Cardio Comatose

One SUV. Two jaywalkers. Three conflicting voices in my head arguing about vegan protein.By the time I get home, my cardio plans are toast, my rajma’s meh and I’ve fully embodied Kaa from The Jungle Book. Just another day in the city.

This happened to me just yesterday morning.

It was rush hour — the city in full chaotic bloom — and I was on my way to work. Safely belted into my seat, with Jack Black belting “Hit Me Baby One More Time” from the stereo (don’t ask), my Martian SUV plodded along.

It’s rainy season here, and while I love everything about it — the petrichor, the drama, the melancholic poetry of it all — I shudder at the serpentine traffic lines and the chaos that unfolds on the streets each day.

I’m sure many of you will empathise.

Consider me your kindred soul. This is the great urban struggle — and I know I’m not alone.

It’s a full-blown sensory overload.

And I really think I need to get back to boxing — to sharpen my reflexes. The constant ducking and elbowing just to make a U-turn is starting to hurt my back.

Age is definitely catching up.A voice in my head goes off:“Increase your daily protein intake.”

Another one quips:“Remember your pledge to go vegan.”

And yet another chimes in, smugly:“But what about the complete protein profile? The amino acids? Can you really get them from plants alone?”

Geez.It’s like a full-blown 9 PM NewsHour debate inside my head.

Everyone’s yelling. No one’s listening.

The nation wants to know what my pH-protein-hypothesised life will be.(I am currently obsessed with Chemistry)

And the anchor? Stupefied by traffic travails at the moment, mute, head bobbing in all directions to stay alive.

I don’t have the answers to all the protein existential problems. I’m just trying to survive the rains, the marauding buses, the trigger-happy trucks, and the fancy-free, footloose Scootys.

Don’t even get me started on the jaywalkers.The merry walkers darting… sometimes ambling across the road.It’s almost like a dare — them sauntering along.

And always, on a nice, broad, freshly asphalted road —a rare unicorn in this city…rarer, even, than a 100-million-dollar startup that actually makes a profit — my Martian SUV grunts.

It begs to break free from the chaos.I press the accelerator just a little — maybe more than 60.

And boom. Out of nowhere, a couple of figures appear. Hand in hand, grins on their faces, they look at me cheekily. Almost like they’re saying,“I wouldn’t touch that accelerator if I were you.”

Their gait? Relaxed. Like they’re on a vacation stroll through a Mughal palace garden — all manicured, the blossoms bright red and swaying, with a Bollywood ditty playing in the background.

Meanwhile, I’m just dying to be the Batmobile — skidding in to save the world.

No wonder that by the time I get home and the day’s work is done,I’m like a snake — ready to coil up and hibernate on the treadmill.

My grand promise to end the day with 40 minutes of cardio?Out the window. Like a deflated parachute bomb pataka.

My dinner of rajma and brown rice sits untouched —alongside a bowl of dahi.(The devil is in the protein, silly.)

And I?I embody Kaa, the snake from The Jungle Book —hissing and swaying as if in a shroom-induced motion,“Come on baby, do the locomotion,” nudges my left brain.“Maybe tomorrow,” chuckles my ever-exhausted right brain.