"EAT FOOD FAST AND CHEW LESS TO AVOID GAINING WEIGHT"
The heading screamed at Rohit from the morning Times. The page adjacent to the editorial one was always replete with such studies, touching topics as varied as weight loss to the most promiscuous species in the animal kingdom. Yes, it seemed like people wanted to study everything, and anything.
But you couldn't wipe that smile off Rohit's face today even with industrial cleaner. For some time now, he had been wanting to some of that baby fat. People said he was 18, baby fat was long gone. But he didn't care, people say a lot of things anyway. He had been looking at options which didn't include a trip to the gym or a run, or where he wouldn't have to come back tired and plop down onto the couch. But there wasn't anything substantial on the net, nothing verified. So he was hoping to come across one of these study searches, where they'd apparently experiment on people before making a conclusion. This he could trust. Of course, he could do some breathing exercises and his little stretches. Rohit wasn't, after all, lazy you know.
He went to his room and checked his weight, making sure no one was watching. It pointed at 77 kgs. Good, he thought contentedly, he had not put on weight for a month now. He decided it was time to go public with his iron resolution. He entered the kitchen, where his mother was busy, and his father was trying to help her, eventually only making it worse. His brother was having a bath, and was unfortunate to miss the historic event.
'Mom, Dad, I've decided that its time I lose weight!' he proclaimed, waiting for their reaction.
They looked at him for a moment, silent. Then his dad said, 'That is great news son! Indeed! Now can you pass the salt-box, the one right behind you?'
What the-?, 'I'm not joking, I've really decided to. I've even put together a plan.'
They both looked at each other, as if deciding who was going to speak. Then his mom said, 'You've made a lot of plans even before Rohit. Follow this one through, then we will truly appreciate you.'
Rohit nodded, disappointed at the lack of encouragement. Well I'll show them now, let's see who has what to say, when I fit into the track-pants dad bought last year.' It was a strange irony of his life; when his dad, in an attempt to get his son to move farther than from the couch to the refrigerator, got him a pair of high-end track-pants, he wouldn't fit into them...
And it had begun. The great diet, the great breathing and stretching regime. Rohit devoured his food so quick, he got to dessert before everyone else had finished their first serving. He swallowed his food so fast, as though it was so much toxic waste. He didn't feel too good at the end of the day, and the john used to welcome him more often than it hitherto used to. But his belief weathered all these storms.
He did his breathing exercises regularly, for half an hour everyday. He breathed deep, in and out, all the while thinking happy thoughts of a slimmer himself. Eventually he could feel the excess fat float out of his body taken away like a breeze. Or maybe it was the fan that he had turned on at full blast, so that he wouldn't sweat too much.
And thus the month had ended, the end of Rohit's odyssey. He could not physically see any remarkable change, but he was sure the weighing machine would beg to differ. He started imagining how Simi's outlook about him would change now. She was this girl in his class, who also lived close to his house. He liked her, and would have asked her, but his appearance had caused her to exude nothing but friendly vibes. Now it would all change.
So on the thirtieth morning, he tiptoed to weighing machine, making sure no one was looking. He wanted to cry out his triumph, show the others how wrong they were. He stood on it and taking a deep breath, looked down.
For a full ten seconds, he stood wordless, stunned into silence. Then he started pacing agitatedly about the room, waving his arms about wildly and laughing an excited, hysteric laughter. If a strait jacket had been handy right about then, it would have been used on him without any protest from anyone.
Were you in the room, you would see him jumping around, still laughing that demented laugh. You'd conclude that he was happy beyond his wits, to the point that it should have been a crime. But were you to take a closer look into his eyes (mind you, without getting hit violently in your own by his flailing arms), you would see that something was wrong.
Then if you were to steal a look at the weighing machine (hopefully without a sore eye by then), you would see the needle pointing at....82...
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