As I complete the 30th crunch of this evening workout in the balcony of my corner house in Mumbai, the last twist brings forth some old memories.
I remember the 9 year-old me lying on the bed, sucking my loose-pouched belly (though it never really went in), holding my breath and constantly feeling the denim’s stretch suffocating at the waist.
“A bit more,” mom would tell directing a firmer pull of my well-rounded stomach.
Short of air and stamina both, jaded and irritated of the pull and push, I’d take one final gasp and hope for the tummy muscles to tighten. Sensing the opportunity, mum would smartly yank the sides and somehow make the ends of my jeans meet- the button in the loop, zip dragged up and the only pair of pants done right.