The Belly Story

 An AI generated image

From Baldness to Belly – The Saga Continues

After publishing my blog "Being Bald", some kind souls privately pointed out that I may have another “topic” to explore—my EPND belly. Yes, Ever Pregnant, No Delivery belly. That comment was the spark I needed to pen this down.

Visit to the Doctor

A recent visit to my family doctor prompted a stern suggestion: “Check your weight.” Delivered like a command, it was clearly an attempt to nudge me into guilt. Obediently (and reluctantly), I stepped onto what I suspect is a rigged weighing scale—it always shows a couple of kilos more than what I actually weigh (or so I believe).

To my surprise—and relief—it showed a few kilos less than my previous visit (which he meticulously records). I proudly announced, “I’ve reduced!” Unfazed, he shook his head and said, “Yene aadru nimma hotte yako hogthaa illa” (Whatever it is, your tummy remains the same).

No, he wasn’t body-shaming me—he was simply stating an uncomfortable truth. I protested, citing that I had to punch a new hole in my belt. Surely, that proved a reduction in tummy circumference—a measurable, data-driven fact!

Once Upon a Time

Yes, once upon a time, I was thin. So thin, in fact, that my mother was accused of not feeding me properly. In reality, I was a glutton who just didn’t show it. My mother often asked, “Thindidella yelli hogothe?” (Where does all that you eat go?). I had no answers then. But now, I do. 

I can proudly pat my midriff and declare, “Illi” (Here). Sadly, she’s not around to witness the final storage site of all that food.

Denials and Justifications

I started noticing real weight gain—and belly expansion—sometime in my late forties. I loved racquet games (note the correct spelling) and regularly played shuttle badminton, tennis, and squash.

Then, in 2008, I suffered a sports injury—a lateral meniscus tear—and underwent arthroscopic surgery. I’m convinced that was the beginning of the end: my first justification. Reduced activity. some steroids? Fair enough?

Add to that: I was living in Belgium, land of world-famous beers. Justification #2: When in Belgium, be a Belgian. I tasted (and perhaps overindulged in) those beers.

Around that time, I spoke to my cousin Mukund. He offered Justification #3: We Indians tend to accumulate fat around the belly—it’s “natural.” He proved his point by referencing the Gadava Kothi (the older monkeys in a troupe), who always sport a belly.

Later, I read about body types—apple, pear, hourglass, rectangle, oval... It’s all genetic, apparently. Justification #4, courtesy of science.

Thus began my journey of denial and well-crafted justifications. I even heard that some older Germans, patting their bellies, used to say: “Gibt es Geld” (Here’s my money).

Red Flags

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Someone once told me (can’t remember who) that there’s a Waist-to-Chest ratio to watch out for. For men, it should be less than 0.9 (and less than 0.85 for women). A higher ratio indicates obesity and increased health risks. I’m pretty sure mine exceeded one and I didn’t bother doing anything about it.

Even when I was physically active, the accumulation of belly fat might have been a silent contributor to my heart issues that surfaced in my early sixties.

Jokes and Jokes Apart

I’ve made plenty of jokes about my belly:

• When I dance, I do belly dance.

• It’s a sign of prosperity.

• Now my mom would be proud.

• It’s an asset.

• Thale mele hodaddu vaapas barolla, hotte bandaddu vaapas hogolla (Lost hair doesn't come back on the head, Gained weight does not go away)

The best joke that I have heard is from my physio exercise guru, Dr. Gladson Johnson. A person walked into his Physio centre and asked to be taught “Only upper body exercise”. Doc was intrigued and asked the reason for this strange request and the gentleman replied that whatever he has done, hasn’t got rid of his belly and hence he wants his chest to expand through upper body exercise to correct the “Waist-to-chest ratio”!

But it was no joke when I suffered a heart attack and had to undergo a CABG (bypass surgery).

So, jokes apart—keep an eye on your waist. Make a conscious effort to manage it. Don’t slip into denial or rely on witty justifications. 

The day you have to suck in your stomach in just to see the numbers on the weighing scale, or consciously hold your breath for a photo, it’s time to make a resolution—and tame that tummy.

Final Word

Bald head okay - beer belly beke?