The battle has not been fought to win .It was not fought at all.
Now the counter offensive could be late and the enemy is entrenched over the past decade and more. And once dug in, the enemy is in a strong hold and may require a war to annihilate. But then where can one seek the will? The will, the determination and perseverance to wage the war, move meticulously forward and evict the enemy from what he has usurped?
But introspection is required too. Any failure in battle calls for a post- Morten. And that revealed high magnitude of lethargy and indifference, a casual nonchalant attitude, a lack of proclivity to discipline perhaps! And that may have brought forth the loss in the battle of the Bulge. Someone opined. “Well actually the battle is not lost, with will there can be a reversal.” I suggested the battle is a losing battle, a lost battle – “The battle of the Bulge”.
I looked in the mirror, turned sideways and saw the profile too. Made no difference, seemed more pathetic. On a 180 cms tall frame a 92 kgs of mass! Goodness that is a well thirteen to sixteen kgs more than what is ideal and advised.
I went back in the time machine past the last decade, and further beyond. It seemed like the journey in space through a black hole, decades, passed by and I went further, one, two, three and four or there about. I saw what may be justifiably alleged as the emaciated reality that was then. And that was, it was about 168 cms frame and about 45 kgs in mass. It brought back to me the profile of an Auschwitz survivor. A cousin of mine called me, H.W.Longfellow!
At twenty three, came financial independence and thence began the indulgence and excess in gastronomical predilections. Gluttony and devouring of spirits that did not see any need for restraint saw the Auschwitz image metamorphose into what glares back from the mirror today. Fortunately there was above mean levels of outdoor physical exertions, else, I may have simply dropped down flat, never to get back on my feet again or may have had the medical fraternity ripping open my rib cage to fix a few detours in my cardiac arteries. And also because of some good physical chemistry passed on genetically!
Rum then was the favourite liquid to cleanse the gastro- esophageal portions and to wash down gluttonous orgies. Rum, a typical byproduct of sugar cane and from molasses, very reliable elixir to deposit expanse around the mid riff! As means bettered, came along travels and with that, exotic spirits from the Rhineland, Bordeaux and the district of Cognac. However the fascination continued with the good old Indian whiskies and Rum and fabulous food never in dearth.
I moved away from the mirror to under the shower. When the cold water sprayed one me I mused. “What if the battle of the bulge is lost? There has been quite good memories and earned great companions, excellent indulgence in food and drinks, many places went, graduated a fair bit in the bitter, sweet and sour of life and in people. And in the final sum up, it has been a typical mortal existence with mixture of fun happiness, despair, sorrow and elation. Perhaps only got to remember to look ahead and not with crestfallenness. That sometimes is a tough ask.
Losing the battle of the bulge may have enlightened me a bit of what life is all about!