What I Learned About Balls Today or The Fat Busting Diaries, Again

Okaaaayyyy. Pilates and stability balls. The former, a generic name given to a medivial form of torture practised in the ancient world and most probably meted out by pirates from whom it gets its name; it has resurfaced in the modern world as a type of self-inflicted torture, practised by masochistic women. The latter, the torture device of choice.

Here is what I learnt today...

1. Stability balls. Seriously? You really couldn't find a better name for that one? In a Fickle Fest, it can easily go bouncing off with first prize, it's nearest contender a hormonal, teen-aged boy's heart.
   SOOOOO erroneously named. But then, to paraphrase the immortal words of the Bard, what is in a friggin' name? After all, would not the rack, by any other name, be just as body-alteringly hellish?
2. In Torture World, seconds are actually longer. So when the instructor says "Hold that position for ten more seconds", she means twenty.
3. Women on the floor, flat on their backs, legs in the air, moaning and groaning? Not always sexy. Even when the balls are between their legs. No. Really not sexy.
4. I always knew I had a jelly-belly, jiggle-jaggle-jugs and thunder thighs. I did not know I had knock-about knees. Now I know.
5. I must be the shortest woman alive.
6. Even the hair on my head is groaning in protest today.
7. Endorphins are over-rated. At least during the entire procedure.

I so recommend this to everyone! You might die by the end of it, but at least you'll die fabulously and not flabulously.

And now, there's a grave out there somewhere with my name on it. Heaven is hopefully a land where pain-killers grow on trees. And chocolate is fat-free and still delicious. And the angels all look like Johnny Depp, Hugh Jackman and Hritik Roshan. And...

Ouch! I just pulled a finger muscle typing that last sentence. Right now, I'll just settle for the pain-killer tree.

Building the Body Beautiful...or, How to Die a Slow, Painful Death or The Fat Busting Diaries, Contd.

I am pretty sure that 'pilates' were some sort of medivial torture-chamber routine designed to crack women, centuries ago. And I'm sure pirates were the preferred Masters of Death Ceremonies carrying out said torture. How else do you explain the one letter difference? (accent be damned!)

In my on-going quest to lose weight, I have joined a 'Body Balance' class at the swankiest health, fitness and beauty centre in town, 'Solace'. Although after today's back-breaking session, the place offers anything but! Once again, a little gem for my collection of 'The Bitter Ironies of This, My Life'.

My earlier venture did not bear fruit and was quickly abandoned. A lot of money, sanity and good humour was lost. I kid you not, but a law-suit was also considered for unethical practices, but I ran out of steam and patience. I still do think I'll write about my experiences to save others the trauma as well as a helluva lot of money, but who's gonna print it or believe it? You, my good friends and gentle readers, just believe me when I say, VLCC is all fraud. It is just a money-making machine -- STAY AWAY!!

Diets don't work. Except for one...water and one square inch of steamed tofu a day. But since I love food too much and hate tofu equally, we all know that said diet isn't even a consideration for moi.


At the ripe old age of 33, I have finally discovered the truth. And the truth is this...to lose weight, one must grant oneself a slow, painful, tortuous death. In other words, one must exercise.


Exercise is the key to losing weight. And that's why, two months ago, I renewed my love affair with the water. That's right, I started going swimming, 3 to 5 times a week.

I enjoy swimming. I love it. I'm a water-baby. A mermaid. A siren with a song. And the results showed! After three years, I finally had a waist again! Oh indescribable joy! And waist meet sari petticoat and bust-line say goodbye to sari petticoat! That's right people, the sari is being worn at it's righful place on this particular female form again!

And here's the thing about losing weight. When it starts to happen, I mean, really, really happen, it makes you hungry for more. I have always wondered whether after babies, boobage and blubber, you can ever be what you once were? Or are you reduced to a wardrobe of black for the rest of your days? I don't know, but I knew I wanted to try. Even if not what I was eight years ago, maybe what I was six years ago? And so when a friend of mine said she was going to join pilates class, I jumped on the band-wagon with a yee-hah and a vision of me in white, sleeveless dresses!

Monday was supposed to be the first class, but since I had a fever, I skipped it. This morning, I had a body-ache thanks to the viral, but other than that, I was okay. So I thought, let me give this body something to really ache about.

So mon amie and I, along with her really sweet mom, went for pilates today. As we stated working out together, side by side, I felt like I was in a chick flick movie :)

And then...OH MY GOD!!! It was sooooo intense!! My body hasn't hurt like that in years! And the poetic names for those poses, like Reverse Swan, Equestrian, Submissive Warrior and Rag Doll, did nothing to make the process easier.

I'm up for eleven more classes. My body feels like it's was used in a game of football by a team of rhinos and elephants. And yet I feel like I'm on a happy high.

Maybe the endorphins have something to do with it, but I know for a fact that I am happy with myself. Proud of myself. For actually trying to do something about the thing that's been keeping me down and depressed for so long.

I owned up. I took responsibility. And I'm fighting to get fit. So three cheers for me!

Next visit to the torture chamber, Friday. Oh, and we'll be working with balls.

Hehehe.

Stability balls, y'all.

Andamans Again: Part 3.75

To Me: On My __ Birthday
January 27th, 2009

Dear auntyjis of flabulous proportions;
with thunder thighs
and quadruple bums;
sporting cellulite
and wobbly tum-tums --
to you all I owe an apology,
and this I offer most sincerely.

I've often snickered
and rudely smirked
at your flowery swim-suits
complete with skirt.
The frilly ruffle
meant to hide
jelly thighs
and buttocks wide,
has many a-time,
I must admit,
been a huge source
of entertainment.

Even I, with my
not-so-perfect body,
found the look
disastrous and shoddy.
Looking at you
dressed in water-proof shroud,
of my more-than ample
curves, felt proud.

My pride has now
crumbled into the dust,
as my sniggers have come back
to bite my big, fat butt!

Oh how I've swallowed
all my pride.
When I looked in the mirror,
I nearly died!

I now understand,
oh I truly do,
why that frilly ruffle
is like a friend, true-blue.

It tries to shelter
and protect,
even offer you
a little self-respect.

Gone are the days
when you could cavort
in a sexy one-piece,
or even a bikini, sport!

So take heed,
all you stick insects.
Yes, you with those
boobless chests.

Revel in your
size-zero status;
your flat abs,
your pebble-like breasts.
For before you know it,
(it'll hit you hard!),
you'll be making friends with frills
that cover lard!

I've donned the frilly garb, you see,
at the ripe old-age of 33.
Yes, oh yes, I've also become,
a very ruffled auntyji!!

Such is Life,

full of up moments and down. One minute you're floating above the clouds, starry-eyed and all strawberry shortcake. The next, you're free-falling like an ugly bird, shot through the heart and headed straight for the sewers.

The day before. Sweet, oldish lady I was meeting for the first time. "So my dear, which college are you studying in?"
My mental response, "I love you! Can I adopt you as my grandmom?"

Yesterday. Man-friend I was meeting after two months. "Ho-ho! So are we expecting baby number three?"
My mental response, "Miserable vermin, you should talk. You look like you're the living Arnold Schwarzenneger Junior experiment!"
********************************************************
This morning I experienced two more blow-me-up-like-a-balloon-only-to-let-out-the-fart-sounds moments again. I seem to be on a roll...

After dropping my EO off to school, I took my Daddy Dearest to the market for fish hunting and vegetable picking. Yes, I use those words on purpose for that is what the retired Bengali male does...he hunts for the perfect specimen of fish to lovingly hand over to his wedded wife who will, in return, lovingly turn the offering into the famous maacher jhol that the whole of India seems to associate with the Bengali palate. He also spends whole minutes ruminating over the colour, size, firmness and smell of each and every piece of vegetable that he picks up. Wars will start and end, but a retired Bengali man's vegetable choosing will go on for lifetimes.

Besides the point. So, I walked like a good daughter along with him to help him pick and choose and carry, and also to shorten the entire process, if possible. I had a baby waiting for me back home, not to mention a husband who needed to be cajoled out of bed so that he could go out and earn a living. From one side, I heard someone calling out to me to come and inspect his wares..."Oh didi!" Elder sister.
Good, good. Really good. Normally reserved for college going girls and unmarried PYTs. Yes, I felt two inches taller and 20 ks lighter!
A few steps later, another sobji-wallah calls out. "Oh boudi!!" Bhaabi.
Bad, bad. All bad. Usually reserved for fat aunty types with rolls of fat, trying to negotiate their way through the slippery, fish-scale strewn floor, theila in one hand and sari pleats in the other. I felt 2 feet shorter and 20 kgs heavier!

There's no escaping it. Jeans or not; sari or not, I am a fat auntyji. A boudi type!

Missed my 'Jan 1st' Post...

because I was a greey little sow who had to hog the 3 a.m. biriyani that everyone else was wolfing down.

My tummy avenged itself the whole of yesterday, by keeping me moaning and groaning on bed and away from my precious laptop.

Not a happy start to the year! :(

All This Holiday Hogging...

Ever met a human pig?

Well then, come up and see me some time!

"Mirror, Mirror on the Bathroom Wall..."

M4 : (through a mouthful of toothpaste and singing/mumbling/frothing in a falsetto voice) Winter is here, winter is finally here!

Mirror Image: Hmmm. Yes, I can see that!

M4: Excuse me? Meaning?!?

Mirror Image: The extra layer of insulation you've packed on speaks volumes about the volumes of festive cheer you've been consuming!

M4: Oh you kill-joy you! 'Tis the season to be jolly and all the other jazz...

Mirror Image: There's jolly and then there's folly. You my dear, have regressed quite a few letters back!

M4: Hahaha-blah! You think you're so funny!

Mirror Image: You'd be rolling on the floor laughing if you could only see what I really see! It's downright hilarious!

M4: Hey, so I might have indulged in an extra piece of rum ball or four, so what? It's the season of merry-making! I am revelling in the winter cheer and I'm not ashamed if my body shows it! That's what we have sweaters for!

Mirror Image: Your body was all set for winter before it even arrived in all its nippy glory!

M4: Henh?!?

Mirror Image: Your boobs, my dear. They seem to have gone south for the winter and from the looks of it, I'd say they've take up permanent residency there!

M4: (picks up vase and takes aim...)

The Fat-Busting Diaies: Days 3 and 4

Wednesday morning, I had my 3rd session at the slimming centre.

By now, familiar with the "go to toilet" and then weigh myself routine, I did that and waited for them to compare my previous recordings and tick me off for gaining a quarter of a quarter kilo, but hallelujah, I had actually managed to maintain it since Friday's reading. Well, considering this weekend I was rather sinless compared to my usual weekends and that I only ate grapefruit for dinner, I wasn't too surprised. But I was worried about the sausages I'd had on Tuesday morning for breakfast. You never know what attacks you when, where and how. And since my thighs are prone to expanding at the mere aroma of pepperoni pizza and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, I had every right to cross my fingers and be worried.

I had a small session with the physiotherapist, where he asked my to show off my amazing flexibility and astounding suppleness. I had to sit with my legs stretched out in front of me and touch my toes. Then he asked me to stretch beyond toe and foot area, which I did, my mountainous mound of abdominal fat notwithstanding. Hoping for some praise and because I have serious self-esteem issues, I actually asked him if I did well. Like an over-zealous school teacher he actually said that I could do better! Yeah, I know! I probably could if I didn't have a built-in insulation plant where my tummy should be! When he asked me it I was doing the all the 'physiotherapy' he had given me, I lied through my fat ass and said 'Yes'! And yes, the guilt-trip kicked in almost immediately!

Day 3 was a thermoslim session. Nurse Strong-Arms was in an exceptionally chatty mood. She's quite nice actually, but she went rather ballistic when it came time to 'knead' my stomach like fatty dough. She saw me wincing and acknowledged the fact that she was being rather 'rough'. Oh phew! And here I was thinking that maybe was just charged with too much caffeine or an early morning meal of maacher-jhol-aar-bhaat or something! After the ironing, the kneading and pounding (oops! I mean massaging of course!), it was time to cast my stomach in paste (oops, now I mean slap on a coat of tummy pack!). And in that darkened room, while the goop on my stomach hardened, I took a 'beauty nap'...literally!

I woke up just seconds before Nurse Strong-Arms appeared and peeled the paste off in one swift motion. I am so, SO thankful I don't have a hairy stomach!

After the pee-pee and weigh-weigh routine, where it was gleefully noted by Sunny Chica that I had lost 200 gms after the session, I was taken for the personal body-sauna session. Wrapped in cling film, a loofah-like towel and the heating pad, I sweat it out and watched TV for a while.

After the third and final round of loo-and-weighing-machine, the Sunny Chica sat me down and gave me a detailed diet chart. She was far too sunny for my liking. In fact, she had gone quite beyond 'sunny' and had entered 'bubbly'. Bubbly like a thoroughly shaken soda bottle with too much fizz and no point. I argued with her and she sweetly asked me what my problem was in following the chart. I told her what I dad been feeling since session 1, that if I had wanted their type of 'diet' regimen I would have gone with the Atkin's or the South Zone or the Ford diet plans. She tried to calm me down and I just nodded and pretended to give in, because I wasn't in the mood to argue. As I folded the diet plan and put it away, she asked me to bring glasses and bowl capable of holding a certain amount of liquid and food. I thought of the YO's milk bottle and seriously contemplated stuffing that next to my tracks and T-shirt for the next day's session.

I left feeling disappointed and lighter. It was time to go home and stuff my face. Which I did.

With four different types of fruit. That should give Sunny Chica something to munch on!!

*******************************************
Friday was session #4 and this time it was a weight-loss session.

I was asked to hand over my Diet Diary, which I did so, rather reluctantly, I must admit. I was dreading the remarks. Geez, these sessions were starting to feel more and more like school.

It was noted that I had gained 600 gms. I felt like the chubby child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I seriously do not recommend these sessions for the easily-embarrassed!

I reconnected, literally, with my old friend the Ther-Ther and we were all a-buzz for the next one-and-a-half-hours or so. I was watching a lovely naach-gaanaa programme on TV when somebody else came in for her Ther-Ther session. Not being in a particularly charitable mood, I didn't even offer her the remote. But she seemed to be enjoying my choice so luckily that didn't turn into an awkward session.

After the mandatory trip to the loo and the weight-taking session, I was sent back home with my diary, a cheery wave and a "See you on Monday!"

I waved back, grabbed my diary and walked out reading it. There were actually tick marks next to my good food choices and circles around the wrong ones! Did I mention before that it felt like school?

"See you on Monday," they said.

Yeah, I'll be waiting with bated breath!!

The Fat Busting Diaries: Day 2

What with the situation in Mumbai, I did not feel like blogging about this yesterday. Very frankly, my heart is still not in it, but I did promise to record my personal Battle with the Bulge, so here it is, Day 2 at the Slimming Centre...

I was informed that the day-before had been a 'Zero Session'. At first I thought all that zapping and buzzing had yielded zero results, hence the name. But no, it was a 'freebie', a session to give me a taste of things to come. Yesterday's session, my treatment process started in earnest. The Buzzer, which is what I decided to call the machine (at first thought I'd use The Vibrator, but then I remembered that oops, a contraption by that name already exists!!) is for the weight-loss program. Yesterday, was the first session of my Thermoslim Therapy. For fun, I've decided to call it Ther-Ther. Also because it reminds me of this Bengali colloquialism, 'thhawl-thhawl', which loosely translated means, wibble-wobble, which unfunnily enough, is exactly what my tum-tum does.

So The Buzzer and the Ther-Ther were to be my fat-busting buddies.

The Sunny Chica was asking me about my Fat Book, which I didn't get. That made her considerably un-sunny. She weighed me and noted that I had GAINED .55 kgs over-night. Something in me just withered and died. I felt like somebody had whacked me in the face with last night's dinner-plate laden with home-made Chinese food! So she asked me to write down on a piece of paper, what my diet normally looks like on a day-to-day basis. Now I kid you not, but I actually am a very healthy eater. It's the evening round of namkeens that play my nemesis and of course my chocoholism, but I don't sin everyday. Normally it's lots of fruit, salad, milk, bowls of daal and roti-sabzi at night. I eat smart and I thought Sunny Chica would give me a pat on the back. Instead she looked at my sheet, nodded and said that she would give me a diet chart? WTF?!?

Seriously! WTF?!? If I had to go on a diet and exercise for an hour-a-day at home, WTF was I paying them for? I could have joined Talwaker's for the amount I paid them! This is why I am a gullible, stupid fool, ladies and gents. This is why I am the biggest sucker in all of Suckerdom! Probably the biggest sucker that ever existed!

I was made to go into the Ther-Ther room, where the day-before's nurse-like person measured, in excruciatingly embarrassing detail, the flab content of my stomach, hips and thighs. The Ther-Ther is supposed to be my salvation to inch-loss. As she was taking the measurements, I couldn't help but remember what the MIM had said the night before. "Inch-loss? All they're going to do is hold the measuring tape that much more tighter after your entire treatment is over and then present you with your 'successful ' results!" Maybe I was being paranoid, but it did seem to me that she was indeed holding the tape rather loosely. Sigh! I guess I'll find out eventually!

I was asked to "go to toilet" after which my Ther-Ther session began. My T-shirt was pulled up and tucked under my boobs, while my tracks were pulled down to mid-thigh region. She asked me to lie down on the bed and then she took out something that looked suspiciously like an iron, switched it on and started 'ironing' me with all her strength! What was she trying to do? Flatten my tummy into trimness? Squeeze the flab out of me? What? And what if somebody wanted this therapy for their butt? Oh! Spare me the nightmare!

Now, I noted that there was a buzzing of a different tempo happening where The Iron and my flab made contact. So, I an safely come to the conclusion that the buzz about all theses weight-loss centres is simply buzzings of different natures and at various speeds, tempos and vibrations. Very interesting!

She moved The Iron all over my stomach, which was bobbing up and down like a disgusting sea of flab. I watched the wibble and the wobble, the jiggle and the jaggle in morbid fascination. God! My stomach was so flabby and wobbly it wasn't even funny or pathetic...it was just shameful.

After half-an-hour of ironing, Nurse Strong-Arms (that's what I've decided to name her), massaged my tummy. She did everything from kneading the flab like dough to doing karate chops that bounced right off my stomach and hurtled towards her face. After that, she mixed some kind of paste, which looked like papier-mache and tons of glue, spread the goop all over my tummy, put a towel on it, covered me up and left the room. Since there was no TV in the Ther-Ther room, I dozed off for about 10-15 minutes. When I snapped out of my snooze, I felt a tightening about my stomach and at that moment, Nurse Strong-Arms walked in, peeled off the now-hardened goop and voila! A cast of my stomach! Did they expect me to take that home, put it in a glass box for all to see and admire? I hoped not.

Luckily, she threw it away asked me to adjust my clothes, "go to toilet", weigh myself and go to room number 3. Sunny Chica was there to supervise my jaunt on the scales and noted with tremendous glee and satisfaction that I had lost .35 kgs. She looked at me expectantly thinking that I was going to go all "Gee! OMG! Goodness Gracious! How wonderfully clever y'all are, to squeeze SOOOOO MUCH of my fatness out of me in just one hour! Imagine what two hours could do!?!" But no. Not me. How was I supposed to be sure that it was due to all the ironing-kneading-and-moulding and not because of my "going to toilet" twice that resulted in this 'miraculous' weight-loss? So I just gave a half-smile instead.

I then went to room 3, which was the same where The Buzzer resided. I found a giant-sized roll of cling-film and a pair of scissors there. Just how many wonders were in store for me? Nurse Strong-Arms came in, slapped some cream onto my stomach and wrapped my tummy in three rounds of plastic. I was then made to lie down on the bed, where they put a rubbery-like half-body suit on me and switched on the machine. The TV was also switched on for my benefit, So far so good. And then, things started to heat up a little bit. Then came the trickles of sweat. So I was right. I had indeed been wrapped up like a kathi roll so that I could be baked into a pool of melted fat. Looks like my microwave idea wasn't that far off the mark!!

As I sweated and hopefully some areas of my body melted, I felt that this wasn't so bad. It was like my tummy's personal sauna happening. After around 40 mins, an aide came in, switched off the giant-sized heating pad and unwrapped me. I wonder what the MIM would have made of it! ;p

After that, yes, another trip to the toilet, another trip to the scales and with the presentation of a diet chart by the now-unsmiling-and-dead-serious Sunny Chica, I was sent home, with a reminder of my appointment with the doctor in the evening.

Yes, come 5 p.m. and I was back in the place that seemed all set to become my second home over the next couple of weeks. The session was with a gynaecologist whom I recognised as somebody who practices in the same hospital where the boys' paediatrician practices. That was very reassuring, I have to tell you. He was nice and sweet and asked me lots of questions. He recommended that I get my hormone, thyroid and insulin levels checked, which didn't seem unreasonable at all and which I should have had done by now anyways. After all, it's been two years since the YO was born and that was the last time that I had any kind of testing done.

So, next week, I will be off somewhere to get myself poked with needles and Operation Blubber Be Gone will continue...

The Fat Busting Diaries: Day One

So, I went for my first session today to the Slimming Centre. And what a day I chose, too! Today apparently is World Obesity Day! I'm not sure if I should be congratulating other fatties like me and sending out a box of chocolates or kissing the hands of the slim'n'trim and worshipping the ground they glide on. Is there a particular greeting that I should be using, like "Happy Obesity!" or something? And more importantly, who do I say it to? The fat or the fat-free? Maybe Archies has a selection of appropriate cards which will throw some light on this issue. Anyway, today was my first day of Operation Blubber Be Gone!

I went in at 9.30 a.m. and was greeted by this short, thin young girl with a huge smile. She was chirpy and bright and thoroughly irritating. I mean, why wouldn't she be sunny? She was thin! I christened her Sunny Chica. She sat me down in the Counselling Room and started talking nineteen-to-the-dozen and giving me a headache. She addressed me with the familiar 'tumi' instead of the formal 'apni' and added a 'di' to my first name while using it. In fact, she told me to think of her as her 'choto bon' (younger sister). Okkkaaayyy! Too much happy-happy on an empty stomach was happening for my comfort. But then, I wasn't there for any kind of comfort now, was I? She took my details again and filled them into another form, congratulating me for using my maiden name as well as my married one. She went so far as to butter me up saying that she had learned something from me today...that women shouldn't let go of their maiden names after marriage. Pooosh!

After all the sugary sweet talk, she went on to tell me what a wonderful day I'd come on and how it was World Obesity Day and all, and therefore they were offering huge discounts on all their services and how I should really, really go for their special schemes and sign up for some more thermoslim sessions for my hips and thighs... Oh boy! I had fallen for it the last time, which is why I was there in the first place. I wasn't going to walk into that one again! I sweetly shook my head and said I wanted to see how these sessions worked out for me first, so thanks but no thanks...and I mentally patted myself on the back for not caving.

Then she took me to her colleagues and they took my weight...again and repeated the instructions for me...again, because hey, if I was fat I must obviously be stupis as well. They all used 'tmi' to address me, which I really am okay with, I just found it surprising that they didn't ask if they could first (it a polite familiarity, you know, "Ei! Tumi bolchchi, kichu money koro naa please!" -- I hope you don't mind me using 'tumi', if you don't mind...) Anyway, semantics be damned, bring on the slim-antics instead!

They finally took me to a Slimming Room. The room had two beds, each with a strange corset-like body suit laid out on top; a TV, and a strange machine that had loads of knobs and pirates eye-patch-like black pads attached to it, looking like octopus tentacles. Here, a nurse-like prototype took measurements of all my flabby areas...yes, butt cheeks, sagging belly, flapping underarms et al! I was then asked to lie down on the bed while she pulled my shirt up and tracks down so that she could strap me into the corset-like thingummy, after which she gelled the pirate patches onto my fields of rolling fat.

I must have been a very scary sight. Strapped up as I was, I probably looked just about less frightening than Hannibal Lector, but give me a mask and I'm sure that can be corrected! Imagine if you dare, a flabulous, short woman oozing excess flesh from ever undesirable quarter possible, strapped into Scarlet O'Hara's lingerie, which is incidentally held together by velcro. Not only is the sight unappealing, unsexy and unappetising, it might make you want to skip a meal or two or all. If that is indeed their intention, then they should put mirrors on the ceiling. I'm sure nothing would work up a resolve to never touch food again in this lifetime more than the sight of fat thighs that I just described.

So as she was gelling me down and strapping me up to black pads all over my hips, butt and thighs, I asked her, "Eitaa diye ki hoi?" (What does this do?)
She very helpfully said, "Eitaa on korle, ektu feelings hobey." (You'll get some 'feelings' once this is switched on.) 'Feelings.' Oooh! Intriguing! Feelings as in...? Of a sexual nature? Of the spiritual type? Of the emotional kind? Man, was she a bundle of knowledge and information! 'Feelings'! Phooosh!

And then, without even giving me a chance to count-down, she switched the contraption on. No blast, no bubbles, no fanfare, not even Aquaguard type of music to signal the start of Operation Blubber Be Gone. The electro-whatchamacallit was switched on. And I lay there with these funny zzzzzz vibrations zapping me at the places the pads touched my body. They came at one second intervals and lasted for about a second each time. So this is how they 'mobilise' the fat. Well who would have thought? But here's another thought...wouldn't it just be easier to wire me up to my fridge or microwave? Imagine the sizzling of those fat cells! Wouldn't that cause one helluva meltdown?!

So, as I lay there with the Ballet of the Buzzing Bees happening under my skin, I decided to follow the antics of the interns at Grace Hospital. Something was just so wrong with the entire picture in that Slimming Room. Me half-naked, padded up with tingly sensations swirling around my cells as I focused on Doc McDreamy's gorgeous face floating in front of me. It was like a weird S&M bondage fantasy gone all wrong!

After 45 mins of shock therapy, where I didn't even get to see how the episode ended, I was unstrapped, ungelled and fully-clothed once more. I was asked to "go to toilet" after which I would be presented with a Daily Diet Diary and have a session with the physiotherapist. Another broad-smiling dame called me into the counseling room, where I was handed the said diary. I have decided to name it, "Mamma Mia's Daily Remembrances of Gluttony and Guilt." Now, I know that's quite a mouthful, so for short, I'll just refer to it as my Fat Book. She explained what I had to do and then she started off with the World Obesity Day discount spiel too. I smiled and repeated what I had said to Sunny Chica.

And then it was the physiotherapist's turn. A young guy walked in. A definite cutie, but not hottie. He started flipping through my chart and measurements and obviously I cringed inside thinking about the figures of my figure that he was checking out. He then asked me to touch the floor and clasp my arms behind my back (one over the shoulder, the other via the side). I did both with ease. I may be a fat momma, but I'm a flexible momma. He then asked me about body image and I gave him a duh! look and then after that, he hit me. Oh no! Not physically, of course, but with, wait for it...with an exercise regime! Yes!!! Half-an-hour of brisk walking, spot jogging for ten minutes, jogging on a step for ten minutes and 20 counts of a particular asana.

Hellllllllllooooooooooooooo!!!! If I did this on my own everyday, anyway, I wouldn't be flabby in the first place! I wouldn't be coming to you guys at all! I wouldn't need your presence in my life! If it was all about the exercise and the eating right, I wouldn't BE HERE!! If suckers like me actually follow the "physiotherapist's" 'suggestions' no wonder there are these great big hoardings allover India proclaiming miraculous results! Geez!

So this is why they took so much money out of me. To sham me into working out everyday, to shame me into thinking about what I put into my mouth on a daily basis and to collect rent on the use of their TV sets for an hour-and-a-half three times a week. Boy! Am I stupid or am I stupid?

Am I going to lose weight after my 17 sessions? Well, if my Fat Book guilts me into moderation, maybe. If I follow the physiotherapist's orders, definitely. Will I be happy about the kilo-kill that I hope to achieve? If I can get into my pre-preg clothes, then of course. Will I be happy about this very expensive method that I've chosen to go from Fat-n-Flab to Fit-n-Fab? Nope, no, no, nope.

And here's why...

I think I would have gotten better results at a gym or playing a sport or simply by taking evening walks everyday. I definitely would have been healthier and in better shape at the end of sixty days, rather than having the fat buzzed out of me and being conned into a work-out regime at home.

At least that's what I feel right now. I may have to eat my words. In case I do, I just hope they're fat-free!