Tummy folds are okay

Prompt: Wishful thinking (Used in a sentence) 

 

3 inches down, few more to go!

The next time I hear a woman cry about how she puts on around her waist, I’m slapping myself tight. 

Yes. You read right. Myself!.
 

I was just like my typical ilk… ‘Gosh! all I eat settles only on my waist!’ ‘It’s next-to-impossible to shirk off the cellulite in the middle!’ ‘I’ve put-on you see, can’t get into any of my trousers breathing...”
 

April 2016, rummaging through my wardrobe I found one of my favourite kurtis. A closed-neck, long-sleeved one, I had kept aside to be worn with red palazzo. But when I finally got my red bottom, my middle looked like a toad. I had put on about 5 kilos during last year, all of which I saw only on my tummy folds.
 

Determined to flatten it out, I set a deadline. June – 2 months from that morning – I’ll cut my birthday cake in the black-n-red combo.
 

"Wishful thinking mama," cautioned my girl.
 

"Nope. This is confidence, darling. This is determination. Have you heard, where there is a will there is a way? I'll show you."
 

I did crunches and planks alternatively every morning. Walked 30 min 5 days a week. Cut down carbs and ate nothing solid post 6.30pm.
 

Week 1 - Nothing changed.
 

Week 2 - The scales weighed half-a-kg less and I had an adrenalin rush.
 

Week 3 - Was my time out. I was parked on the bench.
 

Week 4 - The scales discovered the lost half-kg .
 

Week 5 - I limped back to renewed routine.
 

With less than 25 days to go, I was desperate now. I kicked the weighing scale out of my sight. Concentrating only on the tummy, I gave up on sugar totally. And took to crunches like duck to water. Three times a day, 15 minutes each.
 

Two days before my birthday, I gingerly got into my black, full-sleeved beauty.
 

I jumped with joy. I had lost about 3 inches. The big, fat toad had but almost disappeared from my middle. Now, possibly a small tadpole whooshed around.
 

I rushed myself into the red palazzo. I felt so light. Took a selfie and Whatsapp-ed Sanjeev. Look, look, look...Your gorgeous wifey, I captioned it, too.
 

I was enjoying the dress rehearsal, planning my birthday celebration, when the phone buzzed.
 

"So you did manage to lose a few inches, yea," Sanjeev on line.
 

"I only need to decide, and it's done," I finished with a throaty laugh.
 

"Are you still in the dress?"
 

"Yea. I just don't feel like stepping out of it."
 

"Did you try doing the buttons?"
 

"Oh, All you see is only boobs. Didn't you notice the fit now, isn't it slightly better?"
 

"Try buttoning it up. A little stomach is okay, bust-gaping no."
 

I cut the line. Threw the phone.
 

That evening, the husband asked his side-kick, "Mama's birthday is here, beta. How about buying her an outfit?"
 

"Oh, yea, btw, what happened mama? Did you try your amazing, awesome, black-n-red birthday suit?"
 

"Yes, miss creep. I did. I lost a good 3 inches. But I am not wearing it yet. My dress. My birthday. My decision what to wear. Clear?"
 

"Why you angry?” And she whispers, “Papu! What? Not fitting?" 

I am with Team #CrimsonRush for the #BarAThon from 1st to 7th August 2016

Dressing for work

Last evening I had to avail the service of my driver to attend a Toastmaster’s meeting. His first words upon me entering the car were, “Mashallah, make-up, aaa!”  As is my wont, I blurted, “So what the heck…” when I heard him ask, “Why don’t you go to work dressed like this?”

If the same point made by many, several times over, warranties your attention, then he deserved my dignified silence.

My mom was the first to say this more than a decade back… “Put on something nice.” My husband has wondered aloud [I’ve lost count]… “You shop like crazy, but when you go to work, it’s the same tattered ones. Why are you collecting all these for?”

A senior acquaintance once sat me down, when I complained that I was over-looked for an internal promotion. “Why do you wear these worn-out jeans to work? And you go in these flats!! Dress smart. When you walk in, people should turn their heads towards you.” I’m yet to figure out the connection between dress and promotion, though.

In my first job [as a CSR at a logistics firm], my colleague, who later became a good friend, had all heads turning towards her each time she walked out of the cubicle. There were rumours of warehouse operators  fined for misplacing and damaging cartons while they ogled at her from atop their cranes. She was always in chiffon, halter-neck & strapless, knee-length dresses accessoried with 5-inch-and-above stilettos and her basic two-piece inner.

Since I left her to join the media industry, I’ve been editing others’ words to keep the wolf off my door. A desk job that requires me to use only my upper compartment. The most I interact is when I ring up reporters - who go out into the world meeting, greeting, collecting stories – to check on facts. Else, I’m tapping away at my keyboard 7 hours a day, 5 days a week, editing and re-writing articles for people to read, ignore, appreciate or criticize, in no particular order.

I’m invisible. So how does it matter, if I’m in my birthday suit earning my living. Journalists are one casual breed!  Also, my workplace is a freezer. My first task every morning is to top myself up in multiple layers of winter clothing even before I log in.



My work station, with three pieces of winter clothing on the chair

Well, I believe in being presentable. But I’m a strict minimalist. Hence, I adorn comfort and decency with a touch of Issey Miyake. I can’t have cat paws on print-outs and stained coffee mugs on my desk. Clutter and dirt stain the brain – whose clarity is the PIN for my ATM.

I salute women who are productive sitting squeezed in hip-ripping skirts, breathing through bosom-gaping tops, balancing atop ladder-like shoes, managing to keep their tresses off their eyes while checking files. Not me!

“That’s dressing smart, mama,” exclaimed my pre-teen daughter.

“I’m not ubiquitous as the furniture, either, else the cleaner would have dusted me,” I said, to which she replied... “Mama, every morning, after you so-call dress-up [with her four fingers curling in air], why don’t you take a selfie and post on FB? When you get yucky comments may be you’ll change your mind.”

I remember my childhood days. Whenever mom made anything special, she would offer the first piece to Ganesh [The Hindu elephant-deity] and only then was the dish open to the family.

Today, Lord Ganesha has rivals in Facebook, Twitter, Instagram…

I wonder how obsessive can people get to post every activity of theirs… post the vegetable before they cut; the food before they eat; the pajama before they pull it up; the child’s first nappy…

Well, I’m happy the way I dress as long as my work speaks louder!

How do you dress for work? Do you ‘dress smart’ ; ‘dress-up’ or ‘dress casual’? I would love to hear from  you.

PS:
You may want to read: The search for my friend ends