This anniversary brought not one, but two, boxes of Belgian dark chocolate. Shatrujeet, to whom chocolate means nothing, put them in the fridge without a second thought. Kaavya, who lives for chocolate, doesn't like the dark variety with its bitter overtones and strangely flavoured fillings. As for me, with my serious weight problem and equally serious efforts to do something about it, I was afraid to open the fridge.
It didn't help to think about painful old age, blood pressure, diabetes or any of the other fearsome consequences of obesity. The fact that I'd recently lost some weight after iron self-control was hardly a motivator. 'If you did it once, you can do it again,' said a voice, as the rich brown squares beckoned after each meal. I tried to divert myself with a million things, but it was like a tune that plays in the back of your mind. Every thought I had was laced with dark chocolate.
I travelled the tried-and-tested route of each temptation: ignore (Try not to think about it), deny (I don't want it), appeal to goodness (It's full of calories and very unhealthy), warn about consequences (I'll gain weight again and I know how hard it is to lose), and then the brainwash and the false promise (Ok, one small piece isn't going to hurt. I promise to stop after one piece). I felt a force stronger than me leading me to the box, struggling desperately with the covers, till I bit into one piece of the heavenly stuff.
Well, half of one of the boxes is over, generously aided by me. I've tasted all the flavours in that box (cinnamon and coffee were absolutely wonderful) and the weighing-scale shows a rise of one kg. Sigh! There's still one whole box to go, and my generosity seems to have withered in the face of such temptation. I cannot give it away, I cannot throw it, and I definitely cannot eat any more. That's not completely right, I can eat more, but I don't want to. Well, I want to, but I shouldn't. And what one should or should not do is never a very good reason for anything.
