Spice of Life | Lesson learnt the hard way, for second time

The youngster on the adjacent treadmill had earphones on and was drenched in sweat like a man on a mission. I was supposed to stare at the wall and keep walking to nowhere, silently

Though one keeps learning from mistakes, sometimes a situation presents itself in such a manner that one ends up committing the mistake again.

Three days in the air-proof gym were enough to take the wind out of my sails. On the fourth day, I was back in the boisterous company of my morning walker friends. (HT File)

The year was 1980. I was studying in a boarding school. Six o’clock was wake-up time. Within minutes, we would fall in line and rush to the playground for physical drill. Getting out of bed in the dead of winter and running for our lives was a scary proposition. But once our bodies were warmed up, we were our chirpy best. Our South Indian physical training instructor would shout at the top of his voice, while we did our best to misinterpret his instructions to suit our whims. The instructor would fume and fret as our camaraderie blossomed with the generous exchange of giggles while exercising.

As we ran around the campus braving the chill in canvas shoes, we would watch a group of boys with mats tucked under their arms, going for indoor yoga classes. I couldn’t resist the temptation of exercising indoors during the bone-chilling winter and soon jumped onto the ‘yoga-wagon’.

Chander Hraas ji was our yoga instructor. Slim and agile to a fault, he was a no-nonsense taskmaster. “Stillness, silence, suppleness and symphonic breathing are the hallmarks of yoga,” he would say. His arm and leg-twisting sequence performed in deafening silence of the yoga class soon bore fruit and I began missing the joyful banter of my vivacious gang. Within a week, I walked out of the silent zone of yogic penance to rejoin my babbling and bubbly friends in the ground.

Over to the just-concluded winter. A gym opened near the entry point of our lane. Though located in the basement, it is named after oxygen, the elixir of life. The thought of working out in the warm confines of the gym in harsh winter inspired me to take membership.

My first day at the gym was a non-starter. I struggled to understand the mechanics of the complex equipment that was supposed to keep me fighting fit. Only stationary cycles seemed to be of interest but they were occupied by women aspiring to get in shape. I endured the warm and suffocating environs of the crowded gym for a while before calling it a day.

On Day 2, I reached the gym a little early and managed to lay my hands on a treadmill. Soon, I realised that the treadmill was not about walking rather it was about preventing yourself from falling off. While the belt moves under your feet like the proverbial pulling of the rug, you stagger and scamper to keep yourself from tumbling over. I tried to strike a conversation with a youngster running on the adjacent treadmill only to realise that he had earphones plugged in and was drenched in sweat like a man on a mission. I was supposed to stare at the wall and keep walking to nowhere, silently.

Once done with the treadmill, I looked around for company but found none. Plugged-in youngsters were working out on sophisticated machines and lost in a world of their own.

Three days in the air-proof gym were enough to take the wind out of my sails. On the fourth day, I was back in the boisterous company of my morning walker friends.

A lesson learnt the hard way, for the second time.

rajivsharma.rs201067@gmail.com

The writer is an Amritsar-based freelance contributor