I saw the luscious, delightful, tempting word that sends all my senses into a mode of blissful rapture and my legs into a “get, set, go” mood. The word “Sale” was winking at me and in the next instant I was inside the swank showroom looking and feeling the merchandise laid around.

I saw a row of trousers – size 28 – OK, ok, OK, I was fibbing – size 48, picked up a few and headed to the trial-room. I heard a loud “Excuse Me, Sir” and turned around in time to see the Nasty Salesman charging towards me with a measuring tape in hand.

NS - “Excuse me, sir. I believe that’s not your size, Sir.”

Me – “What do you mean it’s not my size?”

NS – “Sir, I’ll measure it for you if you don’t mind”

Me – “Thanks. But let me try these first. Besides all my pants are size 38”

NS – “Sir, you’re wearing them low”

Me – “So what?”

NS – “You should be wearing them up here. (Pointing to my bellybutton)

Me – “I like wearing them like this. Anyway let me try them on”

I quickly moved into the trial room and tried the new trousers. It slid up to my thighs quite easily but beyond that I had to do some calisthenics, squats, stretches and squirms.

When I finally zipped up, I did have a sense of accomplishment. But one look at the mirror and grudgingly I had to admit that the Nosey Salesman did have a better eye for bulging bellies.

Reluctantly and sheepishly I went and returned all my goodies. He saw my depressed, dejected look and said – “Don’t worry, sir, we have a great collection in your size – over there” He pointed to the gargantuan section.

But as they say, you can’t keep a good man depressed for long.

The next morning I was at the gym, paying my registration fee and membership fee. I placed my right leg over the threshold. After all, this was a big step. A new beginning. The beginning of a new Herculean Me.

I looked at the posters on the walls. And the mirror by my side. I felt pain. Depressing anguish. I remembered all those “Before” and “After” ads.

Everybody around me was looking like Terminator clones. And they ignored me totally. They were more interested in their own veins.

The instructor sternly gestured me to start my exercises and pointed to the stationary cycles. I mounted one of those reluctantly and started pedaling. It felt like I was climbing Mt. Kanchejunga.

I reduced my speed and came to a halt. Looks like the instructor had one eye on me. “Ten Minutes” he bellowed. I looked up and ceiling, pretended it wasn’t for me and kept pedaling. It was an embarrassing moment.

I never knew ten minutes could be eternity. Anyway, after that he made me walk on the treadmill. That was fine with me. I enjoy walking. And this was a very leisurely 2 kms per hour. Just the right speed to catch some nice ideas. I started dreaming.

After some time, I realized that my speed is increasing and the digital Speedo was showing 5 kms/hour. I didn’t like it one bit. I mean what’s the point in walking fast, when you can walk slowly? This darn treadmill was going too fast for my liking. I guess that’s what happens when you let technology take you for a ride. I could had a much better time walking at my own pace, and taking in the sights like the grand old mischievous men.

Anyway, the deed was done. I walked my thought. My sweat glands woke up with a start. My heart was pumping. And veins were puffing up their chest with pride.

The instructor was a robot. His instructions were terse. “Fifteen crunches” he said. “Three sets’ he added, as I hopped on to the next machine. I did manage to get creative my math. And finished all my prescribed exercises in half the time it would normally take.

By then all my muscles were like “Hey, whaddya think you are doing? Chill, dude, Easy, Relax!!!”

I ignored their pleas and worked on them in isolation. I was ready to take on the world by it’s whatever. I buzzed with life and all my molecules and atoms danced merrily.

This morning when I woke up, my muscles were on strike. Bandh. Hartal. They just refused to move. And every move I made, I said “Ooh, aah, ouch”.

I am wondering if all this is worth it. I’ve got a good mind to let the inches stay. Somewhere I read that it’s actually stored up energy.

Just in case I meet someone, somewhere and I need an extra dose of energy I can always borrow from my own reserves of fat.

I am in a good mind to leave my muscles alone. Let them be. Poor chaps. There are so tired.