Once upon a time I was foodie. I loved food, I dreamt about food, I worshiped anything that was digestible.I loved munching day and night and proudly grew in width. With thirty six inch waist line and flabby body I was happy. I could practically eat anything and collect it into my body as souvenir. My closet had all large and baggy clothes to beautify me.
All this changed when fat consciousness sipped in. I cut down food, went on well balanced diet, it took me five years to attain my hour glass figure of 34-28-34. Now I get fit into dresses I desire, if luck favors I can just enjoy the S marked dress on the mannequin.
The first question that we bongs ask each other when meeting or talking over phone is about food. My mother would ask me if I have tummy filled, my father would ask the same. We love rating a place on its food quality. We simply are the descendants of Food God. Food makes us happy and smile. We love eating and make people eat, we can do an assassination with smiling face because we stuff a person with food until he or she gives up.
Now I dislike food! The biggest warning I got from classmates after moving into hostel life was that would I miss home cooked food. No doubt I love mother’s cooking, to add to this love list, I have my brother-in-law and elder sister too. Yet I don’t miss home cooked food, I practically want to avoid it. I just don’t want to eat.
The white paneer in green gravy, the grilled chicken on sticks, the egg dipped pakoras, the phuchka caged in class boxes, the steamy momos in pots all look at me. But I am asexual to their charm. I simply can’t love them. My attempts at eating Phuchka and momo’s have turned in to terrible tales. The only thing I can still eat without any prejudice and pure love is corn! The yellow peas still seduce me like they have since my childhood.
I love chicken and eggs, yet now when I see them my stomach says – no you can’t eat. Pastries still have my love, but I just can’t bring myself to love food again the way I used to. I am slow eater and I used to relish every bite or sip. Now all I want to do is gobble down the food to sustain life.
The thought of waking up and putting some edible in my stomach dreads me. I have bag full of biscuits, cookies, instant noodles, cream buns, but I don’t feel like eating. The sublime differentiating line between breakfast and lunch has blurred out. Now I eat brunches and feel my stomach revolting. I suddenly feel Dionysus has deprived me from the bliss to enjoy food.
The chips I lusted after now burn my eyes with their bright packaging, if I devour a big chocolate-bar next moment my stomach tries to punch it out of my mouth. I no longer love singaras or chops, for few days I fell for the lacha parathas now even they scare me. Most of my brunches are dedicated to chowmin. Those hideous noodles come with raw cucumbers, onions, capsicum and green chilies to torment me.
When I actually feel hungry, my bread-omelette for lunch comes with too many green chilies in it making the bright yellow turn into awful algae yellow. The same night my food guy also torments me with omelette that has more chillies than egg in it. While the same guy gives me daal served with fresh fly in it and large amount of rice to feed three people. Sometimes he simply forgets to come with my dinner! My dislike towards food has been contributed mainly because of my food guy and these devils called chilly which have to make a cameo in every food.
At nights I don’t want to have dinner, I despise the idea of eating and washing the dishes. I hate it, I simply hate it, after first few days into hostel life washing dishes caused me finger cut. To add to my long list of cuts, utensil cut has enrolled itself. It’s a war between me and the dishes. This gives me another reason why I should cut down my food intake.
My energy supply has been same and I can cycle faster than ever before hence I justify myself as healthy being. While people want to lose weight, my friends and me are losing extra fats in blink of an eye. Oh I so love my toned legs and how they fit into the slim fit jeans.
Yet the universe is conspiring against me to hate food, avoid the intake, I have already found a stray dog that is growing healthy on the leftovers from my nightly meal. My father has not seen for a while, the first reaction of his would be I have dried like a straw. My mother has already given me the name mal-nutrient. Every time I go to my sister’s place (which is frequent) trust me my stomach rebels the assault of delicious food from heaven on me.
After three hour of train journey with a empty stomach, I happily rush to the food court. But when I sit down to devour my box full of pastries and sandwich I simply can't enjoy them. Whom should I blame for this condition? My friends joke that dating me would be really inexpensive!
If I had my way I would have banned eating by now, it’s a headache for me to fill my stomach. It’s never been the situation that I have been served with terrible food. I just no longer find any charm in it. My sole companions remain my chewing gum. I love them; I can chew them for hours and feel refreshed.
Now my dreams are haunted by chowmin and those raw vegetables as dressing on it. Often at morning I have dreams that my roommates are removing my blanket to find a spaghetti version of me coiled inside.
Since the New year is an hour away.. I bid farewell to the foodie me..
P.S- Happy New Year to everyone...
thanking you to bear with me