Saturday, October 02, 2010

Marry me off, I'm EIGHTEEN

That mother and daughter that I see regularly in the gym had to go and prove me right. What happened was that I had casually remarked to J that since the daughter was young and a tad overweight, she’d been dragged to the gym in order to ‘reduce’ in time for her wedding- and to keep her motivated (and to keep an eye on her) her mother joined her.
They weren’t just fooling around, either. They desisted from the silly mannerisms that some women use when confronted with hard workouts with their trainers. No, these two were dead serious. I appreciated that, especially because you see so few older women ever in the gym.
I slowly began to cast off my cynical view about the young kid (she is eighteen) and her impending marriage, while her future groom continued to tuck into oily biryani and kebabs, caring not a whit for HIS figure. I stopped lamenting about our low expectations from girls in this country; about how nauseating I find the fixation of women to look their best on their wedding day and then giving up said desire for the rest of their lives, not to mention once they hit 30...and so on and so forth.
But, alas and alack, my initial diagnosis was spot-on. Now I am betting that once the wedding is over, we will never see these two again. Of course, probably the young bride will be sent to faraway shores. And the mother, her duty done, will go back to courting osteoporosis and giving away her gym clothes and shoes. Why? Why?

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