‘Cassius has a lean and hungry look,’ commented my classmate while playing the protagonist in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar . The director of the play felt that my skinny self would do complete justice to the role of Cassius. The play proved to be a hit at the annual day of our college, and I became typecast for good ‘meaty’ roles, but of ‘not so fleshy’ characters.
Though the art of histrionics sharpened by continuous exposure predominantly overshadowed my as-thin-as- a-reed figure, still from the very early days I had become acutely conscious of my skeletal frame.
Unlike Ogden Nash’s ‘born spectator’, I was never really averse to games and sports in school. However, I would like to ‘confess’ that I had interest in hockey, but was too up cricket instead – the white flannels perfect enough to cover my skinny legs. As for the compulsory swimming lessons at school, a false medical bailed me out.
Despite being an energetic young lad, people would show needless concern for my health, my high cheekbones, aquiline nose and a prominent Adam’s apple giving a not so healthy look.
“What’s wrong? You have really become weak,” they would enquire, with worry writ large on their comparatively round and full faces. Gradually, this became the standard conversation starter with ‘met-after-long’ friends and acquaintances.
In the beginning such queries would embarrass me as I would struggle for an answer, making unsuccessful attempts to turn the talk and their gaze away from my ‘famished’ self. There were times when I tried to jokingly fend off the irritating queries by telling them how the roly- polys are hitting the gym hard to shed their flab and look like me. You know, “thin is in,” I would say. However, not wanting to give in so easily, they would retort, “But not so ‘painfully’ thin like you,” thereby decisively winning the argument.
Though comfortable in my own skin, no matter how thin, the constant jibes made me try to expand sideways too. More proteins and carbs, bigger portions and even dietary supplements made their way into my life. Work-outs, though of moderate intensity, were introduced. The everyday calorie intake got a huge fillip. In my quest to gain weight nothing was left untried. To constantly evaluate my progress I even brought home the weighing scale. Every fortnight I would gingerly put my nearly 6-foot tall frame on it, but the stubborn needle, believing in the status quo , refused to share any of my enthusiasm.
In the beginning my parents did not give much importance to my, what they called, ‘slimness’, a euphemism for ‘thinness’. They were of the impression that my more than common height during my teenage made me appear a gangling youngster and that once my vertical rise stopped, the horizontal one would begin. When that did not happen, they then pinned their hope on my taking up a job. Economic independence would give me that inner satisfaction, which would radiate on my outer self, it was surmised.
This too proved to be a mirage. But then, being the eternal optimist their next ray of hope was marriage and a well settled life.
Now this milestone too has been crossed with my body showing no perceptible signs of accumulation of fat anywhere. Well into my middle age the ‘middle’ is conspicuously absent.
I look forward to the winters every year as the additional layers make me gain... no, not health, but, definitely confidence. But these days with the sun gradually strengthening, I’m reminded of Shelley’s words: ‘If winter comes, can spring be far behind.’
Amidst the all-round rejuvenation of spring, I’m the only one who remains unenthused. I’ve just put back all my woolens and thermal wears.
veejay.pant@gmail.com
