Diet no more

Capture

 

Have you ever been coerced to go on a diet,

When your heart screams no, and your brain shushes it to be quiet ?

A host of ploys that you’re forced to say hello,

Atkins, vegan, detox, South Beach and keto.

 

A morning rinse with lemon water and honey,

A rude early awakening for your raucous tummy,

As you are alarmed by the soury fluid inbound,

When it could have been a warm sugary coffee that you downed.

And for a hearty breakfast as you start getting eager,

Frugality is served with a helping of oats meagre,

Or a strange nutty mixture called muesli,

Taken with milk and raved about profusely.

 

But consider yourself lucky, if you will,

Coz some days may be harder and uphill,

For you may be served a bowl of sprouts,

Whilst you’re looking for food hereabouts and thereabouts.

Those tentacled alien spherules that you are cajoled to swallow,

Invading your food pipe and swarming in your stomach hollow,

And though they may tempt you with their colors weaving,

Look out, because the looks may be deceiving,

Coz for all the health and taste they appear to fake,

They are sure to torment your belly into a writhing ache.

 

As the day gets warmer and you think you’d be cut some slack,

Oh, if you could only hope, to sneak in a little snack !

“ Snack all you want !” your diet yoda would say,

“ But only chew on an apple or sip on a green tea, okay ?”

Carbs are your enemies and veggies are your friends,

So you better throw out the junk, and begin to cleanse.

 

When you assume there is nothing worse left to fear,

“ Don’t be so sure of yourself, ” a voice whispers in your ear,

Loud and clear the instructions boom – “ No rice, no roti, no bread !”

Striking you with a thunderous lightning, as you pray furiously you were dead.

Your innards squirm with anger and unrest,

At this breaking news, as you fervently protest,

“ But what pray, will I eat ?” you cry out loud,

“ Why, proteins my dear !” says your diet, head bowed,

“ And what of sweet cravings and dessert?”

“ Fruits will come to the rescue !” comes a reply curt.

 

How, do you hope to survive this ordeal,

When all you can think about, is meal after meal ?

How would a fruit stand by for a cake ,

And green tea cure that office headache ?

Can oats fill you up like a buttered toast ?

Or the measly sprouts confidently boast,

Of filling the tummy and greed both,

And not sprouting on your insides into a mouldy growth ?

 

What do you do, when you can’t eat rice or bread ?

A terrifying thought unthinkable, filling you with dread,

How do you satiate yourself with salad ?

With gluttony and craving playing a rock ballad,

Do you drink air when you are parched with thirst ?

Then how can an appetite, with such proxies be nursed ?

So please show some heart to our belly and bowel,

And let us enjoy our beloved rajma chaawal,

For no amount of those healthy foods can substitute,

The relish of curry and carbs, and their power absolute.

 

 

* rajma chaawal is an Indian dish consisting of red kidney beans in a thick gravy served with rice.

A gargantuan itch

fat_vitruvian_man

 

What if you could take my belly fat,

And convert it into energy stat,

Then instead of calling me obese,

A butterball, or a lump of grease,

You’d exclaim, and look at me in wonder,

For I would steal away your thunder,

Coz I’d be wow-so-hot,

Fire up an engine and what not,

I could just blow you away,

Light a hundred bulbs on a grey day,

I’d impress and I’d bedazzle,

Pull a truck, lift a mountain, never worn to a frazzle.

 

Would you imagine and suppose,

That one could change forms, of all those layers of adipose,

Maybe turn into a conformation gaseous,

All the fatty harvest bounteous,

So slimming down would be as easy,

As pricking a balloon, natural and breezy,

And bursting someone’s ‘bubble’,

Would not be asking for trouble.

If you could, on the other hand,

Melt it to liquid, on command,

Siphon it out of the body with a faucet,

Turn it into liquid gold, and then a ring or a locket,

I’d be a very rich man, I think,

Eat all that I want, and guzzle all I can drink,

Coz underneath my vast amount of skin,

Would be hidden gold treasures tucked in.

 

A day might soon come and grin,

When someone can take away my double chin,

Scoop it out like an ice cream,

Or tear it off at the ridged seam,

And as for my burgeoning cheeks,

They could be shaved off like hair overgrown for weeks,

Squeezed out like a lemon,

Or peeled off like an orange or a melon,

The paunch of my tummy,

Could become a game for kids, funny,

If they could sandcastles out of my fat, mould,

And then swipe them away in a blow cold.

 

Sometimes my imagination runs amok,

And starts talking poppycock,

As I wonder out loud,

What if the vampires were endowed,

To suck on fat, and not blood,

Nip the adiposity in the bud,

We’d be inviting them over to midnight feasts,

And calling them wonderful fat sucking beats.

 

What if the flab was like the flu,

And you could sneeze it out with an achoo,

Or bid it adieu,

In piss or in poo,

Imagine it was an infectious disease,

That could pass on with a cough or a wheeze,

And that there was a magic drug,

That could wipe out the fat bug,

Like a missile in hot pursuit,

Locked on its target and ready to shoot,

If it was an organ that you could donate,

And transplant it, in people skinny and delicate,

The fat people would provide for the emaciated and the needy,

And absolve themselves, of the guilt of being too greedy.

 

If our fat was like money,

And could be transferred, every dime and penny,

Wouldn’t it be great,

If you could give away all that you ate,

To the poor and the homeless,

And relinquish the excess ?

Could the monstrous Mr Fat be a ghost,

Haunting a clueless and unsuspecting host ?

Refusing to leave or budge,

Holding on to an old grudge,

So we could hire a ghostbuster, in that case,

And drive him away, to a more accommodating space.

 

These are the fantasies of a garrulous, overweight man, talking,

A rambling reverie, teasing and mocking,

In the hopes that a day might come,

When I could pluck away the fat on my bum,

Drop the obese suit like dirty clothes,

And the concealed muscles expose,

You may think that I’m quite drunk,

High on the grease and the junk,

A gorging glutton who refuses to exercise,

Non compos mentis, staring dreamily at the skies,

But what if my musings come true,

And all the roly poly potbellies, could shrink away out of the blue,

Wouldn’t that be humongous and grand,

The coup de grace in the fat man’s land !

Weighty Wars

fat

It is probably a lot that I ate,
Or an ere supressed genetic trait,
Maybe a decelerated metabolic rate,
That pushed my BMI into ‘overweight.’

But let me make this straight,
It wouldn’t really help or motivate,
If you greeted someone at the gate,
Not with a hi, hello or you-look-great,
But “God, have you put on some weight !”

Coz there is a fact, if I may be so bold, to state,
Everyday, I look into a mirror and fixate,
Twirl around and my proportions calculate,
Wondering if the reflections an illusion create,
Praying for a magic pill for my adipose uprise to abate.

So, I don’t really need my ‘wazan’ update,
Or anyone to look concerned and an intervention implicate,
That I’m upping the scales is no cause for a debate,
Let us talk about the weather, if after a pause we must wait,
Coz this tale of weighty wars is hard to narrate,
And no reason to frustrate and infuriate,
For this may be hard for you to relate,
That to shrink myself thin, is what I obsess about most, of late.