The fat and their faff! It’s like the beads of the string falling in random, and the alignment of fingers going awry to pick the many. The fat and their pomp! The flounce on the faces seeing their fat-fermented bellies says it all. They are in fact, all nice people, well-groomed in perfect savoir faire but they are fat, flummoxed by their fattening panoply.
There is a story; should be true otherwise the ‘fat guilt’ would not be the pebbledash. It dates back to a day (period unknown) when the creation asked for a ‘fat-wish’ from ‘God’; presumably they were skinny, starved and led a fatuous living.
“God have mercy!” these people sang the paen to have their bodies like cannelloni stuffed with fat. God was pensive as usual,
“If I make them fat, hope they will be able to keep it in check.”
The fat-alistic power did the ‘fat-feeding’ and gradually people started becoming fat. The flesh in abundance got the mind rolling in a pas de deux. The wish turned out to be a fait accompli; a scalpel in the fat flesh. Getting thin became a crest of waves lapping at the hull; the fat adamant, created a dewlap of corrugated crease. The slumber of aching legs pulled hard by the hamstrings made the belly flinch, tiredness became a burrowing worm and the curvature of the spine disintegrated by the vertebrae bleak.
Auld Lang past, people realized how their ‘foolhardy fortissimo’ turned out to be a faux pas; the funda of ‘fat’ was a feather-brained pomp; now live with it! Generations lived and thrived, and the revue continues….
‘Fat’ was never the fad, we all agree! But now we have the ‘fat’ so beleaguered by the fattish-folio that their pompous pleonasm has taken over; the bacchanalian gossip queens who have nothing to discuss but the ‘fat’ to ‘flat’ and the raffish fat bank balance. Isn’t the fearsome ‘fat’ rebarbative a ritzy filler in every discussion? –‘how to cut down fat’, ‘why I am so fat’; the raff continues till one comes to the point ‘why I am alive?’
The tormenting discuss ensues with some politicking;
‘I have cut down on wheat/Maida, and ironically the same person cuts off the rodomontade by eating an equally hill-raised Bhatura; ‘it’s OK to have it once in a while’—the perfect ad nauseam.’
‘The distress of tucking the tummy in during a photo-click is a palimpsest of a ‘flat tire’; punctured by the eccentricity of too much roughage.’
‘It’s GENETIC; I have to live with it.’ One lives with adduce having no compunction to lay off apostasies related to food.’
‘I have started finding beauty in my ‘fat-insolubility’. But, then who minds to look at the ‘thin-walled’ bodies with astute scorn.
The flattening fries and the Mozzarella fried are just ‘sides’. One would not deter to take a bite. It’s like one should not be fat but one could be due to unforeseen circumstances that humans have no control over. Vacations are a ‘fat-filled paradise’. One punctiliously indulges in infectious eating, and then imperceptibly amid much ballyhoo, we are quick to enter, “I think I am getting fat”. And in all implausibility we have no control over it. We fat around too much, isn’t it? The pies and pringles are all eaten on the pouffe; the belly now fatly frozen in a vacation mode. At last, we are the owners of a ‘fat franchise’ with a fallacious ‘live to eat’ motto.
We live with the weight gain, could be any reason; we start accepting it but the sky still seems swollen with an impending rain; so how do we live with our swollen belly? We turn into a hollyhock; the extra fat is cooled down at the gym or the gimmick of crash-dieting becomes the stalking horse. A heavy meal to be followed by tea/coffee without sugar is a cogent to make us feel less guilty.
The worthy fief comes as a moth breaking out of a cocoon. Comparing to a fatter acquaintance or friend turns into a slugfest, conspicuously knowing ‘we have won the battle’, thus sets in complacency! We often look at the mirror, squeeze in the feverish fat and blow it up again; are we really happy? The rote of in and out turns into ennui and then the éclat, ‘Sab kuch khana chahiye’ (we should eat everything). The mirror now sees a ‘fat frog’ jump to become a prince doing a food fandango with no restrictions. The pompous persiflage is often our pretense to ignore our fat deposits. This not at all aims at people with ailments predisposing a ‘fat tendency’ but for the ‘pomp-pipers’ who blow through intemperate pipes.
The buffet meal comes with paradoxes too; little by little, the plate is antagonistically full, guilt follows with the second round of replenishment, and finally a sepulchral bleed of ‘I am done, I can eat more but don’t want to get fat.’ Somewhat like,
‘Are the bees tried to suck more honey or too much honey has wielded the bees to stuck to the saccharine in remorse?’
Whatever the case, we fear to be ‘fat’ and if we do gain extra pounds, we welcome the change albeit with extrapolations. So what should we do? Either work towards getting thin or let the ‘fat’ falter in the terrine of extra portions or you may continue with your ‘fat colloquy’. Or you can wait for a ‘Nonfat-wish’ to fall upon you by the Gods!