As I sat at the table and performed the ritual of flapping the napkin and decorating my lap with it, an incredible aroma lifted me off my chair about a couple of inches and if I was any lighter I would have floated across the dimly lit restaurant towards the source in ghee.

Er.., I mean glee.

It was a glorious evening, and, evidently, I might add, it was an evening in the honor of the olfactory senses. It was a festival of delicious aromas. Nerve impulses were transmitting millions of pleasure signals to my brain, overworked as it was processing the load of information each discernable aroma carried with it. And it wasn’t just my nose that was transmitting signals. My ear joined the party happily. The provocative sounds that go along with each aroma in the process of cooking – the “tishhhhhhh” from the tadka, the “chissssshhhh” of onions dunked on hot oil….the clanking of the ladle against the pan. And my brain, rising to the occasion, was rapidly interpreting each impulse – basil in olive oil, mild garlic being sautéed in butter, smoked chicken being pan fried….. To say the least, I was getting a heady fill of intoxicating olfactory and auditory delight. Or, to emphasize the degree of delight, ecstasy. Yes, that’s probably the right word, ecstasy.

If you happened to pass the table I was at, you might have encountered a young man sitting upright, eyes closed, silly, indulgent smile plastered against the face, neck stiff and alert to perch the head high enough for his rather phenomenal nose to actively draw the aroma in, ears perked up and alert, and if you were blessed with the fantastic power of observation complemented by eyesight that picks up incredibly minute detail, you might have also seen small hair follicles standing on the nape of the young mans neck and if you had cast your eyes lower upon his bare arm, you might even have noticed goose pimples. And if you paused long enough to recognize this young man, who you do know from a long time ago and said, HEY JV! I wouldn’t have heard it the first time.

If you persisted and yelled my name aloud again and pinched me, it would have shaken me off my reverie.

And woke me up from my sleep. Damn you. You just ruined a fantasy.

Well stop it. I hate apologies, especially if you have no clue its not your apology that would alleviate me from this rather unappealing, unsettling state I find myself in. This really is causing a lot of disharmony in my otherwise self-satisfied life.

Well, I might as well tell you what I am on about. I just discovered I am fat.

It wasn’t easy discovering that. It’s not as simple as you might think. There is this serious looking table that Google uncle helped me find – the Height and Weight chart.

Now a normal simple guy or girl next door, (a category I think you are a part too) would expect height on one column and weight on another. In Kg.

But no. How can life be that simple? To start with it was all in pounds. And then there were four columns – here take a look yourself.

hw.gif So there is Small Frame, Medium Frame and Large Frame. What the …? The difference between Small Medium and Large ranges from 22lb to 45lb. Which is about 12kg for me. If I was a small frame I would be about 61kg, but if on the other hand I was a large frame I would be 12kg more, but I would still be normal? Ok. So how do I decide if I was Small Medium or Large frame? For the sake of an academic discussion, if I classified myself as a large frame, I am suddenly not overweight. (Hmm…I think I rather like these academic discussions).

But that’s not the way it works does it? When you wear your pants, you struggle and you know something is wrong somewhere. And if you have an IQ of an average crow, you can guess something about the girth of your waist is causing this difficulty when you slip into those pants. Or try slipping in.

Thankfully, I have been blessed with an IQ much better than that of a crow. Well, an average crow, lets be more precise in the interest of being truthful and accurate – not to mention piss the crow fraternity unnecessarily. Besides, lets face it, these self-look tables never fail to get you to assume the worst and see a bleaker picture than how bleak the bleak picture really is.

So I assume I am 12 kg overweight and the moment you come to terms with that sort of a truth, its always grotesque the first time the truth stares right at your face.

But when you come to terms with it and accept it, it’s a different thing. For a while you walk around with this cloud of gloom over your head. A whole new demeanor overcomes you without your knowledge. As you walk by glass doors you give a silent shudder when you pass by restaurants you sigh, when you see people eating happily, you let out a muffled groan. When you see pictures of delicious food, you gaze at them lustily.

Oh lets stop this boring philippic. I’m 15 kg overweight for my height. And I am on a diet. I haven’t been eating butter, ghee and all the delicious other food that suddenly hold a brilliant new appeal for me.

Well anyway, if you pause to think about all those metrics, the way I did, you would agree that its really not a weight problem I have. I am simply not tall enough for my weight.

In the light of these new interpretations, perspectives and insight, I shall excuse myself – I think i shall call Dominoes. The stringy cheese in their ads is quite mouth watering.

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