As early as I can remember, I've always had a "sweet tooth". As a result, from my teenage years to adulthood, my weight has often been like a "yo-yo".
The earliest memory I have of my craving for sweets was when I was about five years old.
We lived in a small flat in Mumbai. In the kitchen, on the floor below the shelves, there was a big tank plugged into the wall outlet. Every morning, my mother filled it with cold water and then switched it on to make it hot for our daily baths.
My mother did not stash any sweets in the house. Sometimes, we would go out for ice cream or she would make Indian sweets for special occasions. That was it.
The only substitute I could eat was sugar. The sugar tin was placed on the top of the shelf, probably strategically placed, out of my reach.
One morning, as usual, my mother filled the tank but forgot to close the top with the lid. She left the kitchen to do something in the bedroom.
A while later, I craved for some sweet. I craned my neck at the sugar tin that seemed so far away. Looking around to ensure my mother wasn't walking in, I steathily took a stool, climbed on it, and tried to reach for the tin.
Elated, my hand almost reached the tin. Suddenly, I lost my balance and my left arm splashed into the tank of water, which was now boiling. My arm looked like a huge smallpox full of big bumps. The doctor put a cast on my arm for several weeks.
My mother said I was a good sport; never cried, not even once. She hoped it was a lesson for me to learn.
To this day, I still have a ring of scar on my left arm.