Fit in Bits
‘Let’s get you a new Fitbit,’ said the husband. The birthday present challenge was still on. The earrings had done a peremptory exit as soon as we decided against the smart watch. Fulminating against the husband’s sieve-like memory, I’d gone and got myself the earrings, thus downing the shutters on that gift option.
‘It was my idea!’ I cried, aghast. ‘I suggested getting you a Fitbit for your birthday in the first place.’ Pause. ‘Besides, I’m very happy with my current Fitbit.’ Not strictly true. For I always hanker after technology, preferably of the latest variety.
‘I’ll take your old Fitbit,’ he said peaceably. I was not as sure – it was a birthday present after all.
A look into the annals of Jain history is needed here. The Ma-in-Law was clearly running out of conversation topics one day when she asked the husband, ‘What did you have for lunch today?’
‘Sandwiches,’ he replied without thinking ahead. I winced. Thirty-three years of close ties with the Ma-in-Law, and I could almost see the furrows appearing in her forehead as she digested that.
It was just a question of time. Three days later, the lunch question popped up again. ‘It’s not that I’m curious,’ she offered by way of explanation. ‘Just that I worry about your nutrition.’ Thus swiping left in one stroke the millions of people all over the world who had sandwiches for lunch every day.
The conversation did however oblige me to give the husband the once-over. Lockdown had not been kind to either of us. Let us just leave it at that. I do not fancy my odds post-divorce.
That was why the Fitbit. If I could not feed the husband roti-dal-sabzi-raita every afternoon, at least I could try to make him fitter on sandwiches. Make him count how many steps he took. Or at least count how many steps he did not take. Bear in mind that the husband will take the car to the Tesco that is a five-minute walk from our flat.
As usual, it was left to the son to make a timely intervention. ‘Look,’ he reasoned. ‘What is the important point here? That you make Dad think healthy. That can be achieved with your old Fitbit as well.’
‘And,’ he added slyly. ‘You get the chance to upgrade your Fitbit. As you’ve wanted to. Win-win all round.’ The son is truly a chip of the old mater block. Note to self: must remember to stop confiding in him so much.
It’s not easy giving in to the husband, but clearly, needs must in this case. I looked at my Fitbit sadly. It had stood me in good stead over the last three years. From the first year’s frantic 10,000 steps every day to the more relaxed pace of the next two years when even 7,500 steps made me ecstatic.
‘On to fresh pastures, son,’ I murmured, patting it fondly on its scarred (slightly, from my first coastal path walk) face. ‘Believe me, you’re moving to a gentler life.’
