Babloo's fitness mantra

Sometime back we hired a carpenter to fix the door in our house. While supervising his work (which meant effectively teaching him the basics of geometry) I noticed he didn’t have an iota of extra fat in his body. He was all muscle and bones. The kind of lean look we would kill for. I thought to myself- he doesn’t have to go to expensive gyms and starve himself on diets. If I could unravel the secret of his fitness I’d be on to a gold mine. I know what you’ll say- he works his butt off while the likes of me laze around all day. Well, that’s not entirely true.
Well, anyway, I began to observe Babloo at work. He drank a lot of water. He’d ask me for a two-litre bottle first thing in the morning and take a refill in the afternoon. OK. I decided I could do that. It would just mean more trips to the bathroom and an overworked flush button.
He ate sukhi rotis with one vegetable for lunch. He refused the chicken-vegetable-dal thali I offered. That spoke of self control. No problem. I promptly dumped half my lunch in the trash can. The sukhi rotis were a trifle hard to swallow though, I must admit, but what the heck? I decided I could get used to it. I crossed my finger that my capped tooth would not wear off in the process.
Babloo said he cooked his own meals before leaving for work: a vegetable curry and his quota of rotis for the day. He ate some and wrapped the rest for his lunch. Simple living was his mantra. Wow. This was getting to be like the 12 tasks of Asterix- tougher by the minute. The thought of sacking the maid had me gulping for air.
Babloo works twelve hour shifts and does a fair amount of lifting, hammering and sawing. I listed what I do- an hour of exercises with light weights and an hours brisk walk at the park. In addition, I do my professional work (brain work burns ATP you know), some housework (the house is definitely not a self cleaning device) and some grocery shopping too. I thought it balanced out pretty evenly with Babloo’s heavy work. Well, almost.
So far so good. So where was the real difference, I wondered? Obviously, I hadn’t figured it out yet. I changed the track of questions.

‘Where’s your family Babloo?’ ‘Wife and kids live in the village,’ he said. He shares a room with several other ‘des bhais’ here.
Don’t you have other stuff? Belongings?
‘Nah.’ A few clothes, a bicycle, his ‘aujar’ and his hands. ‘Life mein aur kya chahiye? Phizool time to hai nahin hamare paas,’ he glanced tellingly at the stuff around the house.
Arre wah! I thought cringing. This chap is a philosopher!
‘What do you do for recreation?’ I asked him. I made an ass of myself trying to put this in Hindi. It was as if ‘recreation’ or ‘entertainment’ didn’t exist in Babloo’s vocabulary.
‘I’m here to work, to earn, not to amuse myself,’ he said testily, as if I had mentioned something unethical.
‘Picture nahin dekhte? Dost shost nahin hai?’ I wasn’t going to give up so easily.
He shrugged. ‘Haan…kabhi kabar thekedar ke yahan teebhee dekh leta hoon.’ He admitted reluctantly.
‘Sirf kaam hi kaam karte ho- chutti kab lete ho?’
He finally understood what I was trying to say. With a shake of his head he said, ‘Arre chutti to ham har do mahine lete hain!’
What?
Yes. Every couple of months he goes to his ‘gaon’ and helps with the farming, milking, recharges his batteries for a few weeks and comes back refreshed. Corporate guys- are you listening?

I reflect on the contrast between Babloo and me. His lean, mean, fat-less frame and my cleverly concealed with stylish clothes figure. He possesses things which are just enough for survival while I am surrounded by mountains of superfluous things. Why do I need two wardrobes spilling with clothes and spend half an hour rummaging through them to find something suitable everyday? Why do I need to spend so much on food which just increase my girth and my misery?
I slog it out all year and take a pathetic three day two nights break periodically to some touristy, crowded place only to get tired and irritated having wasted more energy packing and commuting and don’t get sleep in rooms with used blankets and smelly carpets. I eat puri bhaji, get acidity and come back with a roll full of pictures showing my disgust and boredom- then get them printed at a price and put them in an album which nobody will look at a day later.
Babloo’s life looks infinitely more appealing to me now. I’ve unearthed his secret to the lean mean frame. He’s given me a goal, a new direction. Showbiz- here I come…
I tell him. ‘Babloo- ab ham aap ki tarah rahenge. Aap ko kya lagta hai?’ I flex my muscles dramatically. ‘Baat Banegi kya?’
Babloo is chuckling with laughter. He finally thinks I’ve said something funny.