Pink of health [is a shitty title]

I’ve put on weight.

So said the weighing scale at the emergency ward at Moolchand hospital. U had to be rushed there for a rabies injection. A street cat bit him while he was trying to save her from a marauding bastard dog that’d managed to paralyse her hind legs by the time U got to her.

That’s the thanks he got. A nip on the thumb. That’s how cool cats really are.

“how you got eet?”
A buxom Malayalee nurse sways up to him seductively. She’s all sulky and pouty and disinterested. She languidly picks at his sleeve.

U starts telling her about his heroic tale gone awry. But she’s moved on to the next question.
“So, what’s your biznuz?”

U’s wounded. Visibly.
“I work at a theatre company”

“theatre companyaa? What theatre you do?” JAB. Jab.

“Oww. Cats. We perform cats.”

Meanwhile, I step onto an innocuous looking weighing scale. Bad decision. Too late.

“Uuuuuuu, shit. 2½ kgeeeeeeeeees! Farkin’ shit shit shit”

I groan.

U can get very arsey when he wants to prove a point to me. This time he doesn’t plug his ears. Instead he bats his beautiful long-lashed eyes at the malayalee nurse.
“Nurse, what should her correct weight beeee”?”

Nurse gives me a disdainful once-over, asks me my height and then does a gargantuan calculation on all her digits with pouty lips going all over the place. Finally she speaks.

U’s thrilled. “See, the CORRECT weight. Now shut your face and stop whining. Thankeeeeeyooo nurse!” he flutters his lashes at her again.

Correct? Ya right. 2½ kilograms in one month. The dumbbells aren’t helping. Neither are power-walks. I am now officially the ‘correct weight’ for my touching-5-feet-8-inches. But I feel like a large jelly schooner. Everything feels like it’s jiggling.

Mum delivers her verdict with glee “You look less cadaverous”.

Something’s wrong. I just feel like eating all the time. All. The. Time.

Giant moist oozy brownie and two chicken rolls after lunch go straight to the hips.

So today I wore my relatively large pink t-shirt matched up with a paparazzi-pink bag and pink- beaded-over-sized-from-Goa slippers.

Bag and T-shirt can do much for a jelly belly, what do over-sized pink slippers do for a growing self?

Nothing.

Magic carpet ride on pink clouds with my hand in Huru’s.

I like the feel of my Goa slippers on my feet. They are uncomfortable. They make me want to walk, move… never stop.

So here’s to imminent journeys… magical we hope. With 2 ½ kgs of excess baggage. [bye bye bikini]