On Gymming(or the lack of it)!!!

Oh those shining, perfect washboard abs on television!…How they inspire us to hit the gym like no man has ever done before. Those evanescent resolutions which fade away with astonishing speed leaving no trace behind,like they never ever existed. The Indian male distinguishes himself in the gym with his characteristic pot belly, stick thin chicken legs and the I-am-a-lost-lamb look ambling about sheepishly. The dumbells seem to  be mocking him with a lift me if you can smirk while he covertly eyes the Greek God-ish physiques of  Caucasians and Europids around him. He curses his genetics, vows to fight nature and gradually succumbs to its vagaries in a week’s time. The Indian female is a different story altogether. Find her in a messy bun, endlessly long, ragged t-shirt to camouflage her glutes and quadriceps from piercing stares ( trust me, those killer legs invite no attention!) and an ultra bored look. Lifting weights is akin to sacrilege for she is convinced that it will turn her into a muscular wonder, giving the Schwarzneggers a run for their money. No amount of scientific research and facts can convince her otherwise. So you will find her labouring away at the cross trainer or the treadmill for a whole 20 big minutes! The gait is completely off, the enthusiasm is that of a nine year old being asked to study for an exam instead of playing with his friends and its as if she is doing the machine a favor by putting it to some good use.

It makes me wonder whether we are socially predisposed to stay away from physical activities because we would rather bond over food in large groups or are we just plain lazy?

Fleeting Love!!!

There was no doubt about it.He was quite a looker. Every time he was out and about on the streets, the heads they turned. Women eyed him with a look of envy and let out sighs. He would make those longing hearts miss a beat or two. He wasn’t exactly a young stallion but he had aged like the finest wine there was to be.

She was young, brimming with youth and the energy that comes with it. Looking at life through rose tinted glasses, she flitted along like a butterfly.Men would gladly lay their hearts bare to the cruel ways of her beauty.And that she was well aware of. So she treated him like she would treat an old servant. To her, he had come of age, served her well and now it was time to go. She was a slave to novelty. Little did she realise that they may come young, but they don’t come as faithful as him. In his days of prime, he was her arm candy. She would flaunt him, flirt with him and they made quite the pair. He had served her long and served her well.

Age had finally caught up with him. There he was, sitting lonesome on the chair in the corner. The darkness and silence of the empty room were too much for him to bear tonight. He had a feeling, a strong one at that.She would walk in with him tonight, a strapping young fellow, with a gorgeous tan and everything else that would make women go crazy with desire. The door opened and she glided right in. She looked gorgeous in that red dress and her never ending lissome legs. He looked at her and soaked in as much as he could. And yes, just like he had expected, she was not alone. He was there, shining bright and with the letters LV stamped right on his head in brilliant gold. He was now reduced to the status of a dilapidated, old Guess bag. He lay there in the chair feeling sorry for himself, while she carefully placed the Louis Vuitton on her plush bed. Love, he sighed, is fleeting.