest of the kids. A few sets into it, he started explaining the concept to a girl who had difficulty grasping it. In fact, she seemed to understand it better with Deepak’s enthusiasm.

When my friends and I were leaving, our coordinator approached me with tiny Deepak hiding behind her. She said that Deepak told her this madam teaches us good things. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, but no one could have given me a bigger compliment. And when he saw me packing up my things, he came up to me and happily buried himself under a pile of homework for the week. I told him I’d be back next Monday and that I should see him in class. He assured me that he’d come everyday, but I didn’t see him again.

I am disappointed that I didn’t get to see Deepak again, but he gave me a crucial dose of encouragement and helped me believe. If nothing else, Deepak will always know how to carry numbers over. 

The Bomb!

The class 12 batch (2011-2012) of Kendriya Vidyalaya Pattom was blessed with a unique bunch of girls. Zarin, Nazrin, Alina and Kalyani (the last one is me, btw). This is not to say that there weren’t other interesting people, because in my 6 years in KV, I met and got close to a lot of very exciting people. But I mention the 4 of us specifically because we were called by some, the “Vedi Gang”. For those of you, who are unfamiliar with the term, quite frankly put it means the Slut Gang. I've left KV Pattom and won’t ever go back there, and I honestly couldn't care less about what some lousy shithead wanted to call me.

But yesterday, Alina’s friend asked me not to ‘cntct’ her because ‘it wil affct her lyf’ if she keeps up her ‘cmpny wit us 3 ppl’. Make no mistake, I don’t give a crap about his insights of me, but when he tries to mess around with my relationships with my friends, that is where I decide to write about it publicly.

What constitutes a “slut”? Rather who gets the privilege of being called one? Because I can assure you that there was not one girl in school who sold her body for money. So is it a girl whose uniform is tight fitting and doesn’t resemble a sack? A girl that looks good perhaps? Who doesn’t have a decent haircut (whatever that means)? Is it a girl who talks too much? About things that must not be mentioned in public? Who doesn’t know her place? Who uses bad language? Is it a girl who talks to too many guys? Or one who has had multiple boyfriends? Or a girl that, god forbid, flirts?

If anyone says yes to all or any of those, it’s high time they got themselves checked. Regrettably, there are shitheads everywhere who not only believe but also preach such definitions of a “slut”. My objective is not to point out how messed up society is (which it is, btw, at magnitudes that defy hope) and this is merely a response to my conversation with the shithead last night.

However, I do have one thing to say. These “sluts”- I know quite a few of them, including the 3 I already mentioned- are simply extraordinary! They (or we) are smart, sexy, confident people who don’t take crap from anyone. Call me “slut”-ist (like elitist) but contrary to the term, we are completely and so utterly out of their (slimy lowlife shitheads’) league. And if being all that makes me a “slut”, I’m extremely proud to be one. 

Lilliputian Lit

 Five, seven and five

Japanese haiku, it seems

Bloody hard it is.

It falls and it falls

Outside control, merciless

My hair and the snow

Moves in cryptic trance

Reflected off the dark glass

The flame in the hearth

A female walked by

Upraised ears and straightened tail

Thus I stood my ground.

Suns Set

The sun is big and red in the sky. The view is better from the terrace. During the climb up the stairs the sun is hidden from view but the memory of it is more incredible; it’s a perfect circle with the most amazing colour – to call it merely “red” is injustice – that fills the world with happiness. It’s pasted in the canvas it deserves, dark blue above gradually turning lighter to a perfect orange around the disc. It’s a fogless day, there are no clouds either, and there is magic in the uncorrupted play of colours in the sky.

Then the stairs end and the terrace opens out ahead. The brilliantly glowing star shrinks, dulls down to its original shade and loses some of its grandeur, as does the sky behind. It is still beautiful though.

I have never really seen the sun set. But this time I’m adamant. I hold on to the cold concrete wall separating me from the 10-story fall, and I stare at the sun. My peripheral vision notes lone birds fighting the chilly breeze, little kids dragging themselves home as the night advances; things that I would normally pay more attention to, but not today. Not today because similar things have cost me sunsets before, you look away for a minute and the sun is gone. And it doesn't make sense how abruptly and without valediction it disappears. So now I concentrate on the red circle.

In the 10 minutes that I spend purposefully motionless, the sun moves further down. And I realize 2 things: One, that the horizon is not where I thought it was at all. It was not the meeting point of the sea and the sky. Not for the sun. Its horizon or point of crossing over was at a much greater height. So I suddenly find myself with much less time than I thought I had with it.

And second that as it moves toward its finish line, it fades progressively. The red blurs around the edges and seeps out into the orange background... The sky loses all of its beauty when I gather that it has been stealing my sun, as I stood watching. The sky was still exquisite in itself and I would have been able to appreciate that had it not been depriving me of the sun’s company.

I put my anger aside because I am down to our last precious moments together. And though it was a clear day, the colours seemed to have a layer above, dulling them like a thin sheet of cloud. The sun is not nearly as glorious at it was earlier, but its majesty does not matter anymore, there is only an inexplicable need to keep it there a little while longer. My stare intensifies with this need, as though with more effort on my part I could slow its departure. I don’t notice immediately that as I concentrate on keeping it there, the bottom has already gone.

The sun and the sky are almost the same colour now. And then the entire thing vanishes. I panic but don’t look away. I blink and I can make out a hazy semicircle. When I blink, it appears for a few seconds and then disappears again. My blinking becomes more frequent and my time with the faint picture is briefer. Then I wonder if I am imagining it there.

Shortly after, my imagination fails me, too. Suns set, it is inevitable. And I am alone. 

Geminid lights

Multicoloured, self consuming cosmic dust has been about the only thing in my mind for the past six hours. It's 5 am, now's when the Geminid meteor shower hits its peak. And I've been waiting for the unyielding razzayi spread above Delhi to thin, all in vain obviously. I couldn't go to sleep when there was a possibility of the clouds raining out or something. To think I'd miss the opportunity to wish on so many shooting stars on something as trivial as sleep... To think I'd miss the opportunity to see them, to lose myself in them, to leave the earth behind and be floating around in the universe.

In 2010, I had stayed out a few hours and did just that. Then I didn't know much about them. I don't generally know much about anything that I obsess over, contrary to popular presumption. And last time, I was with some of my closest friends and lovely weather. We sat outside on jute sacks so our butts wouldn't freeze and shared chocolate and black current ice cream. And because when one says shower we imagine things to fly about with insane frequency, and then we realize that meteor showers don't give a damn about our definition of the word and continue teasing us at their own pace, then we are left with a lot of free time. This time we used to have fun, completely random conversations that I don't even remember, and also long but pleasant stretches of silence where we simply stared into the beautiful night sky... But the meteors were first priority; when I did see them, I was awestruck - forgetting the conversation, the company, the cold floor.. forgetting the world. (Gravity starts losing its power on me with me just thinking about it.. which also explains the use of such language. Coz when I'm floating around out there, I dont give a shit about being overly romantic or dramatic or repetitive or outright nonsensical) And of course I did wish on them. The wishes came true by the way. Maybe coincidence or maybe 3200 Phaethon (the asteroid which is source of the Geminids) is a really cool cosmic entity with wish granting powers and a large heart.

Thinking back I remember the thrill that I got every time I saw a streak of light more than the streak of light itself. And how I got excited every single time I saw one. I can't understand why a glowing dust particle would bring me such joy, except it did and I know that it will in the future as well. It brings out the optimist in me but unfortunately the sun's almost up which is my cue to give in to dormancy demands of my body. So even though I didn't see the Geminid meteor shower tonight, I will again.