The Gym Instructor

It had all started when Ritika Kapoor, daughter of the famous Kapoors of Ludhiana had learnt that Gita, her best friend, had started going to the gym, in order to lose that flabby tyre of fat around her waist, to help in her marriage endeavours.

"What gym-shym, ji,” Ritika’s mother had chided when Ritika brought up the subject at dinnertime. “Here, have another hot kulcha, and eat properly.” She had dismissed off Ritika’s complaint and busied herself with spooning another butter-laden portion of thick maa ki daal onto her husband’s plate. Distinguished looking Mr. Ranvir Kapoor, from the famous Kapoor industries fame of Ludhiana, had coughed a little, and shifted the food around on his plate. He hated to step into his wife’s domain, not wanting to soil his hands in yet another family scene, and clearly felt that she had spoiled Ritika. The Kapoors of Ludhiana were famous people- and he discreetly shifted his mind to other pressing things- like fulfilling that huge order of T-shirts that he had recently bagged from New York. “Arrey, let her go if she wants to, darling,” he said, wanting to end the discussion before Ritika stomped out of the dining room. Ritika beamed at her dad- one of those few times when she felt that she was indeed their daughter- and not an orphan picked up from a garbage dump- a thought which perpetuated her mind even when she was alone in her room, watching Sansui Antakshari on her huge plasma TV, a birthday gift from her parents. “Ok, but there’s really no need…” sighed Mrs. Kapoor, petering off in a vain attempt to control her kingdom, yet knowing that once her husband had given his word, there was nothing she could do.

Ritika smiled gleefully at her mother- another victory to her credit, and immediately focused on procuring gym clothes, and in the process, unmindfully gobbled up an extra kulcha- much to her mother’s delight.

Next morning, armed with a couple of bright magenta track pants (for she had managed to get dropped off at the Nike showroom at Kalindi market by Ram Sevak, their driver, after he had done the 2km stretch to the Kapoor industries’ office and buy an armful of track pants in various colours and sizes, and a couple of solid coloured Nike T-shirts, even though she knew her dad would object- he was a stickler for family loyalty to self manufactured products, but she couldn’t be seen dead wearing those pale shades at the gym!) and a black Nike T-shirt with ExerTime emblazoned across the front, Ritika made her way to Fitness For All gym in the bustling New Ludhiana colony.

Standing at 5’6” in her flattest sandals, 20-year-old Ritika Kapoor was by no means a stunning beauty. She was fair, and had plenty of soft brown hair, which waved almost to her waist, recently highlighted around the crown in a pale shade of chrome-gold. She had close-set black eyes and a fairly large nose (which she had inherited from her father), the right side of which was graced with a small diamond ring (this piercing was the latest fashion that Ritika had followed, not knowing the joy it would bring to her mother, to see her daughter following the family tradition so well). Apart from her sometimes-snob demeanour, there was nothing extraordinary about her. She could as easily pass off as any other girl in Ludhiana.

Ritika pressed the call-lift button, and stood expectantly before the grime coated black channel doors. The lift screeched to a halt before her, and she got in, glancing around at the numerous posters plastered with double sided tape on the lift walls. They all showed men in various forms, posing before different fitness machines, with Fitness For All typed in bold white across the bottom. Funny, she thought, fitness for all, and no women shown. Secretly pleased with herself for this startling discovery, she landed at the third floor- the reception area of the gym.

Hurling back the sooty channel doors, she walked across with apprehension to the reception area, feeling completely at home in the marble-floored room, armed with the superior air that arose as a self defense mechanism in her. She was, after all, Ritika Kapoor, daughter of the famous Kapoor industries of Ludhiana! She was greeted by the toothy smile of the reception girl – Poonam-Customer Care Associate she read on the laminated gym visiting card which passed off as an identity badge. After an initial steamrollering through Weight reduction package, Fitness Package, and Nutritionist Recommends, Ritika was asked her preference and objective for joining the gym. “To lose weight, of course” she replied, frigidly. She was then led over to a Measurements Cell, where Poonam- Customer Care Associate proceeded to take down her statistics and compare it with her weight. To Ritika’s delight and Poonam’s chagrin (for she kept insisting that Ritika needed the Nutritionist Recommends package- which would earn her a hefty commission), Ritika was about three-and a quarter kilos overweight, which qualified her for the popular Weight Reduction package.

While Poonam was informing Ritika of the details of the package, she learnt that she was the daughter of the famous Kapoors of Ludhiana fame and quickly called her Branch Manager to handle the situation, who promptly apologized profusely for subjecting her to the ‘normal’ ritual. “But you are special, dear..” he beamed at her, and took her around the gym area himself to familiarize her with the equipment. He also assigned Manjit Singh, the burliest, best looking and youngest fitness instructor, to be her personal trainer. One look at Manjit Singh, and Ritika knew that she would enjoy coming to the gym. He was almost 6” tall, fair skinned and had a pair of biceps that would put Salman Khan to shame. His tight black vest showed off his 6-pack abs to perfection and his curly hair faintly glowed with perspiration. Ritika smiled coyly to herself. Bet Gita didn’t have half as good looking an instructor as she did! As they shook hands post initial introductions, Ritika felt a frisson of excitement run through her, which was the first time it had ever happened. Normally composed Ritika had her fair share of expensive surprises, but this one, she had to admit, was the nicest one to date! She smiled back at him, before first running her tongue over her upper teeth to clear them of any debris- lipstick marks or the gutkha she had chewed on secretly while in the car. He had the smile of an angel- pearly white teeth, set in a solid row, and when he smiled, two dimples appeared in his cheeks, giving him a faintly cherubic look. Ritika was overjoyed with happiness, as he requested her to come in the next day morning to start off their schedule, while he would draw up an exercise chart for her. Ritika could hardly sleep that night. Waves of excitement washed over her as she gazed at the fibre-optic created stars on her artificial ceiling, and she smiled to herself. Post returning from the gym, she had headed straight for the phone, dialing up Gita to inform her that not only was she was one-up in the fitness game, she was doing better than her! Gita had squealed in excitement on the phone, and had hurried to her house to get a finer account of things. She had also pitied the fact that she would have to continue at her gym- Body Basics for the full three month paid up tenure. Gita’s father worked in the Central Electricity Board, and though he was almost as well-off as the Kapoors, Gita knew she couldn’t cancel her commitment so easily. Besides, it would be easier once three months got over, and she could already start planting some seeds of discontent with the gym within her family in the interim. Ritika smiled again- for she knew that even after three months Gita would never be as lucky as her- for there was nobody else like Manjit Singh in the gym. Thus lost in her thoughts and again, feeling privileged to be a Kapoor, she drifted off to sleep, punctuated by fitful dreams of Manjit, Poonam Customer Care Associate and Gita dressed in green Nike overalls. Next day dawned a little too soon for her, as she switched off the alarm on her silver Swiss clock in a daze of sleep. But the last of yesterday’s happenings sunk into her suddenly, and she dashed off to the bathroom to brush her teeth and apply some make-up. After a hasty bowl of crunchy Kelloggs, and a few ribbings from her mother (for she had learnt that exercising on too many calories led to a bout of vomiting) she summoned Ram Sevak to drop her to the gym. Feeling every bit of the fitness freak that she imagined herself to be, Ritika started off on a wide smile and an Exercise card which said- Circuit Training from Manjit. Though both were reserved and shy during the first few days, she slowly learnt that he was the son of a clerk who worked in the postal department, and had really worked hard to reach the No. 1 gym in the city. His fondness for working out had emanated from watching Sunny Deol in Jung when he was thirteen years old, and had been kept alive by his idol Hrithik Roshan when he was nearing nineteen now. He had a zest for sports- participating in all track and field events in the Public school near the Roshanara Library on Milkad Road, and was currently studying for B.A. through a correspondence course from Punjab University, Chandigarh. He had no brothers or sisters- and even though the princely salary he drew at the gym (which roughly equaled to almost a day’s shopping spree at Kalindi market for Ritika) was by no means a pointer towards his hard work, he always ensured that he remembered his humble background by practicing faith of the lord Shiva. Thus, on every Monday, Manjit would fast- those were the days when Ritika would be extra sweet to him- and ensure she carried some of the imported British apples her mother surreptitiously put in her gym bag for consumption by Manjit. Even though her total workout time was supposed to be an hour, she often took long breaks between sets, and thus elongated her gym stay to almost a couple of hours, including steam bathing and showering on alternate days. Ritika’ s skin glowed when she took steam baths, and she knew it. So she would try to take the longest possible time dressing or the shortest possible time dashing off so she and Manjit would meet accidentally on the way out, or in the parking lot, when Manjit would finish his morning shift and head home.  This continued for some time, and soon Ritika and Manjit became good friends, exchanging music and talking about poetry. Surprisingly, Manjit knew a lot about the poets Ritika fancied (Poetry being the one civilized thing she was fond of)- and even during workouts, they would discuss Robert Frost or Shelley or the master of all times- Shakespeare. Both had their Standard 12 knowledge to draw from, and both loved showing it off (Manjit from his own scanty interpretations, and Ritika drew on annotations of the expensive home tutor her father had located for her English). Like Ritika, Manjit was also an only child, and hence both bonded even more, never knowing what it was to have siblings. Ritika enjoyed going to the gym and soon gave up going to the college altogether (her flighty attendance used to be the source of constant pain for her Dean, but a dollop of donation grants from her wealthy father would put that issue to rest each time it reared its ugly head). Gita started complaining about the time she would spend with her, and it was only her mother who noticed that even though Ritika was regularly going to the gym she had not lost an ounce of fat from her frame (which she partly attributed to the desi ghee she had been putting in her daal of late), and so one day at dinner time, she casually threw the question at Ritika “So how’s your gym going, beta?” “Yes, yes…are you liking it?” echoed her father in his best baritone, feeling a little guilty over not managing to think of it first. “Its fine, daddy. I am being trained by the best instructor, and I am liking it.” Ritika managed to sidestep the issue by skirting around it as carefully as possible. She knew her mother was on to something, but before her mother had time to comment, she was saved by the ringing of the telephone. During a hushed conversation her father had with one of his American buyers, Ritika signaled to her mother and headed for her room, leaving behind a variety of untouched food on her plate. The days that followed saw her getting friendlier with Manjit, and there were times when the two would actually step outside the confines of the gym, and go for a little spin on Manjit’ s new Cruiser, which he was paying for himself, on an EMI of Rs 2499 every month. It left very little money for himself, but he felt proud of the way the yellow bike stood like a reminder of his coming of age- and financial independence outside their modest MIG flat in Old Ludhiana. He also liked the way his mom had started taking care of his special needs- like aftershave and Denim talc and ensuring there was a good supply of fresh green paalak (his protein intake) for his consumption every day. Though every time they ventured out, Ritika was careful to conceal her face with a blue silk scarf and put on her designer Ray Ban shades, so nobody would recognize her. Her father had plenty of business associates in the city, and she wouldn’t dare be caught with Manjit- it was too risky for her. Besides, she loved the little pleasures that money could buy- like Manjit. They often went out on the pretext of Manjit first showing her the new bike, then how fast it went, and then simply to get a breath of fresh air. Ritika loved these little challenges and escapades. She felt excitement run through her body in little threads, touching parts of her she didn’t know existed. She liked the feel of abruptly landing against Manjit’s back when he braked suddenly, or the hand that involuntarily dropped to rest on his broad shoulders when he swerved to avoid speedbreakers. Though she was careful never to consciously make any contact with his lean body, the times it happened suddenly shook her with a force she couldn’t reckon with, and if she felt this way, God only knew what Manjit felt each time her sports-bra encrusted breasts brushed against his back. On one of these sudden trips, Manjit decided to take her home, to pick up a sheaf of papers for the bike’s insurance. She agreed, meekly, knowing it was just a harmless little visit. He had already told her that his mom never left home, and would have the papers ready- she would just have to wait a moment. They reached Manjit’s house, and when Manjit re-emerged from his house, his mother was there, asking Ritika to step in, and have something before going. His mother looked like a typical Punjabi housewife. She had a clean blue flowery salwar suit on, with a big bright red bindi on her forehead, and bright red glass bangles, which jangled unnervingly as she gestured. Ritika remembered that her mother had said that true Punjabis wear only gold bangles, and it was only the lower caste who had to make do with glass ones. She seemed to be in her early forties, but had a sweet demeanour, which Ritika warmed to, and so, throwing caution to the winds, stepped into the modest Singh MIG flat.  

What she saw and experienced was emblazoned on her mind for years to come. Manjit lived in a flat that was the size of her own room. The divan lying in one corner of the ‘drawing room’ doubled up as a sofa and a bed for Manjit. There were some tacky paintings and wall hangings; presumably picked up from the Wednesday flea market that her maid hurried to visit each week, and the small center table had a shabby looking but clean checked table cover. There was a small 21” color TV, housed in a cabinet made of old dark brown wood, and the small window near the TV held a black phone on the ledge, and a cheap vase with grubby artificial red roses, framed by a curtain which vaguely matched the table cover. There were two foldable chairs on which Manjit was gesturing for her to sit. She felt sickened, not remembering when she had last seen such poverty. As her eyes darted around the room, she spied some green suitcases and heavens- was that a holdall… under the divan, alongwith a layer of dust and some accumulated hair. She smiled, not knowing what else to do, as his mother came through the door, which was graced by a curtain of dirty- mud caked sea shells- the kind she’d seen in old Rekha and Amitabh Bachchan movies, carrying a tray with two clear glasses with some white frothy lassi. Though she tried her best to refuse, she took a reluctant sip from the white liquid, glad that it was cold, and soothed her jangled nerves. She walked in a daze through the small talk his mother seemed so intent on pursuing- blissfully ignorant of the famous Kapoors of Ludhiana, for which Ritika was deeply grateful. When they had finished their lassi, and Manjit had actually licked the rim of the glass with his finger, they decided to return- and that was the last time Ritika took a good look at Manjit.

She never did recover from the incident, and had nightmares about the condition of Manjit’s house for many nights. The first thing she did the next day was to get her trainer changed- and Anupreet being the only relatively freer trainer took her on, and thus Ritika ended up with a female trainer. There was no fuss- the manager more than willing to accommodate all her requests. Manjit never questioned her- neither was he seen in the Morning Shift anymore. She did miss the little excitements the accidental brushing of body parts brought on, but her love for money was far too great.

One day, when she had taken her training in the Afternoon shift due to a shopping program in the morning, she saw Manjit while climbing down the stairs to the Massage room. He was lying on one of the incline machines, holding dumb-bells in both hands; while his fellow trainers were egging him on to lift it one more time. Ritika smiled to herself- a little contemptuous smile she reserved for lesser mortals- and snails, and walked right down for her massage- glad she had seen light in time.   (Jan 27, 2006)