No More Waist-ful Expenses

I wanted to title this post as the name of a well-known Indian actor of English and Scottish ancestry. Good sense prevailed and I have given it a boring name. Humankind has survived the various ages: Ice Ages, Dark Ages, Iron Ages, etc (Don’t get technical on me and be pedantic of when humans existed and such; go with the flow). The one age, that I think we will not survive is Outr-age. Everybody gets upset about everything, nowadays. Fifty shades of grey, and every shade is outraged at the other 49. So, yeah, good sense has prevailed, and I am not going to mention the celebrity’s name.

I’ve lived at one place for 14 years. That’s about 32% of my life. Well, technically, 25%, because of those 14 years, I was living in London for 3 years. But, I had this place, even when I was living in London. So, your call @ 32% or 25%. London, plays an important part in this post. We’ll get to that soon enough. Of the rest of my 68% (or 75%, depending on how you have looked at it) I have changed homes at an average of 1 home per 3.33 years. Even when I was in London, for 3 years, I changed home twice. Perhaps the correct word would be house, but every place has been a home. So, again, #YouPrefer.

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There’s a shop that sells clothes, just below the building I have lived for 14 years. Outside that shop works a young man with a sewing machine. He is a tailor, but not really. He alters. (Perhaps, now you know of the celebrity that I didn’t mention). And he knows me. Way back, when I came and started living in this neighbourhood, he was just a kid, who couldn’t stitch in a straight line. I know, because once, my Mom, told him how he wasn’t managing the tension, or the pull of the cloth, on the sewing machine. Unfortunately, that’s also the reason he remembers me.

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Depending on whether I have taken care of myself, I have grown fat, and then, I have grown slim. (Well, not exactly slim but it sounds better than saying less-fat) Here’s the London context: I walked a lot in London, took the public transport, never owned a car. Which means that after I came back from London, all my trousers were loose. So a heap of trousers were laden on him: reduce by 1.5 inches, per trouser. Rs. 15 per trouser. I was back in India, slim and sexy. Even my once-upon-a-time double chin had merged and was a single chin. Good days. Then I bought a (lovely) car, didn’t walk, started eating junk food. Two years later, many trousers were heaped on his sewing machine again. Increase waist by 1.5 inches. Rs. 40 per trouser, this time. It’s been a while since that day. I am taking care of myself, eating well, doing some exercise (keyword being “some”) and am close to a waist like when I had returned from London. The trousers need some work again. Reduced waist, i.e. I am sure, he’ll say Rs. 100 per trouser. Inflation and all. I found a better way. It costs Rs. 5, to punch extra holes on your belt. There are more pleats on the trouser than I’d like, but hey, I saved Rs. 95 per trouser. I hardly tuck my shirt.

The guy from the pharmacy who’s been around before I came to live here, notices and asks if I am on a diet. The chai tapri fellow tells me I am looking good. The security guard at the ATM is concerned, asks me if I am well. I blushingly take all the compliments. They all have seen me for 14 years. The alter-fellow says not one word.

I was walking along the shops, the other day. I sensed he was looking at my waist, as I walked past the store.

Almost drooling.

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