Age Is Just a Number,
--------- and So Are the Calories Today
For two agonizing days in my 8th glorious attempt this year , I was a paragon of Self-control. As a proud self-proclaimed gastronome, my life usually revolves around the sacred trinity of ghee, boiled rice , and deep-fried snacks. Yet, there I was, surviving on boiled moong sprouts, lukewarm lemon water, and the sheer, unadulterated smugness of telling people I was "detoxing." My collarbones were beginning to emerge from witness protection. I had successfully walked past the local “darshini” without weeping at the aroma of hot Ghee Masala Dosa & vadas. I was invincible.
And then came ………………….my birthday.
Apparently, my loved ones mistook my milestone & took 'sweetest day ever' way too literally as a personal challenge to see how many calories the human bloodstream can hold before turning into sugar syrup.
The assault began at 9:30 AM with a
delivery from loved ones in Bangalore.
They sent a pristine, innocent-looking
cardboard box. Inside lay packs authentic rich desserts,confectionary
& sweets that
sweat pure nectar if you so much as look at it warmly. &
tons of Dry fruit mix. I told myself I
would just admire the structural
integrity of a cookie. Naturally, one
corner broke off. To save the structural balance of the piece, I ate the broken
bit. Then I had to eat the rest to even out the edge. By 9:50 AM, my 8th
diet edition of the current year had dissolved faster than the pastry on my tongue.
By noon, a few friends arrived with what they called a "small token of appreciation."
It was a banana-leaf-wrapped parcel of Kesari Bath and Jelebi dripping Asli Desi Ghee, accompanied by a
towering, majestic pot of steaming Bisi Bele Bath. Looking at the Ghee
& cashew laden golden rice slurry I realized my diet plan was essentially a
sandcastle facing a tsunami. Still, I tried to negotiate with my conscience.
Just one spoonful, I reasoned, to honour their generosity. Refusing a birthday
meal in South India is practically a felony, and I am a law-abiding citizen.
Twenty minutes later, I was scraping the bottom of the pot with the last of the
large fried cashew nut whispering sweet
nothings to a stray green pea .
The coup de grâce arrived at teatime,
courtesy of my “family”. Knowing
fully well about my "sprouts and sorrow" regimen, the Mrs, arrived carrying a
steel tiffin carrier. "I didn't
bring anything heavy," she lied effortlessly, popping open the lid to
reveal golden, crispy Maddur Vadais fried to perfection and a batch of beautiful fluffy Thayir Vadai chilled to perfection.
"Just for the auspiciousness of
the day," she insisted, placing a plate in front of me with the
precision of a sniper.
Who am I to argue with auspiciousness ? I washed down the spiced onion-and-semolina crunch of the vadai with the creamyThayir Vadai(s), feeling my newly discovered collarbones pack their bags and disappear for good.
As I write this, reclining almost horizontally
on my sofa at late night on my birthday (@11.30
Pm) in a glorious carb-induced stupor after the gluttony , my unopened bag of raw chia seeds stares at
me judgmentally from the kitchen cupboard . Tomorrow, yes T O M O R R O W ! I
will return to my disciplined life of steamed vegetables and existential dread.
Right after I finish the remaining four pieces of Mysore Pak, of course— wouldn’t
it be a sin to let good aromatic ghee go
to waste ?
Note: To protect the unmatched
deliciousness, prestige, and hefty calorie count of the original confectionery & savories all company and brand names
have been changed. Certain events have also been lovingly dramatized to keep
things engaging!
