For a number of years, I used to go to a bar called Storms, in the evening, after work. The liquor was cheap and the lighting was dim. Their kebab platters were large and greasy. While it lacked the large, mutant rats that scurried over your feet at Olypub, it had that familiar air of amiable seediness. I spent many happy hours there, especially after we negotiated a deal which made Happy Hours permanent. The waiters all became good friends, which is usually not a good sign.
Contrary to what you might think, the clientèle did not consist of gang lords and retired shippies. Storms was in a residential neighbourhood, and the residents visited frequently, the women in slightly-faded salwaar kameezes, tailored for comfort, and the men in khaki shorts, marking them out as either yuppies or RSS members. You could tell which ones were RSS because their shorts were better ventilated, and sometimes, when they reclined on the purple sofas, you had to turn your eyes away.
Kitty parties and family celebrations happened there all the time. We were constantly protecting our drinks from hyperactive toddlers. They had a small dance floor at the back. Once the aunties and uncles were happy enough, they would go over and shake a leg, to the timeless music of Daler Mehndi. Sometimes, if I was sitting at the right table, I could see them. They were large, vigorous and completely fearless, executing moves that much slimmer people would think twice before attempting.
The only things more impressive were the waiters, who navigated through them with their kebab platters, without once getting elbowed in the solar plexus. Over the years, as I watched them, I realised a simple thing. The concept of fitness is all in the mind. In Delhi, we are not slaves to newfangled Western notions of body mass index, or prejudices regarding butter chicken. If we feel we are fit, we are fit. All else is illusion. We will deal with the subject of gurus in a later issue, but the fundamental thing that these gurus have shown is that the power of the mind transcends all.
Hence, when it comes to fitness, don’t let others shape your perceptions, or allow your shape to mould your choices. Leap up when they play ‘Disco Dancer’. Be more athletic in bed. Don’t let the snugness of your swimsuit stop you from diving in. Put your name down for the half marathon, and if you encounter biryani the night before, go for it. With the right type of mental adjustment, anything is possible. Just remember that sometimes people spill their drinks, and the floor can be slippery.
Shovon Chowdhury’s most recent novel, Murder With Bengali Characteristics , is extremely slim, but never flaunts it.
