It is apparent that all women beyond a certain age have had enough of the bullying done by fitness centres, slimming industry and other people who want to do us great harm by making simple eating and drinking feel like sinning. Just read the story below …..

Recently, in a large French city, a poster featuring a young, thin, tanned woman appeared in the window of a gym:
“THIS SUMMER DO YOU WANT TO BE A MERMAID OR A WHALE?”

A middle aged woman, whose physical characteristics did not match those of the woman on the poster, responded publicly to the question posed by the gym.

To Whom It May Concern:

Whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, sea lions, curious humans). They have an active sex life, they get pregnant and have adorable baby whales. They have a wonderful time with dolphins, stuffing themselves with shrimp. They play and swim in the seas, seeing wonderful places like Patagonia, the Barren Sea and the coral reefs of Polynesia. Whales are wonderful singers and have even recorded CDs. They are incredible creatures and virtually have no predators other than humans. They are loved, protected and admired by almost everyone in the world.

Mermaids don’t exist. If they did exist, they would be lining up outside the offices of Argentinean psychoanalysts due to identity crisis. Fish or human? They don’t have a sex life because they kill men who get close to them, not to mention, how could they have sex?? Therefore they do not have kids either. Not to mention who wants to get close to a girl who smells like a fish store??

The choice is perfectly clear to me; I want to be a whale.

P.S. We are in an age when media puts into our heads the idea that only skinny people are beautiful, but I prefer to enjoy an ice-cream with my kids, a good dinner with a man who loves me, and a coffee with my friends. With time we gain weight because we accumulate so much information and wisdom in our heads that when there is no more room it distributes out to the rest of our bodies. So we aren’t heavy, we are enormously cultured, educated and happy. Beginning today, when I look at my butt in the mirror I will think:

“Good gosh, look how smart I am.”

I love her already!

It is such a relief.  The stitches are off, and the biopsy result shows no malignancy.  Which means I am home free.  No bad things festering inside me ………………………..

Yup I landed on my feet this time!

Wish I could dance a jig but kya karoon

Pappu Cant Dance Saala

Never mind!

I can at least celebrate by watching some intensely funny movie without being scared of laughing out loud.  I watched Karzzzzzzz  yesterday.  Yeah I know its not supposed to be a comedy, but I cant help it.  It was hilarious.  I ended up wincing and laughing at the same time …. the stitches and Himesh were painful – but my boredom and desperation were so intense.  Mujhe apne haal par rona bhi aur hasi bhi aa rahe thi

Yeah, I am not a patient patient

When I was young, Mom wanted me to be a doctor.  Mind you this was much before Doogie Howser and other glamour medical types made it cool.  So, since I had a brain, I was enrolled into the medical side in High School.  Close encounters with dissection classes made me wonder …….., I found them gross!  Dont get me wrong, medicine is a noble profession – I am not noble.  I cant get it.  This world is made up in equal parts of the beautiful, the plain, the ugly and the gross.  I infinitely prefer the beautiful.  Plus I am a lazy irresponsible bum.  I dont want to study endlessly, to sacrifice my beauty sleep or have be responsible for someone’s life or death.  I admire these wonderful people, but it is not me.  I admire them, but would love to be away from pain and suffering.  Hospitals house the ill and the saviours.  I’d rather give them a miss.  So when the time came, I said, “Sorry Mom” and picked up English Literature, Keats, Byron and marriage.  Another one of my Great Escapes      

Both my kids are Ceasarian ….. one of God’s divine jokes at my expense.  Humph!  But I guess I behaved, because no one complained about the horrible patient I was.  May be my babies made my family forgive me.

Some of the anaesthetic trips are good and happy, some take you into a psychedelic hell.   A few years ago, I had a pretty bad accident, which required surgery.  Kid#1 was barely 20 years old.  Poor child ….. he swears I will be held solely responsible for any kind of hair loss or every grey hair on his young head.  I was wheeled in to my hospital bed, post surgery, with an oxygen mask, totally out of it.  I must have been angry and in pain, because I threw a very bad tantrum.  Oxygen stinks, and I did not want that mask.  I kept pushing it off.  The nurse scolded me and said “Aapka surgery hua hai – yeh lagao” ….., well, I was pissed, and I yanked it off my face and plastered it on hers and said “Tere ko chahiye na, Too hi pehenle”.  I even pulled off the IV.  I have nothing to say in my defense …. except that I was out, and did not know.  Kid#1, Kid#2, Kid#1′s group of friends (which included DIL) were all there at the hospital at that time, and decided I was a brat.  Hmmmmmm, I have not managed to live that down as yet.

With that in mind, DIL and Kid#1 warned me that I better behave this time.  I guess I did, I did not even complain about the sweet corn soup they fed me (even though I told my kids it looked like monkey’s semen – no I have never seen monkey’s semen, dont ask, its just what I thought, so I would not drink it humph!).  I drank the juice, so there!!!!!  :P

I was wheeled out of the OT, and the kids hovered around me asking “Mom, how do you feel?”.  Apparently this anaesthesia was good stuff, and the trip must have taken me to a psychedelic paradise.  As per them, I was tripping and answered with a happy giggle “Awesome”      

Well, mind you, I do not remember the last time or this one, so I chose to look at the kids with wide-eyed disbelief whenever they tell me about this.  It is the only way I can cling on to the shreds of my tattered dignity.  Sigh!!!!!

Doctors are another class of people in themselves – so matter of fact and business-like that it gives me the shivers.  When I went to the hospital, I definitely was more interested in meeting my siblings for Bhai Dooj, an awesome dinner with wine and mithai and chocolates – getting admitted was not on the agenda.  My gynae (poor long suffering soul) was surprised to actually see me keep my appointment.  I am the most unwilling patient that walked this earth!  She tried to be gentle (even when I rebelled during the physical exam, its instinctive, I dont do it on purpose) and explained that I had to be operated.  I asked “Can I come in after my dinner with my family?”.  She looks at me and says “Shall I ring up Kid#1?”.  End of discussion ……….

Now a days hospitals are better than malls.  Yes they are.  All major brands are there.  You have  Costa Coffee, Cafe Coffee Day, Moets and Nirulas there.  You even have the most awesome mandir right in the middle of the hospital campus.  Kid#2 wanted us to go to the mandir before the surgery.  So both of us quietly took a small walk the night before the surgery.  I was most impressed by the Shiv Ling and told him it was one of the more impressive phallic symbols I had seen recently.  Totally inappropriate humour but it got us both giggling dementedly – and he hugged me hard, wordlessly.  It felt good, that clingly baby of mine, now so tall and strong, holding me hard and comforting me!!!  Thanks my love, both you and your brother are my strength, my courage, my life  

What’s with hospital food?  Do they instruct the cooks to ensure that things should not be tasty?  Its like reminding people that they are sick and so have to eat this insipid fare Blech!!!!  I should have carried sachets of capsico, chilli flakes and mustard to spice up stuff.  Less said about the liquid diet they put me on – soups that had no character whatsoever, lumpy khichdi.  Whoever saw a light red tomato soup, I ask you?  Moong Dal soup looked like yellow water.  The only things I could face were cornflakes and juice.  I tell you I started dreaming about masala dosas and pizzas!  I need to get a life!  Imagine drooling over food instead of men!!!!!

The plus point is that I must have lost a lot of weight  :D

Any one remember the lovely Snowhite?

The babe who kept house for seven dwarves

Named Happy, Sneezy, Dopey and Doc

Grumpy, Bashful, Sleepy – the names rock

But before getting kissed 

By her prince on the lips

She had to eat the poisoned apple

Dont ask, I did not write the fable

I too met the seven dwarves

Only these came with menopause

Itchy, bitchy, bloated and sweaty

Psycho, forgetful and sleepy

Ah well, I guess I got a lucky break.  The doctor decided that it was time for organ donation because of various complications I was having.  Like every thing else in my life, this shocker came without any mental preparation.  I was supposed to go for Bhai Dooj to a cousin’s home.  He rang up and said lets all get together for dinner.  I had time to spare, so decided to go for a check up, since I was having problems.  I landed up at the hospital, with gifts, mithai and pooja thali for my bhai dooj neatly packed in the back seat of my car.  Talk about not being in the mood .

The gynae was waiting for me, it seemed.  She was like – Rani, kithey jaa rahi hai, hunh bai jaa (translation – Lady where are you off to, now sit down).  So I rang up the kids, who packed up an overnighter for me and landed up at the hospital.

The very next day I had a surgery and have come home sans uterus and ovaries, and stitches on the stomach.

You know what the crazy thing is?

Now I feel happy.  I met the 7 nasty menopausal dwarves – lived with them for a year, and along with the organ donation, I think I left them at the hospital.  I feel more balanced, cheerful and calm.  

Guess what?  I had the classic great escape.  I side-stepped meano-pause

I too met the seven dwarves

Only these came with menopause

Itchy, bitchy, bloated and sweaty

Psycho, forgetful and sleepy

Now you guys can kiss my ass

Mood swings, I’ll give you a pass

I was teased mercilessly by my younger brother and the entire tribe – yes – tribe of cousins for being an unabashed fan of Paul McCartney but one look at his eyes and I would simply drool – and this was at the mature age of eleven years old.  This was swiftly followed by David Niven and Sean Connery.  But then I set my eyes on Amitabh Bachchan and I was lost.  I drooled so much that I could have drowned in the puddle I created, much to the amusement of my entire clan.  Now I have discovered that it is normal and healthy.  Thank you Time, thank you very much.  You just dont know how much this means to me.  It follows that my teenage rituals like

• Talking for hours to Sean’s picture was normal
• Watching each and every Amitabh movie at least thrice was healthy
• Memorising every dialogue of the said movies was natural
• Giving every photo of Rekha a beard and moustaches was good therapy
• Modelling my wardrobe after Joan Baez was excellent fashion sense
• My fondness for Abhishek Bachchan not because of his entertaining skills but since he is my old crush’s son is sane and understandable

I am not too sure that I agree with this ….., but, hey if someone thinks that I am healthy and sane, who am I to argue with that?