With every summer vacation comes the resolution to lose weight.
With every day of the vacation that passes comes guilt, drowning one’s misery in chocolate ice cream, and a dusty exercise machine.
This year, though, I was full of enthusiasm. I promised myself that I would exercise so much that the machine would have to be sent to the shop for repairs, and so far I’d been keeping my promise well.
And that was why I got just a little bit depressed last Friday when I realized that I wouldn’t be able to exercise. A visitor was coming over for the evening, and mornings? Nah, math tuitions.
I wasn’t all that melancholy though. I drowned my misery in chocolate as usual, and then got over it.
Well, I came back home that afternoon, dumped my backpack in the cupboard, and “Rithiiikaaaaaaa!” My mother’s voice drifted from the kitchen.
I’m sorry to say I inherited my mother’s mostly-sweet-but-shrill-when-she-screams voice. I honestly don’t know how people call my voice or that of my mother’s adorable without hearing either of us yell (or rather, shriek. Yes, that’s the right word. Power to the rat-voice!)
Ma was preparing dinner for the guest, and I knew she was calling me to help her. However, I’m not much of a cook. Yet. One cannot simply force upon me the stereotypically feminine duty of managing the household kitchen. I’d rather sit in a dark corner musing about random, deep, philosophical, stupid stuff, and then writing about them. But, I am a loving daughter (So I believe), and that was how I found myself in the kitchen facing the terrible monster that is batoora dough.
Now, I love batoora, don’t get me wrong. I love batoora like the insane teenage Indian girl I am. But let me tell you, playing with batoora dough is the last thing you want to do. It’s really difficult to press it flat, it will torture your poor hands and cause a great deal of perspiration.
Yet, that is exactly what my mom wanted me to do; flatten twenty batooras for her. I reluctantly set about doing my task. After maybe five batooras I started sweating, by the tenth one my hands were red and hurting, by the fifteenth I had to consistently tell myself that ‘I can do it’, and after putting the nineteenth one on the tray for frying, Ma asked me why my face was so red. Well, it was only my second time making batooras, and I bet she’s done it more than ten times in the least. *shrugs*
But let me tell you, if you realize that you can’t do your routine exercise one fine day, just announce to the world that you’re going to have batooras for dinner because honestly? FLATTENING BATOORAS IS THE BEST EXERCISE IN THE WORLD! I bet that if you make batooras everyday for the next two months you’d get some pretty awesome abs and biceps. (You will thank us Indians for the existence of such a wonderful flat-bread. You have to work to earn!)
Well, if you must know, the dinner went well, the guest liked our food, and we had one batoora-tastic evening!
I’m just glad I haven’t broken my exercise regime. 😛