‘Perhaps, I should not have eaten my belly full of snacks’ – this is my usual quote, and I think about it after I gorge a packet of Digestive biscuits with my evening tea. The evening snacks were not limited to biscuits alone. It varies every week and it could include anything. I mean, anything.

I sometimes feel, no, believe it as a fact, that almost all working class people have this 5 pm craving for food. It does not matter, what the food is, but, it is the amount of food that matters. More the food, more we are satisfied.

I had read in an article that as the stress hormone level dips, our appetite increases. This is a natural process and usually tends to happens at dusk. As a result, a tired mind and thereby, the body craves for food, consuming more than what it is sanely supposed to intake.

So, it’s an urban trend to be a glutton in the evening. For a moment, I’am relieved on that afterthought. But then, I imagine myself self-satisfying. I have a strong reason to believe that I’m self-satisfying.

Back-date one year, and I was fast, on my way to be a slim guy. I had just lost 18 kilograms of fat in a span of two years. It was not magic, but, sheer hard work at the gym and controlled dieting.

Each time I hit the gym, I dreamt of possessing a ‘V’ shaped outline of my body. I know its easier said than done, but, I was different from my obese past, at least, on those days of gymnasium.

Now, I have bloated. As I stand in front of the mirror facing my ugly past again, I think to myself, ‘Lord, I don’t deserve this!’. The mirror, carved and embedded on the wooden door separated me and my obvious fears. ‘I cannot afford a new wardrobe’, I think.

Fascinating comparisons come to my mind. When I was fat, I used to wear robes that was of sizes too big, mostly those tagged ‘XL’. You could now imagine how I would probably looked like.

Since, the transition happened with me and the fat melted thereafter, I switched clans to purchase dress of size ‘M’. But that’s my yesterdays.

But today, I pity myself at my miserable condition. It’s a sad sight to see the shirt stretch near my stomach revealing the snow white vest, as if it were eyes of a blind man.

But let us face it. ‘What is the solution?’ I ponder. If there was one, could I be able to hold on to it, and for how long. However hard I try to control myself, I just don’t seem to stop eating at that cursed hour.

I feared becoming a gourmand. With this sort of evening gluttony and in my deepest fears, it all seemed to be a likelihood.

I even thought of eating clean. ‘Why not replace fried items with fruits or salad?’ I had thought. But, that menu would be there just for another four days or maybe a week at a stretch. Either, I get bored of eating the same fruit or just any fruits, and I face my nemesis yet again.

This was quickly replaced by health based drinks. Juices was the top choice. Apple, mango, dates; you name it and I’ve had it. But, none stayed for long and I was back to square one.

One day, while strolling at the local mall, I passed through the oats and muesli section. A stray thought grabbed my attention, ‘Why not this?’, I said in an excited tone. ‘Yes, I’ve found a solution to the dreaded problem’, I began to think convincingly. But, a whiff of contradicting air reminded me that I might be deceiving myself with such a thought.

Yet, I was determined to try it. ‘Oats! It is nutritious and delicious, both’. I had an aversion to milk from the beginning, only exception that I have my tea with it.

Again, determined thoughts rambled my mind, ‘Maybe I should try it with curd’. I had just remembered one of my colleagues say this, how she relished oats with curd. I was tempted to try it.

I briskly searched for the masala oats pack, but, that was not available. So, I picked a tin can of white oats and tossed it in my trolley. ‘The remedy’, I thought and grinned. All the contradicting thoughts were suppressed.

So, I started with small servings of oats and since I began liking it, the craving seemed to be controlled for a while. But, since I was eating oats and nothing else, I was beginning to be bored. I started to add spicy mixture with oats, hoping that a change in taste would rejuvenate my interest in oats consumption.

Barely one week later, the oats paved its way back to the breakfast table in the form of upma. I had developed a liking towards the masala mixture instead. Well, mixture is only for this week, the next week someone bought samosas and kachoris.

A flurry of thoughts still invade my mind. ‘Am I now a gourmand?’, I think to myself with the half eaten samosa in my hand.