ISLE LIKE NO OTHER
Health or wealth?
You don’t really start to miss things until they’re gone. Or so I mused one wan July morn as I shaved a salt and pepper face crowned by a bald pate. And don’t get me started on the crowns in my jaw. Whoever wrote ‘crown him with many crowns’ must’ve been a mystic – or a very rich orthodontist smiling all the way to the bank…
But this ‘missing missing-things’ business is a lot funnier than that. It applies to any number of things, the number of which increases as does your body weight and girth. It’s called ‘middle age’ because that’s where the number shows most, no?
Be that as it may, the body is the first place where things start to go: usually south, in my case.
“Fat, dear?” I retorted sharply, sucking in my tummy. “It’s just that my chest has slipped a bit!”
The little woman (who’s not so little in certain quarters herself) rapped smartly back: “If it slips any farther south, you’ll be a penguin!” Ouch… that hurt… it’s the below the belt blows that are the hardest… to stomach. I’m told that the Sri Lankan pot belly is a sign of prosperity. My physician disagrees, mumbling something about a South Asian gene.
And while I suspect he’s missing a few marbles in the brainy museum section upstairs, it’s any number of quacks who first start to remind you that you’re missing a trick or two in the ‘celebrating life’ department.
“Lost your mojo, chum?” my physiotherapist chuckled as he subjected me to ‘gentle’ tugs and pulls that would have qualified him for a job in the Roman arena as a manager of middle-aged gladiators.
“No, only my sense of humour,” I muttered under my breath as he sucker punched me in the belly for the umpteenth time. Physio-the-rapist, indeed!
They don’t call it the solar plexus for nothing. Packs a stellar punch, this stressful habit of a spectrum of ‘health is wealth’ practitioners who relieve you of your hard-earned shekels in the same breath as your sense of inner peace and equilibrium!
“Hmm, the old pressure’s up a tad bit, eh?” chuckled my GP, as he scribbled hieroglyphic jottings for future generations of anthropologists to scratch their craniums over.
“Yeah, plus the old pecker is too,” I riposted, not a little miffed that celebrating life can rob one of so much joy and love.
There’s little relief in terms of tranquillity in the world outside the consultation room. The ease with which we once whizzed through the streets is gone in 60 seconds (and the body search – if there is one, on top of boot and cubby inspection – rubs salt into the wounds). Woe to anyone who dares to wear a backpack for the sake of convenience or adorn one’s countenance with anything larger than a dainty lady’s kerchief for cosmetic reasons. While we partied and slept it off, a glory has passed away.
But all is not doom and gloom. Health may be wealth for the aged and dieting but there are riches of other types that are harder to rob one of. For starters, folks in my neighbourhood adorned their front porches with Vesak lanterns some two months ago – and never mind their faith or philosophy in life.
And there’s always helpful people who show kindness and courtesy wherever you go in our blessed isle… long live that true island spirit!
So let us not raise a lament to paradise lost. Rather than mourn and grieve forever, come let us build again! Could it be that we’re a little too nostalgic for a Ceylon that never truly was – except in fond, addled or substance fuelled memories?
And so let’s say a prayer for the dieting and let the fat bury their own fat (sorry if this is a little too frivolous for your taste). On the other hand, in the midst of dieting we are in life… Celebrate it joyfully, responsibly – it passes away only too soon…