Being Somewhat Fat

I wish I was a really fat guy. I mean really fat. Like some 120 kilos or something. Unfortunately I am not. Unfortunately, I am somewhat fat, hovering around 80 kilos, which for my 5’8’’ frame, is fat enough for thin idiots to make fun of me, but is not fat enough to generate some much appreciated sympathy, concern or even, and I am being a tad bit optimistic on this one, nice old-fashioned love.

Being somewhat fat is the worst kind of fat to be. For starters, you just don’t get to understand which side are you on. If you call yourself fat, then the really fat guys start looking at you accusatively and let you know in not so subtle ways of what it means to be actually fat and how tough life is for them, as if it’s all your fault. And if you deny the fatness, then god be with you, for every single thin idiot around you will snicker and crack jokes at you till the end of humanity, and if they are the really sadistic kinds they might even poke you at all the not-to-be poked places, and this ain’t the facebook poke I am talking about.

The process of choosing a t-shirt too gets absolutely redefined if you are somewhat fat. The criterion becomes essentially a simple one too. Any t-shirt in which your man-boobs don’t show is a good t-shirt. If it can actually cover your ever-expanding belly and make you look somewhat fit, it’s really an additional bonus. But here’s the tricky part. There’s an oh so thin line of difference between a t-shirt that fits you perfectly, and one that’ll eventually accentuate your man-boobs if you gain as much as a gram. Seriously, why couldn’t god just give boobs to men? Look at the advantages. First, we would have our own ones to look at and play and hence, won’t be wasting so much time just gaping at the ones owned by the opposite gender. Imagine the amount of constructive activities mankind would’ve managed to perform in such a utopian society. We would have really been milestones ahead in technology, art, science and every such field we should be ahead in. Second, the poor, good-hearted, well-meaning and love-deserving somewhat fat people like yours truly would never really have to worry about them. In such an ideal scenario, the world will look at them and theirs’ from the same viewpoint as it looks at the female ones today, ie the more, the merrier. Now there could be a third, fourth and so on, but the writer has just realized this point is getting pointless and the readers should realize that a raw nerve of the writer just got touched, and thence, the mini-rant.

Worse still, all somewhat fat guys almost always have an extremely fit guy in their close friend circle, unfortunately so. And when I say fit, I mean FIT. Like different people have different ambitions in life, say to be rich, famous, respected, etc. This idiot’s core ambition of life would be to stay fit. He would be the kind of fitoholic who actually gets up early in the morning for his morning run, which extends some thirty-five miles. This, when the unwritten laws of humanity clearly state that the only time normal humans should contemplate getting up early in the morning, it should be for awesome sex, exams, not-so-awesome sex, urgent flights, moderate sex, trains and bad sex, in that exact order. Coming back to the point, not only would this guy go for his early morning run, but he would do so in the tiniest of shorts, barely covering his body-parts that really should be covered. And yes, these people don’t breath heavy when they run. Oh no, they don’t. They just run, and run, and run, and run, look around a little bit, and then run a little more. (The writer was contemplating writing ‘and run’ few more times, but better sense eventually prevailed). And when they are not running, they make their somewhat fat friends feel like a hopeless ball of misery, literally as well as figuratively. They would actually look down upon you with the greatest contempt, and again this is literally plus figuratively since most of these idiots are quite tall, and say very slowly, in an almost Vito Corleone-like tone, ‘Dude, you need to get in shape’.

The first couple of times, you’ll just ignore these idiots, because you’re just a cheerful person. But eventually, their raw sadistic coarse tone would get to you, and you’ll agree to go for some sports session with thy fitness himself. In my case, this sport was badminton. Now, don’t take me wrong, I like badminton. It seems a nice sport. My earliest memories of childhood include watching Jeetender playing the same sport in his brilliant detergent-proud-making white attire and simultaneously singing, courting with females and what not (Yes, I didn’t have cable TV till I was 13). So, in all earnestness, I really was looking forward to it. But somehow this fit idiotic friend of yours, who by now starts seeming like a steroids addict to you, will convert the nice and sweet sport of Badminton into Spartans Vs Persians, with war-cry effects and all.

For starters, they won’t even start playing once you are at the court. Oh no, not all. They would first perform the blessed art of stretching for ten minutes, and then warm-up for the next twenty. Now first of all, an average middle class guy who grew up in a crowded society is just worried shit that if you don’t start playing immediately, some other wicked soul would come and usurp the damn court. With these tense thoughts in your mind, it’s tough to even look in another direction once you’re at the court, let alone just waste time stretching and warming up for half an hour. Second, who in the crazy world invented this whole process of stretching? Honestly, a guy getting in such obnoxious positions anywhere else would be just considered plain and simple lewd. What if some girl watches, and concludes we are being just typical Delhi men. I mean, as it is most women are convinced that all us Delhi men are rapists, women-beaters, professional eve-teasers or at least chauvinists. So we really need to avoid such controversial practices to protect our already damaged reputation. And then for a somewhat fat guy, there’s always that risk of just getting stuck or something.

My final query to the fit guy, what in the world does warming-up your muscles mean? Isn’t the whole point of playing just that? Why would one want to warm-up the muscles and then re-warm them while playing. Won’t the muscles just get too darn warm or something? Till date, I genuinely believe that I might have actually given my evil friend a fight in the match if he hadn’t completely mind-ninja’ed me and just exhausted me before we even started. Hell, at least I would have managed to win at least one point in all of the three sets that we played. Negative tactics, I tell you.

I would end with saying to all you fitness obsessed freaks, I am somewhat fat, and I am proud of it.
(No I’m not, pls suggest me easy ways to lose weight. And pls hurry, my girlfriend’s losing interest in me)