There’s something wrong with the bathroom scales. The needle isn’t where I want it to be. I check again. The needle oscillates, before settling down on the same number. I call my husband to get a second opinion.
"There’s nothing wrong with the scales,” he steps on it and declares. “You must have gained weight.” I’m gutted.
"Sedentary work. No exercise. What else did you expect," he asks with a smug smile.
“Sedentary? I walk the length and breadth of this house every day god knows how many times. All to keep it running smoothly!” I tell him.
"Anything below 5,000 steps a day is considered sedentary," he says.
"Well then, I should probably walk away from all the household work," I say.
After double-checking the scales for zero error, I decide it’s time I did something. An impending wedding in the family and the imminent scrutinising looks from relatives (Sweetheart, you really have put on weight. Look at your husband. He looks like your son now.) give me an extra push.
My search for an answer ends on my laptop. A quick Googling leads me to a page that screams, "Eat nothing white – your ticket to losing weight fast." White foods such as rice, flour and sugar have a higher amount of simple carbohydrates, it says, leading to weight gain. That makes sense to me. Like most Keralites, white is the primary colour of my food.
“I don’t trust these health advice,” says my husband. “They are so confusing. Like one says eggs are unhealthy. Another says eggs are okay, except for the yolk. Yet another says both are okay, it’s all about our genes. So, you do what you want. But I need my idlis and puttu.”
When the children too swear non-allegiance, I embark on my white-less journey alone. Avocado, broccoli. Brussels sprout, smoothies, salads… My daily menu looks stylish. But by day four, I am done. I am tired and hungry all the time.
“I think you are doing it all wrong, amma. If you want to eat healthy, go see a dietician,” says my son.
“Dieticians and personal trainers are for celebrities, not for ordinary people,” I tell him. “I’m sure there’s a solution out there, it’s just a matter of choosing the right one,” I assure him and restart my quest. This time, my search gives me more than I bargained for. Keto, Paleo, Dukan, Atkins, Nordic and Banting… I am in a muddle.
“Stop googling. Eat normal food. Then work out. Simple,” says my husband looking over my shoulder. “When did you become a health expert?” I ignore him.
My intense browsing attracts other curious onlookers too.
What exactly are you looking for,” asks my daughter.
“A diet that allows me to eat what I want.”
“It wouldn’t be called a diet then,” she sniggers.
“Go ahead, laugh,” I tell her. “In 10 years time, all those pizzas and noodles you eat now are going to show up where you don’t want them. Don’t call me if you need any advice then!” That shuts her up.
After another hour of single-minded searching, I find the diet I was looking for. Or at least I think so. The Mediterranean diet. Starchy foods, fruits, vegetables, fish, dairy produce… it has it all. What’s more, it’s touted as the healthiest too. No wonder, the Greeks and
Italians look so good, I tell myself. I am overjoyed and see myself glowing at the wedding in a Kancheepuram saree.
The next day, at the dining table, I show off with much fanfare, my so-called Mediterranean plate, complete with starchy food, veggies and all.
“This is Mediterranean? Really,” asks my husband. “But this is what we have been eating all these years. Rice, veggies, fish… What’s new,” he asks.
“Yeah, kind of looks the same,” chirp the children.
I drown my embarrassment in two glasses of water.
“Half-baked knowledge is worse than half-baked food,” the husband mutters under his breath. I stare daggers at him.
“Come, eat this,” he points to a plate of idlis and sambar. “Just bought it from the Coffee House. One of the world’s healthiest foods. It says so on the Internet too.” He flashes his mobile at me. There is muffled laughter.
“No, I’ll eat later,” I say. “Let me first go for a walk. If I start now, I can complete 5,000 steps by dusk.”
“Good. Lose weight, not common sense.” There’s a glint of triumph in his eyes.
“True. But please do the dishes once you’re done eating. And don’t forget to go grocery shopping. I might be late,” I tell him.
“Oh no!” I hear a despairing groan as I step out and couldn’t help, but smile.
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