A Break from the Noise of Food

I asked a question in 2021. It took me four years to answer it.

In October 2021 I wrote a blog post asking… is there a plan which can give me a diet and keep me happy too? I didn’t know the answer then. I found it the hard way.

In December 2020 I was 90 kilos. Constantly on some diet, doing intermittent fasting, thinking about food all the time. I had lost 5 kilos somehow and then life, work, tension intervened and those kilos came back. Late night eating, eating anything and everything, my body was bearing the brunt of all my craziness.

From 2020 to 2025 nothing really worked. Between work, home and life I couldn’t take care of myself. 90 kilos, sometimes 95, some diet, then back to 90. A hamster wheel with snacks.

Then in 2025, after my daughter’s Class 12 boards, my body literally gave up. Gallbladder pain knocked the breath out of me. I was admitted to hospital, put on an IV, nil by mouth on day one.

And that strangely was the best thing that happened to me.

A break from the noise of food.

Two weeks in hospital, eating whatever the confused dietician decided that day… renal diet, then something else, she honestly didn’t know what she was doing. But the gallbladder pain, and later the operation pain, meant food became something I had to deal with very carefully. My body couldn’t handle junk anymore. And I, a complete foodie, couldn’t handle boring tasteless food and stay 90 kilos all my life.

This was my chance.

You know the worst thing about being overweight? Forget body shaming,  we don’t even like to look at ourselves in photos or the mirror. Every time you see fat squeezing from here and there, even when you hold your breath.

I would wear the smartest clothes I could find. Do a lot of makeup. Hope I was looking pretty. Because I wanted people to like me, admire me. I was dressing for them – because I couldn’t dress for myself.

Now at 70 kilos something has shifted. I feel good about myself. And only that matters.

The house orders food from outside, you have to eat it. The house makes paranthas,  you can’t say no.

This illness gave me the chance to finally say no.

The doctor warned me  during the operation my blood pressure had shot up to 200, my gallbladder was badly swollen, it was difficult to remove. He suggested bariatric surgery. I told him I wouldn’t need it.

At home I stuck to simple homemade food while I recovered. I decided to have no rice, no roti. Not because they’re bad. Because I love them too much. I can’t stop at two rotis, I eat four. I can’t stop at a small portion of rice. So I found alternatives. Bajra roti was filling, tasty, impossible to overeat because you have to chew it properly. Red rice. Besan in every form imaginable.

Every morning I would wake up and measure my weight and check my blood sugar. I had understood one thing — if I had to lose weight, my blood sugar had to stay low. Low blood sugar meant low insulin. Low insulin meant the body would burn stored fat instead of storing more.

My blood pressure was high too. I discovered I could control it with breathing. Box breathing whenever tension struck. Sometimes I would measure my BP, find it elevated, and breathe it down deliberately. It worked more often than I expected.

I hate gyms. I also don’t like walking for the sake of walking. So I found excuses to walk instead. To the neighbourhood shop for one small thing. To get photocopies. To buy vegetables. To visit my parents in the downstairs flat. To the terrace for curry leaves. To my daughter’s coaching classes. It was winters. I love walking in winters. And after every meal, 100 steps.

The weight came down. 87. 85. 80.

Old clothes from when I was married started fitting again. That gave me more motivation than any diet chart ever did. And then something nobody warned me about, my shoe size decreased. I didn’t know weight loss could do that.

The journey from 80 to 70 was harder. Stubborn weight. But I had figured something out that changed everything  that when I was fat I was told to eat less than my hunger. Now I understood that eating the right food to my heart’s content was the key. It would prevent snacking, prevent crashing, prevent that 3pm desperation that undoes everything.

Besan became my best friend. Lentils. Eggs. Earlier our house ate eggs on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Now eggs became my dinner every night. I realized God doesn’t really mind.

My weight reached 72 kilos. But my tests told a more complicated story. My HbA1c was now normal  but my triglycerides and LDL were creeping up. And my thyroid was low. It had always been low and I had ignored it. Now I couldn’t.

I started thyroid medication. Within weeks something shifted- the afternoon exhaustion I had accepted as normal disappeared. I stopped wanting to nap after lunch. My body was finally working with me instead of against me.

Today my HbA1c is 5.3. My weight ranges between 70 and 73 kilos. My doctor is amazed.

And a normal day of eating looks like this — besan cheela or cutlets with hung curd chutney in the morning, then a piece of chocolate. Bajra or jowar roti with vegetables and dal for lunch, followed by homemade kulfi ice cream. Sometimes chai in the evening. A paneer and vegetable omelette at night. I make ragi chocolate cake, almond flour cupcakes, homemade kulfi and chocobars. When eating out — fresh idli or dhokla.

That is not a diet. That is a life.

When I am hungry for no reason, or anxious, or tense, then I munch on kheera. It sounds too simple. It works.

Protein and patience are the stars of the show. Vegetables and kheera are your best friends.

In 2021 I was searching for a diet that could be healthy, tasty and keep me fit.

In 2026 I am eating that diet every day.

If you are sitting at 90 kilos right now, exhausted, having tried everything, reading this at 2am — I was you. I found the answer. And I can help you find yours.

Message me on WhatsApp to start your journey