As a preamble to my story, let me introduce you all to my family before we start the analysis of each member's disposition. We are three of us. Myself, Kamini, a forty-six-year-old school teacher. I have been working since the time I was twenty-two. Which automatically implies that I have a service of twenty-four years as a teacher to my credit.  Managing a class of sixty students seemed an extremely easy job as compared to putting up with two people in the house.  My husband, Mohan, a fifty-year-old gentleman working as a manager with a pharmaceutical company, is of no help in domestic work. 'It is the department of ladies to manage the house and the kitchen,' a sound sermon taught to him during his formative years, got embossed in his brain. Hence from buying groceries, and vegetables to making full-fledged meals for the family was solely my responsibility along with my nine to five job,  six days a week. Thankfully Saturdays were half days and if the headmistress was kind enough not to hold a staff meeting to discuss nothing under the firmament, then I could reach home by 2 pm. But this was a punishment by itself; for waiting hungrily at home were my husband and our twenty-year-old daughter, Seema. By the way madam is pursuing post-graduation in English literature and can't enter the kitchen even to fetch a glass of water for herself. Working six days a week and cooking for the family is no mean an achievement that too when gluttony runs in the blood of your husband and daughter. My spouse never makes any particular efforts to either reduce his fat intake or shake his limbs to shed some weight. His girth is as big as his ego. On the other hand , my daughter gets into fitness bouts suddenly realizing that her girth was as big as a pumpkin. But the realization is short lived   The mania lasts for a couple of days to a couple of weeks. That is it!!! Here I describe a scene when Seema is about to go through another 'gruelling' diet session with exercises to reduce the uneven bulges. Please do not bother to get down to the history, geography or statistics of her whims. Needless to say. Whims are whims. Illogical. Certain things happen without any reason. It rained in December in Mumbai during one year. Didn't it??? "Oh no. so much oil? I don't want." I turned back to see my daughter, Seema holding a dosa in between her pointer and thump and looking at it as if it was a dead rat that she was holding by its tail. "Put it down. Just put. Now." I screamed throwing a disgusting glance at her  My heart was doing a Rudra Thandav*. I had so meticulously prepared the flour mixing whatever powders I could lay my hands on since the batter was playing spoil sport. I had been relentlessly trying to get my geometry right. The dosas somehow resembled circles and here this girl was complaining. "Mr Murthy got dosa and chutney for lunch, and did not offer even a bite," my husband had grumbled on Thursday and then came this demand of having the same cuisine for Saturday's dinner. Soaking the rice and ulud,* grinding them finely, and leaving the batter to ferment properly!!! All this called for extra work on a tiring Friday. And then the heart breaks when the dosa sticks to the tava as if they were long lost buddies not willing to unlock the hug. Did this girl know that if I had exhibited even a bit of miserliness with the oil, the stubborn dosa would have stuck to the tava for ever and for ever. "I am on a diet. Can't eat oil. Can't eat." She chanted. "Diet my foot!!! I am aware. I know." I muttered. As I told you, this wasn't the first time Seema had come up with this mania. It was a regular occurrence in our house, the frequency between two bouts differed as per the occasion. "This dress is tight. Can't fit. Can't wear." If one heard her muttering this, it meant there was a birthday party or an engagement or a random party, for that matter around the corner. Then starts the diet mania. This kind of bout almost gave me a heart attack, for it meant extra work for me. "Morning soup. Then variety salads. Night, porridge." And who do you think makes all this? Yours truly of course. She and her father are forbidden to enter the kitchen, you see. "If she shakes her ass and helps me in household chores there would be no need to exercise or follow a  diet." I came up with my sob story in front of my husband, who had better things to do, like solving sudoku rather than listening to my plight. I moaned as to how I had to get up half an hour earlier to finish preparing all these added items, before leaving for school.  "Whenever she has these bouts why don't we also eat same food as she does?" I suggested once. The sincere lining behind this suggestion was to drag my husband too towards losing weight. "What? Me and diet. Never." Shot back my husband shutting my mouth. 'Gluttonous lot. My fate. My ill luck.' I moaned. But to no avail. Presently Seema walked in again with a sullen face. She had the new green dress in her hand.  "This does not fit. Too tight. Horrible." She kept it on her physique and showed how the fitting was right to the stitches. "No extra space to loosen it. I have to reduce and you are making dosas with so much oil." She shrewdly imputed me for her obesity. I was concentrating on my dosas and didn't think it very advisable to engage in arguments, though I had a good mind to ask if those cheese-ridden sandwiches she gobbled outside her college, did zero contribution to her uneven contours. "Ma, from tomorrow, I am waking up sharp at five, ok and working out like crazy," she declared. "Definitely. No change. My resolution." She summarized. "I thought people made resolutions only on New Year’s Eve. That is still far away," chuckled my husband. "There is no such hard and fast rule that resolutions must be made only on New Year’s Eve.” Seema looked crossed at her dad's indignant remark. She sat for dinner, fuming. “From tomorrow, please give me only plain roti WITHOUT GHEE."  "No dosa. No chutney. Nothing oily." She brandished her pointer while she liberally served the dosas and the chutney into her plate for the time being. I threw a side glance at my husband, who smiled at my gesture and asked, "Seema, what are you going to do getting up at five? Your college is only at eleven. I mean generally, you sleep till nine," He winked at me. However, Seema seemed to be oblivious to the sarcasm that reeked in his intonation. She was busy licking her fingers and chose not to answer her dad. "Today is the last day I am having all this junk food, from tomorrow a bowl of fruits in the morning with a cup of milk, scrambled eggs for lunch and two rotis with some salad and dry curry for dinner. NO OIL," she suddenly changed and enhanced the previous menu chart.  "I cannot afford to discard all my old dresses. They must fit. soon," she muttered. I nodded, suppressing a smirk that was caused due to my husband's sarcastic smile.  "Just one request," I interrupted, "Please do not expect me to get up at five.  "I want to sleep. Till six. Understood!".  "You can fix your cup of morning coffee." I made myself crystal clear.  "No, no, you do not get up. I will do yoga for half an hour and then exercise for another forty-five minutes. Only then will I have my morning coffee." She rolled her eyes, mentally planning her exercise schedule. 'Even then, she would not bother to enter the kitchen and make a cup of coffee.' I sighed "In the evening, I am planning to hit the gym. Dad, I need money. For gym. Yearly fee." She put forth her demand, turning towards her father. He looked at her flabbergasted. "For the full year? No way. Monthly." He suggested. "That will drill an extra hole in your pocket. Paying the annual fee will get us a discount," Seema explained, fervently typing something on her handset and flashing a figure in front of her dad. "You will save this much, dad," She said, pointing at the figure. It seemed to have no particular effect on her dad's apathy. "Let us talk tomorrow. Not today. Tired," he said diplomatically, not wishing to be riven by this topic over the admission to the gym. He was anyway a maven in dodging his daughter. Seema then hopped to her room and opened the wardrobe that had a panoply of trousers and shirts. Dragging one of them, she just tried it over her physique, admiring herself in the mirror. 'Tomorrow's yoga and exercises will be done in this,' I heard her murmuring.  "I will fit in this. Soon. I will." She kept assuring herself by looking at the green dress  Then she removed the yoga mat and juddered it so harshly that the room was filled with dust. Knowing well that she was allergic to dust, she invited trouble.  A sneezing session followed, and then medicine had to be given to Seema to help her control the sneezes. At the end of all this, she was left high and dry. Cursing the dust, she went ahead, arranging her bed. She bade good night to us after setting the alarm on her handset to five. But soon there was a knock at our door. "Haven't slept? What? What is it?" I asked irritated at being woken up. The amount of dust on the yoga mat stood testimony to the fact that the rug has been untouched for months. And here she was knocking my sleep off with something new  "I connected with a lady dietician. Just now. Online." She said between seven sneezes. "Dietician? Does she charge? How much?" My husband was worried about the hole that the consultation would drill in his pocket. "Yes of course. Do you work for free? Tell me. " Seema rolled her eyes and tried in vain to stifle a sneeze. 'Aacchuuu,' she went before covering her mouth. "Ok. Be quick. What is it?" I jeered  "I signed up for 2000 rupees. Now she has given me a list of things I should start eating for a week and then the diet menu changes.  "Check your phone. See. I sent the list." She blew her nose again. 'Breakfast oats with chia seeds or watermelon seeds, honey and one banana.' "That is food for the day. Nothing else. Enough!" Mohan chuckled much to the vexation of his daughter. 'One gluten-free roti and one bowlful of vegetables and one daal for lunch. Paneer is a quintessential ingredient in the vegetables.' "Is this menu for some wedding?"My husband could not control his amusement. "Wait. Not over. Have patience." I tried hard to suppress my chuckle. 'A big glass of buttermilk.' My husband burst into laughter as I read out while Seema ignored him and gestured to me to read further. "Now what? Not over? Yet?" He raised his forehead. "Don't people have dinner?Keep quiet. Listen." Pat came Seema's reply. Peering at the list I read out, "Quinoa with plenty of vegetables and paneer." "Are we done with the list or not?" Now my husband was genuinely worried about the hole in his pocket while I was more worried about the hours I would be forced to spend in the kitchen. "Sorry. I forgot. Pulses."  I looked at my daughter with awe. "Each day one cup. Any Pulse. That too sprouted." My husband gave his strong arms as support when I almost fell off balance. If the pulses had to be sprouted, I had to be reminded to soak them in water and allow them to sprout every day.  "Sounds healthy. alright. But too much," I muttered as I gobbled the word,' work,' succeeding 'too much.' "Let us buy stuff tomorrow. Can't delay. Quick." My daughter asserted. "Ya and exercise. One hour work out. Everyday." She shook her head with determination. It meant without saying enrolling in the gym was inevitable. "Then what about the yoga and exercise?" Mohan asked her, nudging me. "That starts tomorrow. No doubt. For sure." She said and left the room. "I am not allowing my hard-earned money to go down the drain," Mohan shook his head. The last time I coughed up a decent amount for her quarterly gym fee, and she hardly went for a month." He scorned. "Now this dietician! Unnecessary. Absolute foolishness." My husband slumped on his bed. "I am sure she will buy all those food items and hardly use them. Looks like even we may have to follow the diet to save things from getting wasted unnecessarily." Mohan finally voiced my opinion. "Let her give it a try. Maybe you can pay for a month for the gym, and then if she continues, we can pay long-term. Something makes me feel she will stick to her schedule this time." I tried reasoning, taking Seema’s side. "May I know what makes you feel so sure about something that has never happened before?" He asked. "You see, she is approaching marriageable age. It might be some peer pressure. Her friends might either be practising yoga or exercises or maybe hitting the gym. You never know; she may also want to follow in their footsteps. It is all in the age." I gave a sermon, which my better half turned down as otiose. "And what about this diet? Crazy. Expensive too." He grumbled. I nodded. He was right. That was not only expensive but also the preparations would eat up my time. A debate followed for a while with no purposeful result, and we went to sleep only to be woken up by the shrill ringing of the alarm. I looked at the clock. It was five. "It is the alarm. Wake up. Go." My husband pushed me.  It was almost a quarter of an hour before I gathered myself. In the meantime, our landline buzzed. "It must be some neighbour. Complaining. No doubt." My husband moaned with his eyes half closed. 'Oh, Seema's alarm is ringing,' I said realizing it pretty late and went towards her room while my husband picked up the phone. His prophecy was true indeed. Our neighbour Mishraji called up to complain about the alarm.  Seema's door was locked. "Seema, please stop that ear-piercing alarm. The neighbours are  complaining." I said but to no avail.  Then I Frantically banged the door, and the din probably woke her up. The alarm's throat was throttled, but still no response from Seema. "Aren't you getting up? It is 5.30. already late."  I asked thrice, and then the door opened. Stifling a yawn, Seema threw a disgusting glance at both of us. "For God's sake, can  I sleep for a while?  It is Sunday. Holiday."  "But you had resolved to get up at five and perform yoga and exercise.” Mohan meticulously reminded her.  "Oh, that I can start tomorrow. No hurry. Later." she said. "And what about the diet? Today? Or later?" "Forget it. Impossible. Chuck it." She slammed the door shut. My husband could not control his laughter. "You know we had a teacher in our school with a funny accent.  Whenever we would give him some excuse for incomplete work and promise to bring it tomorrow, he would say, 'Tomorrow not there. NEBER comes. Forget." He clutched his stomach and rolled over the bed. ‘Something makes me feel she will stick to the schedule this time.’  He mimicked my words.  Even I could not suppress my laughter. ‘For God's sake, can I sleep for a while? It is Sunday. Holiday?’ I mimicked Seema, and we both sniggered uncontrollably forgetting that we had lost two thousand rupees just like that.  The spurned yoga mat and the pair of dumbbells, stood there, probably wondering when it would be put to use next. Glossary- Rudra Thandavam—-- Depicts a dance form performed by Lord Shiva. It generally is used when a person is angry and upset. Urad—-- split and skinned black gram Tava—--- An iron plate used to make dosa.   Penmancy gets a small share of every purchase you make through these links, and every little helps us continue bringing you the reads you love!