Reasons why my diet never works and it's okay!

It is that time of the month again when I have fallen facedown from my diet plans - that, too, on a chocolate chip pancake. Spirits crushed and mouth salivating, I recollect the moment when I had pledged an oath to myself to go on a cleansing diet as I chomp on my second bite. A promise I had made for fulfilling my destiny of getting that summer body, overlooking the fact that summer had gone. But then again, summer never really does leave this country, does it? 

 

As I munch on, a sudden revelation floods me coinciding with the oozing chocolate flood in my mouth and I finally know why my diet never works. *dramatic Hans Zimmer score ensues*

 

Against all size-related notions that are demeaning and attacks body images, my failure in the ability to diet may be an underlying protest in the face of all those aunties saying "Ayhay! Diet koro, tumi toh one kbeshi gain kore felecho, bhurio hocche" and then rush to tell my mom about my suitor-less fate. It also stands as a metaphoric objection to everyone hailing weight loss of a person as a positive change but never weight gain. Why though? I mean the latter takes time and energy too. 

 

If you cannot relate to this point, then you live in a sad, sad world, my friend. Who wants to go count calories when you can count your pizza crusts during offers in restaurants? Also, nothing in the world beats the feeling of warm pizza in your stomach, not even getting into a pair of skinny jeans. Bolognese pizzas give me the joy that people fail to. Plus, I usually order a diet coke so you can tell I have got everything under control.

 

Ever wonder why models never smile? It's because they are hungry. Period. Also, with good reason. They don't get to indulge in French fries or scoops of ice-cream followed by the tragic episodes of life which I honestly get a lot *stuffs sneaker into the mouth to prevent a mental breakdown*. Thus, I need all the comfort food in my tummy after another of those life's heartbreaking curveballs and during these hours of coping, I cannot deal with another reason for depression: the absence of biryani. 

 

I mean if an aloo on a plate of biryani, resting in a 'paint me like one of your French aloos' position doesn't bring you happiness, then give it here, weirdo.  

 

The essence of a good hangout is good food. Ordering a green salad strips away most of the enjoyment from the friendly ensemble. Also, the fact that my not-so-thoughtful friends deliberately and noisily slurping away the molten cheese in the burger patties and moaning at their gastronomic pleasures for my suffering doesn't exactly work as a motivator. Morons.

 

Okay this is going to sound a bit grim and may come as a shocker to some of you but we are all going to bite the dust sooner or later, so why not have bites of cheesecake while we are still up and running? I'm not so confident about the availability of buffet offers in the afterlife but I'm sure I can go on a very strict diet for a pretty good amount of time once I'm dead. This uncertainty fills me up with dread which unfortunately results in some more cheesecakes. 

 

Sometimes you just need to put all the hard-core dieting aside, go in front of the mirror and appreciate the person that you are. I tend to do that more that it is necessary and umm…healthy. There are butterflies and rainbows everywhere and I feel aware of the wonderful person that I am inside and out and I conclude with an earth shattering philosophy: the bigger I getthe more of meis there to love. 

 

So I have just decided to stick to small proportioned conscious eating, a healthy amount of exercising and weekend-ly indulgence. Now that is doable. If all else fails, there is always a larger size.