Every day, as I watch other gym-mates exercise till they drop dead (figuratively, of course), I remember the humble labourers who work at construction sites, draw carts, pull rickshaws, move furniture, heave loads of grain/boxes/cartons etc., and so on. Day in and day out, the affluent folks sit in their plush, air-conditioned offices, with the help of a receptionist, a P.S., a peon and other similar people and type, type, type on their laptops, computers, mobiles, and what not. The only other exercises they get are when they have to sign on documents or letters, when they have to press buttons on a remote, or when the bladder pressure goes up and they have to visit their personal toilets. Oh yeah, I forgot: they also have to smile those superficial smiles when their clients are with them.
Contrast this with the normal lives of the above-mentioned labourers. They get up early, help fill water in their home bathroom tanks, go to the local market to buy food and provisions for the day ( the 1-3 rupee sachets of shampoos, oils, detergents etc. are expressly made for them), then have a simple but hearty meal of thick ghee-less parathas with chutney/onion/chilli/dal/cheap vegetables and so on. Then, at times, only the father, and at times, both parents will go, with or without their child-(ren) to the site where they have been appointed temporarily for one of the above tasks; from 9 o'clock to 6 o'clock, they will do repetitive, tiring tasks like shifting loads from point A to point B, sometimes up a gradient, and sometimes, up the stairs (which can be 1 to many flights). The road side labourers will ferry goods on hand-carts, or take people in cycle rickshaws ... in much the same way.
For this back-breaking, tiring and exhausting work, they will get a pittance as their daily wages, in addition to abuse from their supervisors/customers/bosses. Their children will play in mud under the blast of the full sun, as they go about, sweating profusely as they keep at their task till the sun goes down. In between, they may get a half hour to 45 minutes to have lunch - packed into aluminium boxes by their spouses, and consisting of more of the same food they had before leaving home. (They will eat - once again - the same type of food at dinner, but that's another story.)
Now, I direct you, dear reader, to look at their shoulders, arms, chest (pecs), back and calves. Can you see any fat? Loose skin? Blotches of sun burn? No, sir, no madam, there is nothing there but smooth, dark and shiny skin with beads of sweat, marking, in absolute anatomically clear relief - each and every muscle of their bodies! The flesh has a life of its own: it moves, contracts and stretches in complete, unashamed visibility. The biceps looks taut and peaks when they flex their arm; the triceps is seen as a magnificent muscle group of three distinct cords! The lats (the large back muscles) are always visible like two fantastic fans on each side of the spine as they run hither and thither, bearing loads that I am frightened to even look at, let alone consider lifting. The calf muscles spring up and down with each movement of their legs. They have a similar resilience within themselves: their souls are equally open, simple, and show them to be first class human beings, even if they are shudras, or OBCs, or SCs, or STs.
Tell me what you think. I love comments.