Pumping Iron(y) ?

People are advised not to do it immediately after dinner. But I am an exception. And I have no inhibitions about doing it either. My mum vehemently opposes me and constantly reminds me that such behaviour may have disastrous consequences in the long run. But the obdurate son I am, I pay no heed. I put on a pair of black shoes – minus the socks – pick up my cell phone and rush out of my house. There’s a slight drizzle in the air. The shoes get dirty in the mud puddles. That is why I wear black shoes. I am twitching a bit. Uncomfortable. I start taking a few fast steps. It helps to release the nervous energy. I fiddle with the Livestrong on my right hand. Everyone comes well decked with gloves and belts and protein shakes. The poor yellow thing is my only accessory. I look up at the windows. I do not see people staring out. I breathe a sigh of relief. Less people, I console myself. Its difficult to do it in front of the experienced men , especially when you are an amateur.

And I finally enter the gymnasium (incidentally , its derived from ‘gymnos’ – that is ‘naked’ in Greek). Its pretty late in the night. So there are only 4 people inside. I’ve got to know their names as the five of us are the ‘Night-Riders’. Obnoxious Hindi numbers are blurting out of the music system. And thankfully, there are no ladies at this oddly hour. We’ll discuss more about them later. I start my warm-up. It involves jumping in the air and then trying to touch your hands to your feet. I fail miserably at the latter part. The trainer has given up on me. So he doesn’t really care. Then, its time to do some push-ups. Its an exercise in futility. Meanwhile, the songs on the music system are going from bad to worse. Suddenly on TV, Maushami Udeshi starts gyrating to a song sequence. The entire gym stands still. The music is lowered. I have a sip of water.

If you end up going in the peak hours, you’ll find a lot of feminine company. It gets slightly embarrassing when you realize that you cant lift 10 pounds while the femme fatale next to you is carrying 20. It makes for some interesting observations though. For one, any outsider would think, that a gymnasium is a ideal place for the economically under-nourished male-trainers to hit on sassy feminine students with bloated pockets. I had similar perceptions till I joined. But let me assure you, it is not true at all. In fact, its the other way round. Seriously ! I’m not kidding.

The damsels, behenjis and aunties et al leave no stone unturned to ‘bond’ with the trainers. Perhaps, there’s a rustic charm in their toned bodies which I fail to spot. Yes, the same charm associated with the milkman, postman and the ilk. It would be unethical for me to comment on their marital harmony, so I won’t .

I move from one machine (darn, my technical writing sucks) to the other quietly, unnoticed. I do well with the weights and with the leg exercises. Its the shoulders and arms that I struggle with. Its close to 11 pm. And they are about to shut shop. I complete my set of exercises before making small talk with the guy at the reception. Given my forte to reproduce conversations, I will try and recreate one now :

R: Aaj kitne mare ?

C: (assuming its weights) 40. *wants to rush home*

R: Bas. Humne to bahut mare hain ! *sinister laughter all around. you can smell promiscuity in the air*

C: *tries to get his Gerrard autobiography which he’s left on the table*

R: Good book. I flipped thru and loved the pics. Koi great footballer hai kya?

C: Haan. Theek thak khel leta hai !

*He is copying something into his external hard-drive. I safely assume its a fitness brochure. I give him his space and leave*

I start walking back. Its not far from my home. The raindrops falling. Shoes getting muddy. But I don’t care as they’ll dry up before I head again tomorrow. I am feeling good about myself. Lots of thoughts enter my mind. I have a very tough decision to make. Which movie am I to watch after heading home ? I settle on Kung-fu Panda.

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