I meant the vertical protuberance in a mans middle that surfaces to spoil his shape ,
the vestigeal begginings of such a mound in me existed in the subterranean always ,without a need for an archealogical expedition to unravel its truths ,but it began to show itself in full form during the recent time off .
what with the loved ones feeding the man who starved in the desert with a vengenance and the taste buds succumbing to the last temptation it grew defiantly .
cosmetic conservatism was not its forte
soon the profile protruded out of camoflauging costumes and settled down for a long tenure .
"Well ,well havent you grown since I last saw you ? "
snide remarks with a snigger were in the offing , often coming not from Milind somans of six packs but from pot owners with previous oscars .
welcome to the tribe .
Join the gang .
more the merrier dearie
finally a sense of homecoming tends to fall on the new members as acceptance sets in .
The pot always tends to give you a look of somnalence ,of a laziness that was bound to go along with it ,you couldnt appear to be fast and slick with one , it wouldnt suit its company at all
and losing a pot isnt as easy as gaining one ,of course liposuction was an easy option if one could afford it ,one could also emulate the famous Sivagi Ganesan during his obese days ( later in life he looked lean and bearded and better than his younger days ) it seems they used to make him lie down on the studio floor to tie a huge belt to contain his middles to a reasonable shape ,probably his ruddy face in many movies were signs of apoplexy from the said belt tightening as he cavorted with fatter heroines .
But there once was a golden era for pot owners where it was actually considered as a sign of prosperity ,
what is life withhout a pot ?
but sadly those days are just a distant memory .
Yoga ,jogging and push ups were all for pot destruction but men with pots werent generally amused by these exertions .
They are for those without pots !
Strangley the little pet I developed this holiday grew unhampered but rhymed well with another pot special to Gods own country ,the pot holes in the monsoon roads .
On a recent trip to Trissur i bounced on my moorings feeling like a maritian explorer as i navigated a maze of ups and downs with gusto .
the road planners surprise drivers with sadistic diversions acute turnings and highway gymnastics in the midst of construction rubble and poor lighting .
the peoples government hardly has time to think of roads
they have so much on thier hands ,poor things ,
Golf clubs and inherent bars to be barnooshed .
Munnar villas to be mazooled ,
Hartals to be organised and managed and ,sundry matters like maintenance of roads cannot be put on thier way .
The proletarian population always anticipated roads of communism with bumps ,they were symbols to mark its revolutions with .
they existed to remind us of poverty and hunger
Superhighways would corrupt our socialistic souls
mirror surfaced roads reeked of vulgar capitalism and werent fitting for the comrades .
So the roads would continue as it is
and my pot bounced on the pots in mounting exuberance