Fat. So?

Weighty jump for state
intro: The state is fatter this year, with men, women and children causing a jump in overall weights, say doctors
CORRESPONDENT
From: Vrushali Lad

Mumbai: Wake up before your child crosses the great obesity divide on World Obesity Day today. As per a study initiated by Mumbai and Pune-based specialist Dr Shashank Shah in four schools in Pune this year, a huge 13 per cent of students surveyed for basal weight showed a tendency towards moderate obesity.

“The findings were stunning. After a 3 ½ month Body Mass Index (BMI) study, we found that these children, who came from well known schools in Pune and from upper middle class and rich families, were doing everything wrong. They had faulty eating habits to sedentary lifestyles, which were pushing them towards obesity,” Dr Shah told The Herald.

Dr Shah, who practices at Ruby Hall Clinic in Pune and Wockhardt Hospital in Mumbai, even spoke about an eight-year-old boy he operated on this year in Mumbai. “The child weighed 115 kgs and we had to operate to get his weight down to a normal 50 kgs,” he said.

Nowadays, say city doctors, schools are more interested in providing computers than playgrounds to children. Also, our kids are being pinned down to a life of little or no exercise due to tuition classes, piles of homework and a string of TV serials to watch.

Overall, there is a 25 per cent jump in numbers of obese children in the country.

And while you worry about the health of your fattening kid, the National Family Health Survey 3 (NFHS 3) has some scary news for the state’s women. Out of the 8,315 households studied in Maharashtra, for adults aged 15 to 49, 27.4 per cent urban women are obese while 24.4 per cent urban men are obese. In the rural areas, eight per cent women and 8.3 per cent men are obese.
So why are obesity levels for working adults increasing?

In Mumbai, a huge 34.6 per cent women are said to be obese, while men come a distant second at 25.1 per cent. “The rise of the IT industries and BPOs ensured that apart from longer working hours and lack of sleep, people would opt for off-the-counter junk food to save the time of packing lunches. More and more working people are having both meals out of the house, leading to more calories being consumed and no exercise to combat the spreading waistline, says Dr Shah.

On the other end of the spectrum, are men, women and children who are underweight and anaemic. As per NFHS 3, women with BMI lower than normal are 20.7 per cent in the urban areas, while their rural counterparts clock in a staggering 43 per cent. As for the men, 17.3 per cent urban men and 31.8 per cent rural men show low BMI. Of the state’s children, a huge 71.9 per cent are anaemic, while 39.7 per cent kids are underweight.

December is upon us

On the first day of December this year, yours truly completes 365 days of working for this organisation. Don't mind admitting this is a milestone for us, since I lasted precisely a) Six months at Times Response, my first job and b) 10 months at Mid Day, my second job when I quit the very same month they were doling out increments.

Oh well. Instead of things getting tougher, they actually got softer when I quit Job 2 to take up Job 3. One common thread is that I quit both my earlier jobs without having the next job in place, so that should indicate I am a bit of a risk taker. A useful quality in a reporter.

Also, contrary to what my bosses or colleagues or anyone else might think, I actually like working. And I love researching, even if it takes me two days to figure out a story and even if it eventually comes out as a single-column-no-byline thingy. What I don't like is people around me being useless and ending up wasting my time because they can't be arsed to work.

And also contrary to those who think they know me, think, I am seriously not that bothered about not having found a house yet, after umpteen tries and disappointments. I do not panic. I do not tear my hair. I keep looking. Yes, but I do inwardly swear at the prick who has a house near the one I live in with my parents and who decided, belatedly, not to sell. I hope he fries in oil.

But this year, I have generally been quite chuffed about life. Life's been good, life's been very exciting and harrowing and on an upwards, then downward spiral, but it has never been boring. Work is good most of the times, so is the family, and certainly so is the hubby. In fact, this year flashed by so quickly and so pleasantly, I am almost led into a sense of complacency that prompts me to think, My life will always be great because I am a great person born in great circumstances.

And with that Shiv Khera attitude to life, I shall now begin work for the day.

Intermediate enthusiast

Or rather, borderline maniac. That's me.

After a hard day's work, I returned to a silent home, an absent family, and a feeling somewhere that I would really like a hot cup of tea. After a mind-numbingly slow ride from Churchgate in a second class ladies' compartment (after ages, that), I took one look at the house, and instead of sighing miserably, changed into my tramp clothes and started working.

And as I hit the first key on the keyboard, all my boredom and fatigue just went away. And I had the most startling realisation - I can't stop working!

It's not like I'm too surprised, because having no work makes a grumpy bear out of me. But to actually feel happy having two stories to file for the next day, after filing a gazillion stories in office (and giving up on the remaining ones because I was tired) is surely not normal.

So that's me, people. I'm about to begin my first story already. A hot cuppa will get me started on the next one. Smokin'!

p.s.: Methinks the family should go away more often. The complete silence is actually helping me think.

Bhoof.

(Note: This post is dedicated to Poombashri, since she invented the word that is the title of this post. And also because this one word, to my mind, correctly sums up what I feel when I want to say 'Effing ___' but can't be arsed to.)

So anyway. There is nothing that takes the piss out of me faster than having no story to file on a Sunday. God knows there's nothing to file on a Sunday as it is, but this is crazy.

Also another thing to take the piss out of me is when I've been working/ goofing off/ sleeping with mouth open/ doing nothing internet-related and when I come back to check my Gmail, it very snootily tells me, 'You have been out of Gmail. You must log back in to enable services.' I swear if this was my kid hankering for constant attention and making me go out of the house and come back with a bucketful of candy just to get him talking to me again, I would hang him from the ceiling by his thumbs and whack his tush with a thin stick.

As it is, I punish Gmail by signing out entirely and logging onto Yahoo! with a :p directed at my fast-disappearing Gmail window. That generally fixes it.

Suffice it to say that Sunday takes the piss out of me. Why? Because nothing to do and no one to talk to in office have reduced me to playing Solitaire till my mouse finger hurts and I start being rude to my Gmail.

And also because there is no water in the loo because there's no one to start the motor. So it's actually great that there are other means to get the piss out of me, hyuk hyuk.

Wonderful world we live in...

It is probably a reflection of our culture that:
- Shahrukh Khan's six-pack is more famous this year than his role in Chak De! India.
- Chak De! India became a hit purely through relentless marketing and parading the girls all over the country for all sorts of events.
- News desks in many major newspapers are filled to overflowing with freshers who have no experience of reporting or editing or indeed, journalism.
- People take professional advice on switching jobs or careers from me. Why is that so strange? Because I am only two years old in the profession.
- One error of judgement, one politically incorrect move with your deskie, and your copies are screwed for no apparent reason.
- People fear committing mistakes more for the impending memos instead of the fact that making mistakes in a newspaper is just plain stupid.
- The words of such characters as Bal Thackeray, Dr Vijay Mallya, the Ambanis and even the Shobhaa Des is the truth.
- Editors either love looking foolish or are so used to it that they've accepted it internally, that they are, well...foolish most of the time.
- You enjoy a sudden break more than the weekly off.
- You look for more sudden breaks in the week.
- The higher-ups, in any organisation, can generally be trusted to scamp work and leave all the important work to you.
- They can also be trusted to suddenly reappear when the praise is being doled out. And then you realise you were not praised at all, the higher-up was.
- Most people in this industry don't have just an Achilles' Heel, they have his entire body. Which is why most people survive purely on the basis of emotional blackmail.
- Working in newspapers makes you sick of newspapers at the end of the day. Ditto for channels, I suppose.
- Every journalist looks for a second career in writing. At least there you have the right to breathe down the editor's neck when you want to without feeling guilty.
- The most knowledge is to be found not from Google or Wikipedia or even your colleagues, but senior journalists who have been around since the time they would typewrite their copies or go on junkets with portable fax machines.
- You can be a competent court reporter by being glued to your press reporter's chair from 11.00 am to 5.00 pm everyday.
- You can also be a reasonably good political, defense, crime and environment correspondent without moving out of your office.
- About 98 per cent reporters crowd press conferences for the food and oh yes, the drink.
- Most people would come up and speak to me when I was still with Mid Day. Now most of them turn up their noses and wait for me to acknowledge them since I come from some LS paper based in Pune. So much for individual reputation.
- A nobody like me gets to cover the Legislative proceedings while others more deserving have to wait their turn 10 years or more. MB is a case in point.
- Your rise to the top is judged not by the work you did through the years but by how much ass you licked. It's almost a KRA requirement.

What fun comes!

August and September have been good months as far as display, Page 1 coverage and overall news reporting went. Was a very profitable time, if it comes to that.

Today I sent a story on a Mumbai-based bicycle designer who can make a cycle for you based on whatever you want. If you want a double seat, you'll get it. If you want a lazy riding experience that doesn't tax you, you'll get that as well. Or if you're one of those freaks who actually use their cycles more for working out than fun, you'll get that, too.

I was charmed by the high potential this venture has for physically challenged persons. And the fact that Zubair Lodi (25), the owner and designer, actually believes that a vehicle for the physically challenged must make a fashion statement. "Everybody wants a happening end product," he told me this morning. "Why not have a cycle that is trendy, eye-catching and works best only for you?"

Why not indeed? Now if we only had office colleagues and relatives made-to-order.
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That's Zubair in the pic, astride one of his designs. The 25-year-old former car designer speaks of cycles the way a film director would speak of his leading lady - he is charmed and seduced, and fully confident in its ability. "Cycles are the only 'green vehicle' for our cities," he says. Probably one factor that would leave customers reluctant to invest in these cycles, though, is the cost. The bike may cost Rs 7,000 or more. But who said custom-made stuff was cheap? Besides, Zubair uses MS tubes and PUC pipes in the design, and the customer has full control over the weight, colour and accessories of the end product. Good idea? You bet. Zubair says he is looking to target the physically challenged sector big time.
So while the rest of us are choking our city in swanky cars, here's somebody who's thinking Green, and so what if he's doing it as a business?

Runaway...

And once again Jaan has lived up to his reputation of speaking to kids of all ages and sizes. But this time, he helped save an innocent boy from what would probably have thrown him into a murky future.

I must confess that ordinarily, I find the hubby's penchant for speaking to street urchins and giving them food and water (but mercifully, not shelter, yet) and sometimes unasked-for advice really irritating. Like most people, I like to think I'm practical, not petty. So when he called me and said he was with a kid from Pune, who had run away and was the son of a bigshot, I thought, "Here we go again..."

Meeting the boy and trying to extract one truthful answer out of it of him was not on the list of 'How I spend my Saturday evenings'. The child lied about everything - his address, what made him decamp from home, his father's phone number, his residential phone number, that he had a brother who was coming to Mumbai on a trip, everything. Mercifully he didn't lie about his father and the area he lived in. If not for the correct numbers supplied later on, goodness knows what the future of the child would be.

Finally, the parents arrived in the wee hours this morning. Hubby gave a statement to the police and everything. Bless his heart, he's still thinking about the boy and how to help him. I was so proud that he had the goodness of nature to help out and save one runaway from the horrors of this splendid city. And I am prouder still because he sincerely believes that he only did his duty as a citizen.

Though I cannot promise that I will not be irritated by Jaan's overenthusiasm in helping misguided little kids in seeing the light, at least this incident might take the edge off my irritation. Here's wishing all the best to Ms Practical.

Urban Development boo hoo hooo!

You have no idea how embarrassing it is to sit there anticipating, nay simply waiting, for your name to be called out for the grand prize and then when the prizes are called out, not only did you not win but you were so unceremoniously ignored that all you could do was scuttle out of there.

Jaan and I attended the first day of an urban development expo at Goregaon, and the organisers decided to liven things up by having awards given out for 'best examples of innovation and excellence in implement of projects related to urban infrastructure'. The awards are meant to reward the efforts of city governments and agencies.

So obviously Mumbai has to be a clear winner, right? Quite apart from all that tosh about being the financial capital of the country, we're just the BEST there is. They would have done better to just give us all three awards and be done with it.

Then they called out the three winners - Suryapet, Rampur and Indore.

Like Bridget Jones says, "Oh my bloody god and fuck."

Jaan and I paused for a split second, then collapsed into silent, sheepish giggles. Dunno about him, but I seriously thought we would win at least half a prize. And apparently our Municipal Commissioner and two of his sidekicks (read: additional municipal commissioners) also felt the same thing, because a moment after the assembly broke up, all three had scuttled out. Probably to look for three chullus.

So anyway. Point of the matter is, do not take for granted your own greatness, or the lack of it. Do not expect accolades to just walk into your lap without having earned them first. We have to learn that sincere effort reaps rewards. If we want to be rewarded, we must work hard and tenaciously and with good planning.

In other words, next year we're going to bribe our way into winning.

Reading a match

Never thought I would ever watch a cricket match, or indeed any sporting activity, in text form.

Today, as India and Pakistan took turns to alternatively clobber each other and then play badly, we didn't have the match running in office. Some technical glitch and non-payment of dues resulted in all our pay channels being unceremoniously cut off at the mains. Hope still hung about though as we thought DD Sports or DD National would telecast the match. But DD turned traitor as well.

Everybody took it to heart. The bosses, the minions, the chai-wallah, everybody. So much so that MB thundered, "Pawar kaka ke office mein cricket match nahin dekh sakte? This is a crime punishable under IPC."

Then Dixit sir came across cricbuzz.com which very ingeniously gives text updates in real time. So we 'watched' the match thus, to cite an example: Gambhir takes on Gul, and it's a FOUR! Gambhir slices away with a very clever gap between ______ and ______. That should take the pressure off India a bit."

Dixit sir, MB, Umakant sir, Ajay and I actually imagined our way through the match. Since we couldn't see the visuals, we actually mapped out the field mentally, and helped on by cricbuzz' instructions, knew roughly how people played and why. Besides, the shouts from the neighbouring building signalled a wicket a split second before our virtual scoreboard flashed the same thing. And of course, the groans confirmed that the Indians were sometimes being silly or that the Pakistanis were playing really well.

Funnily enough, watching the fall of all the Pak wickets one after another on Aaj Tak later made me curiously disoriented. After having watched the match in a different medium with silence (save for the click of the mouse or our own ceaseless chatter), the sudden presence of visuals and commentary does tend to jar on the nerves.

Sunday sucks so she won't work

It's just not the same, is it, with a head cold and an aching throat, and sitting in office alone on a Sunday? Nothing's changed in office or even at home, but even the slightest difference in how I kept my papers yesterday and how I find them today is something I take as a personal insult.

Like all other Sundays, this one is also one of those slow, lazy kinds. Maybe three Sundays ago I worked my ass off on the Hyderabad package, but it's too morbid to hope for terror strikes to happen just so that you could keep yourself occupied on a Sunday. There's nothing on the ticker, nothing on other websites, nothing on my mind. One story down and the craving for tea continues, though, with my nose blocked I don't know if it's tea or coffee or something else I'm drinking.

Bleeaarrrghh. Nobody should work on a Sunday, especially us poor souls in the media. It's a holiday everywhere, for Chrissakes', what is the most that can happen in the city? I can confidently say that nothing of note has happened anywhere so far - probably some minister has given off a fart in his sleep or a pavement dweller has his head bashed in with a slab collapse. Either way, nothing worth reporting, unless of course there is a Pune angle to things. Like, you know, the dead pavement dweller was the second cousin of a Pune resident. Or the farting minister actually farted in a "Poo--nay..." refrain.

Sheesh, see what I mean? Working on Sundays is not good for my mental health. Bleeaarrrghhh.