Pumping Iron Saturday, November 28, 2009

"If a person can't dedicate a single hour in a whole day to his own body, he's good for nothing" -Akshay Kumar's views on fitness.

 "Fuck you Akshay!! If I were told that keeping myself fit would tranlsate into a thousand  crores a year, I'd be bench pressing my ass off." - Anonymous

Like all young guys grown up watching actors whose bare waxed chests shine more their acting prowess, one fine day I decided that my time has come. A sexy physique was every man's birthright and I was out to have it. There was only one problem though. It couldn't be done over the internet, ordered over the phone, or happen by watching TV (the ways I preferred  most (all) stuff should happen). It required actual physical workout, I was told. DAMN!

I did join a gym eventually, the most expensive one around. You shouldn't be compromising on quality you know, it's your body after all. The first day was nice. An amazingly hot 'client manager' showed me around the place. The equipment was nice but ordinary, the crowd was anything but ordinary. As I walked around inspecting stuff (which included asking weird questions like the playlist of the songs they will be playing and will the machines be able to withstand the huge force which I'll be putting them through), I was greeted by wide smiles worn by the most beautiful women ever assembled to lift weights. My idea of how a women weightlifter looks has always been influenced by our olympic medal winner Karnam Malleshwari. That changed today. Women body builders could be hot I now knew. Their grunting noises while they lifted weights seemed to inspire me. One of the many inspirations I got from these noises was to look fab. And so I decided, this gym was what I had been waiting for. Within three months I would be adding six new packs to my abdomen and six new hotties to my facebook friend list (which would take my total number of female friends to six).

Cut to scene: 10 days later,

I had erred gravely. Below my chest instead of six packs was one giant family pack, visible only when I bent forward. The smiles I saw on the first day were not actually smiles. They were actually a series of muscular movements our cheeks make when the body is in intense stress. I knew it because I had been smiling non stop for 10 days. My friends thought gyming had made me a happier person. Instead of correcting them I encouraged them to join and make their lives happier as well. The hot women I saw on the first day had disappeared too. I was told by another conned member that they are seen only on special days. Days when fools like me are beeing shown around. Apparently they were experts trained in the art of slow motion running. An art which unfortunately I am a keen admirer of. Among the few genuine females left, a couple were not so genuine. They mocked me everyday by repeating the very same exercises I did but only with twice the weights. My male ego was being given the ass whipping of its life. One of these (suspected) females was supposedly married, which forced me into thinking about her husband. He could fall into one of two categories. Physically equal to his lovely wife, in which case their lovemaking could be publicly shown on National geography. The show would highlight the limits a human body can endure. On the other extreme, her husband could be physically just a normal guy. In which case their love making could also be shown on the same show... highlighting the same limits a human body can endure. Only in this case there would be a good chance he could die while filming. 

Apart from these two the other women were decent enough. But I soon realized that gym is place where you can't cover up your sissyness. As far as impressing girls goes, dressing up in cool clothes and walking a cool walk are any day better than shrieking like a girl while lifting weights, and then limping your way to the wash room when your over. This is that facet of a guy's personality that maybe okay for his mother, definitely not for a prospective girlfriend. The added physical strain on my body soon started to take its toll. My scores in online shooting games fell drastically and so did my booze intake capacity. These being the top two priorities of my life are something I can't sacrifice. Doing physical labour each day untill I tired myself out forced me to compare myself with construction workers who go through an equally similar grind each day. A big difference being that they get paid to do it, while I pay thousands to people who make me to do it. And that's when I decided that it was time to quit. I bid adeu to the suckers at the gym feeling proud of the enlightenment gyaan which luckily I received in just 10 days while others slogged it out not knowing that it was all worthless. When they turn 50, they will have kids yelling back at them and a job they'll hate, just like me. Having great triceps would offer no help.

Inspite of all the technological advances our race has made, bodybuilding still remains the same old traditional art. There are no pills that magically enlarge muscles (even steroids demand a workout) or no operations to give you those six packs. It could take many more years for science to develop these.

I, have decided to wait.

A quarter of a century of survival Thursday, November 12, 2009

I just returned from Delhi last month. Visiting my folks back home after a long time felt good. The long vacation ended with small family get-togther to celebrate mom-dad's 25th anniversary. And that's when I realized the significance of the event. It didn't take long before I started imagining how my 25th would look. I've imagined myself doing a whole lot of things I must admit, a wide range which includes romancing Jessica Alba to peeing on the Everest (on the China side, Nepalis are friends/good watchmen) to hitting Brett Lee for a six in the world cup final. All these imaginative masterpieces seemed very much possible when compared to the one I saw that evening. And when talks started of mom-dad's 50th anniversary, BOOM! The cloud over my head burst as I couldn't even imagine myself doing that.

At the current rate at which both, our attention span, and the beauty products industry is shrinking and growing respectively, silver jubilees like these would no longer be common. The shrinking attention span would make our spouses boring too soon and the beauty product industry growth would make us look good too soon, which would in turn give us hopes of attracting new talent once we get over our respective partners. The rare 25th anniversaries in that age would most certainly be met with a presidential citation and a possible Padmashri (only the citation for those who divorced and then patched up). A 50th anniversary however would be so rare that it would deserve a Nobel. The ironic nature of the Nobel peace prize is well known as it's named after the guy who invented Dynamite. If the Nobel committee people in sweden are listening, give it to the those who have gone through 50 years of Dynamite in their homes and survived to tell the tale of peaceful co-existence. Now that's an apt scenario for the prize,something even Alfred Nobel would've been proud of.

A misogamist I'm not. On the contrary I must state bluntly that regarding marriage- I'm all for it. It's an amazing medicine of love that everyone needs. It's just the lack of an expiry date to this medicine that worries me. Even the person you love the most has those habits which can truly irritate you to death. Once the honey moon period gets over, it is the slow death you are getting used to. To get rid of this fatal dosage which society has forced upon us, I propose an ideological shift. Do get married but also do: Say NO to the "saat janam" theory. Say NO to calling your husband/wife your "soulmate". Say NO to long term joint home loan repayments. And to give this blog post its sole sentence of sense, Say to NO to drugs as well while your at it. Make marriage the short term fling that all of us would remember and cherish forever.

Getting over your partner could prove tricky at times. But you got to believe in yourselves. You would have to shed your insecurities and fears of dying alone. At the current population expansion rate, Each individual would have like a billion people to choose from. Even someone unfortunate in the looks department like myself could find himself a decent looker. According to my estimates, on an average each one of us could marry roughly 5 times. Each of those 5 people would in turn marry 5 more, and so on. Now thats what I call real networking. SCREW YOU facebook/orkut/linkedin.

Like all revolutionary ideas all of this may sound a bit ahead of times. History tells me that visionaries like me have had to face the wrath of the society of their times, and I'm prepared. But as time will tell.........., one day, when it will be a ritual to assemble together in your dying years and rate the top 3 of your spouses, they all shall raise a toast..... to the man who envisioned it all.

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