Category: Uncategorized

Squishy, plushy things wrapped in a thin t-shirt

The first time I noticed her walk into the gym, the only things that immediately caught my attention were her size–my height and a lot of extra weight–and her muted-crimson jacket. As it’s hard to miss a movement in any part of that relatively small space, I did notice her moving around, climbing the invisible hill on an elliptical trainer, struggling to lift her torso to complete crunches, and doing other usual things people do in a gym in their pursuit of that elusive, desired level of fitness. But I didn’t pay any particular attention to her. I was still a bit occupied with stealing glances at the other one trying my best to evade her detection while doing so. 

Her transition from being one of the many bodies toiling in the gym to an object of my fantasy occurred a few days later when she took her trademark maroon jacket off revealing her arms with even-toned skin and the contours of her sizable upper body. Her light yellow t-shirt clung to her body allowing a clear preview of what was underneath: breasts proportional to the size of her body possibly with a slight sag and midriff protruding to the level of her nipples hanging like a shelter over her–what I’d imagine a chubby, soft–pubic mound. I took a few seconds to get a view of the lower half of her as well: the big round butt and fat thighs. 

I instinctively started imagining the kind of things I would do to this collection of squishy, plushy things wrapped in a thin t-shirt. My brain began playing the sensations of squeezing her breasts hard, burying my face in them, playing with the nipples with my tongue, rubbing my stubble on her tummy, nibbling on her fat waist, biting her butt cheeks, sticking the tip of my tongue inside her. I was also a bit self conscious thinking of the likely possibility of getting caught staring at her, but it wasn’t strong enough to completely dissuade me from ogling. I had a strong desire to introduce myself to her and initiate a conversation, but I couldn’t find a single opportune moment. 

I finished my workout and prepared to leave with a mild disappointment at the lack of any progress towards befriending her. I placed my water bottle in the sleeve inside the bag, piled together the gloves and the hand towel next to it, and walked out. I pressed the button to call the lift. As I was waiting for the lift, something unexpected happened. She walked to the counter next to the water cooler, took her jacket, put it on, and walked out somewhat hurriedly. She walked past me towards the stairs, but when she heard the ding notifying the arrival of the lift, walked back towards the lift door. I opened it, motioned her to get in, and I followed her into the lift. I was clearly elated by the turn of events. It seemed like an obvious move because it’s the kind of thing I’d probably do as a last-ditch effort to catch hold of someone I wanted to start a conversation with but either couldn’t muster enough courage or find a convenient excuse in time. I said hi and asked if she started working out that week.I told her that I had started the week before. Inside that tiny cuboid, I got a clear look at her face. A pretty, pale face with dimples and thin, pink lips. She looked much younger than what one would imagine from a glance from afar. I asked for her name and told her mine. By then, we had reached the basement. She got out of the lift and walked off swiftly as if running away from a situation that didn’t go as well as she expected. Again, something I’d also do. 

We spoke briefly each time our workout schedules overlapped the next few days without much improvement in the contents of our conversation. Yesterday, as I was leaving the gym, she again walked out hurriedly, paused at the lift door, but continued towards the staircase when she noticed I was walking down the stairs. She was about a half a floor behind me, and we couldn’t see each other, but I could hear her steps. When I reached the basement, I waited for her. She walked towards me muttering something about her sore legs. We talked briefly about this and that. I asked if she would like a filter coffee before heading home. She said “no, not now”. This again seemed like a response I’d blurt out. Now I shall wait for the next instance when our gym schedules coincide.

Chronicling the Mundane

I had plans to write a piece that documented my reflections at a recent experience and use it to outline the nature of a few of my personal qualities that I find undesirable. However, this weekend turned out to be more painful than I had anticipated, so I couldn’t get started on it. I do want to stick to the weekly cadence of publishing, so I am sharing something I wrote back in November of 2021.

I’m trying to write about today in a way that is not just documenting the events but also paying attention to the way I write. Let’s see what I produce.

As expected, the two alarms set five minutes apart from each other failed to persuade me out of a brief period of lingering on the couch. This lack of urgency was made possible primarily by the fact that it’s a Saturday morning; there was no need for the usual rush to get to the gym so as to ensure adequate workout time before I start office work. Two glasses of rum I had had last night and the questionable quality of pork that caused a funny feeling in my stomach immediately after I ate it—in addition to the usual nausea associated with pork fat—added to my dysania. 

The mind buzzed back to work the moment I was awake like a computer that was turned on from its sleep mode with multiple applications open: contemplation, regrets, mental checklists, future planning and a million other usual post-sleep mental activity. Sometimes I wonder if those people who claim to have clarity and peace of mind in the morning have their brains wired differently. A steaming cup of coffee began to infuse gradual wakefulness and energy as my thoughts continued to jump from pleasant to painful to equanimity, from my ex to one of my friends to the two women at the gym, from Sam Harris to Krystal Ball to the Buddha, creating a muddled state of consciousness. My hand instinctively reached out to the TV remote, but retracted once it received a brain signal about the futility (or worse, any number of undesirable outcomes, such as skipping workout) of turning the TV on. 

As both of my workout shorts were still not completely dry and I didn’t want to wear the pajama with stripes, I fished out a pair of trekking pants. There were a few moments of hesitation because of the relatively diminished stylishness I perceive when I wear them. I went ahead and wore it anyway—with a corporate-branded synthetic shirt—after I realized that the gym is likely to be emptier on a Saturday morning, and, more importantly, the two women are likely to be absent. I had to pick the blue pair of Decathlon shoes because the old pair of Nike still carries the dirt and sludge as though I am keeping it as some sort of an evidence to prove my visit to the Mahabodhi temple, an evidence perhaps to refute any allegation of a weekend wasted at home.

It was leg day today per my new weekly mental schedule that now includes two days of exercising my leg muscles. My own mild insecurities related to the shape and size of my legs compounded by a compliment from my ex recently about how thin my legs were nudged me to accommodate an extra day for my quads, hamstrings, and calves to flex. I must clarify that I am not ashamed of my legs; I wear shorts, and I like them. But I think the way my legs are can make a reasonable case for some additional resistance to the muscles inside them. Also, the intensity of a typical leg workout done twice a week will certainly be helpful in my weight-loss goals.

The workout was quite satisfying as it has mostly been since I started two weeks ago. Whatever hormones were released as a result of the resistance—created with dumbbells, plates, and the stacks of weights in various pieces of gym equipment—to the movement of my leg muscles certainly put me in a relaxed state of mind. I completed the episode of the Seen and the Unseen with Snehal Pradhan; what a strong-willed, competent, and skilled human being! While she was narrating the stories of various projects she undertook post her cricketing career, which included writing, my dormant dreams of being a writer slowly came alive and made me write this rambling piece. Unlike the earlier attempts, which were about writing a short story based on my childhood, this exercise of chronicling the mundane is aimed at gaining some practice in writing. There are no specific immediate ends to meet with these entries, but just a hope that one day they would help me effectively articulate in writing my thoughts, stories, and experiences. 

Unearned Confidence of a Noob!

This feels like a giant step. I am in my living room, filled with the delicious aroma of mutton wafting out of the kitchen from a pressure cooker and the comforting sound of classical music from my TV, hunched over my laptop placed on the coffee table typing out the first words of what seems to me like an impossible project that I probably shouldn’t have taken up.

Growing up, I imagined, as I’d think many would have, my future self in several different scenarios of fame. These daydreams were quite vivid, detailed, and also varied—from something as common as becoming a cricket superstar to obscure fantasies of being an anonymous philanthropist. One of these fantasies seemed quite achievable at the time despite the general discouragement of any big dreams and the perceived practical hurdles to achieving them: being a writer of some repute. I even made some initial efforts towards it by writing a short story (that won an award and got published in the college yearbook) and a few poems (that I cringe about and have conveniently been lost) in Kannada during my teenage years. However, this promising start didn’t get any subsequent push required to turn it into a streak. College was a time for taking in the joys of being unbound by family and religion; the twenties were full of financial anxiety and work-related exhaustion; the thirties brought in improved finances and enhanced confidence, and consequently the pleasures of life afforded by them. The pursuit of literary fame lost its spotlight to the mundane essentials of the adult life and got hidden away in some remote corner of my consciousness.

The urge to write was reawakened recently by a combinations reasons with origins in varied dimensions of my life. Interestingly, the craving for fame seems to have subsided although hasn’t completely vanished. It doesn’t appear to be the primary objective anymore of any supposed literary undertaking I might allow myself to indulge in. Instead, writing now seems like a useful tool in navigating different aspects of my life hereon and also hopefully in realising some of my aspirations.

Some painful events in 2021 forced me to reflect on my past and take a closer, harder look at my behaviour patterns, my motivations, and my own conception of self. The outcome hasn’t been pretty. It turned out that the desirable qualities in me were overestimated and the parts that required serious work were consistently ignored. It’s evident that I am shallower, pettier, more insecure, more selfish, and several other such things more in magnitude than I had thought or I am now willing to admit. I am working on these things. I am aware that some of these qualities, insecurity for instances, may never be completely overcome, but they can be contained with awareness and reflection.

Writing, I believe, could be useful in this attempt. I’d also like to publish, and not just keep them as private journal entries, for two reasons. First, the idea of sharing my views on things as seen from the depths of my depravity anonymously with a bunch of strangers seems easier than dealing with the awkwardness of discussing them honestly with my friends. Second, I still am nursing the ambition of being a writer someday. Having spent all of my adult life away from my hometown, my views on my childhood and the community I come from have changed in a more charitable direction. I hadn’t appreciated my relatively unusual background and my unique perspectives as a consequence until I got to contrast them with the tedious homogeneity of background and culture of most of my peers. So I believe, there is a lot of interesting things I can share in literary mediums, such as short stories and blog posts, which would also serve to satisfy my itch for writing. I am hoping that making a commitment to write here regularly would create the necessary push and help me sharpen my writing skills.

If you are reading this, it’s likely that you would consider this grand plan a result of some unearned confidence of a noob. Let me confirm it for you: it is! But, it also is an undertaking built on the comforting answer to the question, “What have I got to lose?” Even if no one reads my ramblings here, I honestly don’t have much to lose.

I am reasonably satisfied with how this piece explaining the origins of this blog has turned out. If you have got this far, Thank You! I’d appreciate it if you left a word of advice, critique, encouragement, or feedback.