The shift has been gradual. So slow that I have trouble admitting it to myself. That I love my carbs is common knowledge. Over the past few months, I have gone from the person mocking at Saathi for his abominable fixation with vegetables to the one on whom the joke is. While what I consume has not changed very much, the mental wheels whirring with each bite I take has shifted gears.
From resentment, I now experience shame and guilt. I sneak away when I eat that piece of cake. Yet, far from it being an object of desire, I now seem to eat out of compulsion. A relic of years of unhealthy relationship with food. The mind screams no! with each bite. I seem to be reaching out for the third or fourth helping of vegetables. I dab on that butter a little liberally. I look at the cereal box with an emotion akin to sorrow.
With each passing day, the dynamic between me and my plate changes a little. It nudges a bit closer to the perceived ideal. Then there are days when it feels like all is ruined. I sabotage weeks of almost healthy eating with something as ruinous as Maggi and cheese sandwiches.
The difference these days though is the remorse. Remorse born out of knowledge and a desire to right the wrongs. So, while I battle it out internally, here is a message to that sinfully loaded brownie sitting behind the glass cage in the cafe below. Please stay there!