Heavy fortune

I was at the mall nearby and there was this contraption that measures a person's weight and height and calculates the Body Mass Index (BMI). As I stepped on the machine waiting for it to spit out the numbers that say I am a lard ball and I better hit the gym, there was silence. And in that silence I was transported to an earlier age. An age where people were not obsessed with or threatened by one's weight, being overweight was acceptable, fad diets were never heard of, bathroom scales did not exist and the only time people came into contact with a weighing scale was at the doctor's clinic. The lasses in our clan who skimped on food got yelled at by the nearest available elder and received an impromptu lecture on the benefits of "eating well" which was a 3-course carb rich meal. Yes, I'm talking about the age of the pyschedelic weighing machines where getting weighed was truly a spiritual experience.

These machines, always in red, were ubiquitous - strategically located at nearly all train stations, theatres and other public places. Since we were always running late to the movies, I got to avail their services only at the railway station platforms where the trains were the ones running late and hence there was time to kill. The ritual of receiving and seeing off relatives always included the routine of getting to know my weight.  I couldn't care less about my weight (just like now) but the thrill of stepping on the pedestal, the spinning wheels and the flashing bulbs used to cast a magic spell. 

Positioning myself next to the machine, I would cast a questioning glance at my dad who would instantly start fishing in his pant pockets for change to help kick start the proceedings. These machines had a platform on which the user has to stand. This would bring him eye level with the glass case which was easily the brightest thing in the entire station. The case had a mirror wall, a set of bright blinking bulbs, and a wheel that had alternating white and red sectors. This said wheel would spin upon climbing the platform and as it came to a halt, the coin had to be inserted into the slot. After a few promising clicking sounds a card would pop out with the weight punched on one side and the fortune on the other. Fortune favored anyone who dropped a coin into these machines. 

As a business model, few others can come close to being as successful: install, collect. The machines would probably never have had a calibration done on them. On any given day, the fortune reading was easily more accurate than the weight. On the other hand, it representated an innocent indulgence - an inaccurate weight reading and a favorable prediction. A reassurance that all was well with the body and the world around was yours for 50 paise (about US$0.01). 

Armed with the latest numbers and the confirmation from dad that we had indeed put on some weight since our previous measurement date, my brother and I would proceed to engage in a verbal duel, arguing both sides of the "weight is might" theory. There would also follow a critical analysis of the fortunes, one of which would include, by default, a reference to success in amorous affairs ("Love is in the air", "Romantic pursuits will bear fruit", etc) - a subject taboo to both of us then. The arrival, or departure, of a train bearing our relatives would bring closure to things. 

A sharp beep sound brought me back to reality. As I stepped off this machine, shorn of all the glamor, glory, lights and the spinning wheels, a print out stuck out like a tongue. The numbers are much bigger now and I realize that I'm not necessarily mightier.