Of workouts and chicken biryani

I drown myself in the well of guilt each time I satiate myself with a full plate of chicken biryani. The finely chewed cartilages and neatly wiped plate bears testimony to the savageness with which the biryani was hogged upon. The gratification of a contented stomach feels heavenly only to be matched with Moksha. The feeling is only momentary though.

Soon after this state of bliss fleets away to reality, guilt haunts me. It possesses me, torments me for a while for my innate quality to succumb to the baser temptations of material life with clock work regularity. I soon shrug myself off this indiscretion by indulging in some self pep talk. I remind myself of the guy in my gym with that enviable torso. I remind myself of the sweat and effort put into a days workout everyday. I come back home. Pick up the Health magazine. Peer into those sculpted greek god like physiques. Shout at the top of my voice(inner voice) and promise never to get into the biryani way.

With stern intent, mighty resolve, deep faith I walk back from the gym towards home the next day. I pass the Satan(read Chicken Biryani outlet). The wafting smell of hot biryani comatozes my senses. And an overworked body with a famished stomach only weaken my resistance. My resilient mind fights with a thousand demons. I order my biryani. I see my mighty mind go down valiantly fighting against the demons. Yes it goes down, buts I am contended that it puts up a brave fight. Biryani arrives. And the next ten minutes I am in the same state of bliss.

And the cycle repeats.