I’m pregnant.

So I don’t have a uterus. But I’ve got all the symptoms.

I first heard the stork whoosh in when I began missing my periods. Going without breakfast always left me with morning sickness – I would skip two lectures a day. Using that for diagnosis would have been premature, I know. But that’s when my stomach started getting bigger.

Black jeans made me look like Tun Tun in tights. The dressing table witnessed an epic battle between belly and buckle. I strained to close my zipper but it remained permanently dilated. My behind threatened to detach and be left behind. So I turned to what has been the solution to obesity since Caesarean times – exercise.

Unless lifting my hand from plate to mouth counts, I have never done any, Lamaze or otherwise. My idea of weightlifting is picking up giant laddus, heavy with ghee. So I went to the gym and did half a sit-up. That’s when I felt the first kick.

I hadn’t eaten in over half an hour. Butterflies, rats and elephants were stampeding all over my tummy. So I tried to wipe off a bead of sweat, didn’t find it, and went to replenish all the calories I’d worked off.

Apparently, there’s an umbilical connection between food and fat. Protein is consumed to add muscle to your jaws, carbohydrates to give them the energy to chew. Lipids, however, go straight to you know where. I grew fatter.

Calories – when you can’t beat ‘em, eat ‘em. A seminal idea, isn’t it? I polished off everything from Merwans’ tiny cupcakes to Yoko’s sizable sizzlers. And when I say polished, I mean the plate looked like the mirror on the wall. The clock tower at the railway station near college, that occasionally measures weight, devoured my coin and was delicate enough to offer no comments. And I was only in my second semester.

My moods swung more than the 70’s. Sometimes, you’d see my face darken beyond conception; sometimes you’d see it glow beautifully – with anger.

In the future, fatigue, post-partaken depression and the inability to see my own toes is what I’m expecting. Maybe it’s just my fertile imagination. Or maybe it will happen.

O Lord, when, from this wild-bearing existence will you deliver me?

And Longfellow answered – Learn to labour and to wait.

* * *


7 thoughts on “JESTATION

  1. Dude. Nice shyte man………
    Been reading your blog for quite some time. Also, I am pretty sure the era of swing was the pre-depression time USA circa 1920s

  2. LMAO!
    This is hilarious! 😀
    “My idea of weightlifting is picking up giant laddus, heavy with ghee. So I went to the gym and did half a sit-up. That’s when I felt the first kick.”
    I loved this! Had me in splits! 😀 😛
    A job well done my friend! 🙂

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