Why We Track Calories Like Virat Kohli & Expenses Like A Forgetful Chacha
Let’s paint a familiar, horrifying picture. You’re at a café, staring at a samosa. Not just any samosa—a crispy, aloo-stuffed, imli chutney-dipped monument to deliciousness. Before your hand even makes contact, your brain fires up a complex algorithm: “200 calories… 40 minutes on the treadmill… maybe I’ll just have one bite of the crispy corner…” You log it in your health app before the first crumb hits your tongue.
Later that day, you tap your phone on a Paytm QR code. A pleasant *ka-ching* sounds. Money—an abstract, digital ghost of your hard-earned salary—vanishes into the UPI-verse. You have no idea if it was ₹50 for chai or ₹500 for that fancy “artisanal” ghee you bought on Instagram. You feel nothing. You log nothing. You move on to check your step count.
Why are we neurotic calorie accountants but blissfully oblivious financial amoebas? Let’s dive in, with both satire and uncomfortable honesty, from an Indian perspective.
Part 1: The Satirical Take – A Tale of Two Logs
Calorie Tracking: A Precision IPL Auction
Tracking food is a sacred ritual of modern Indian life. We weigh our dal and roti with the focus of a mamis comparing vegetable prices. We scan barcodes on protein shakes with the intensity of a Bhaiyaji checking a GST bill. We agonize over whether to log “1 katori sabzi” or “1.5 katori,” knowing our “Beach Body for Goa Trip” goal hangs in the balance. The apps are our gurus! They give us colour-coded charts, motivational shayaris, and the spiritual satisfaction of “closing your rings.” It’s a video game where the final boss is a box of gulab jamun from the office canteen.
Every entry is a moral statement. Logging “30 grams of roasted chana” feels virtuous. Logging “3 plates of buttery pav bhaji” at 2 a.m. feels like a confession to a sarkaari babu. We are the heroes of our own nutritional Mahabharata.
Expense Tracking: A Descent into Railway Reservation Chaos
Tracking money, however, is a grim chore, like filling out a complicated ITR form. Opening a budgeting app feels like checking your bank balance after a big wedding season—a descent into despair. The categories are judgmental (“Unnecessary Swiggy/Zomato”? How dare you!), the numbers are depressing, and the only notification you get is “Your credit card bill is due.”
There’s no instant gratification. Logging “₹750 for diesel” doesn’t give you endorphins; it gives you existential dread about petrol prices and your gaadi’s mileage. Money is abstract, confusing, and tied to tension. It refuses to be gamified in a fun way. No app has yet mastered the “Shabaash! You saved ₹2000 this month by not ordering overpriced bubble tea!” achievement.
Part 2: The Honest, Brutal Truth – The Indian Context
Beneath the satire lies a bedrock of ghar ki baat. Here’s the real chai-pe-charcha:
- Immediate Guilt vs. Delayed Tension: Eat a jalebi, feel the sugar crash and guilt within the hour. It’s direct. Spend ₹2000 on Zara? The consequence—less money for a future down payment, a nagging feeling when you see your bank statement—is delayed. Our brains, like our local trains, prefer the fast track.
- Tangible vs. “Digital Paise”: A calorie is a unit you feel in your body. A rupee has transformed from a physical note to a fleeting number on a PhonePe screen. When money is just “UPI Successful,” it’s easier to dissociate.
- “Dikhaawa” vs. Privacy: Society (and Instagram) applauds visible discipline (a “fit” body in ethnic wear). Financial health is private, often shrouded in secrecy and family tension. Discussing your new diet? Cool. Discussing your mutual fund portfolio with friends? “Arey, itna serious kyun ho raha hai?“
- The Chai-Pani vs. The Big Goal: We easily track small food items but treat small spends (“chai-pani ka kharcha“) as invisible. That daily ₹100 on auto-rickshaw? “Kya hi rakha hai.” But it adds up to ₹3000 a month—a decent SIP amount we swear we’ll start “next month.”
- Family Financial Fog: For many, money isn’t a solo game. There are dependencies, expectations, and unspoken obligations. Tracking feels futile when a chunk of your salary is pre-allocated to family needs, making personal expense tracking seem… selfish or complicated.
In essence, calorie tracking promises a better-looking you for those wedding pics. Expense tracking promises a future that feels distant and a spreadsheet that reminds you of your EMI. It’s no contest.
Part 3: A Modest, Semi-Serious Jugaad
What if we applied Indian jugaad to merge the two? Imagine a world where financial tracking borrowed tricks from our fitness obsession:
- The Financial Fitbit: “You’ve reached your daily ‘Grocery & Kirana‘ step goal! Time to rest your wallet!”
- Macro Tracking for Money: “Your ‘EMI & Bills’ macro is looking good, but your ‘Online Shopping during BBD Sale’ is bahut zyada (too much).”
- Social Taunting/Support: “Your friend Rohan just invested ₹5000 in an ELSS! Kya aap unse kam hai?” (Are you less than him?)
- Monthly Janampatri (Horoscope): A friendly, astrologer-style chart predicting your financial future based on your spending habits, with a hopeful message: “Aaj thoda bachat karo, kal accha hoga.” (Save a little today, tomorrow will be better.)
Until that beautifully relatable app exists, we must confront the truth: we track what gives us instant social currency and visible results in the duniya ki nazar (world’s view).
So, the next time you meticulously log a single makhan-less chapati while simultaneously ignoring the ₹599 auto-debit for that streaming service you haven’t used since the last season of Sacred Games, give yourself some grace.
You are not irrational. You are a modern Indian—caught between ancient wisdom (“Jaisa ann, vaisa mann“) and modern digital chaos, glorifying the visible grind (gym selfies) and hiding the financial one (bank balance screenshots). Perhaps the first step isn’t guilt, but a simple acknowledgment: our attention is the most valuable currency of all, and it’s currently subscribed to the ‘Body Over Bank Account’ plan.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go log this sprouts chaat and then completely forget about the ₹2999 I just paid for my cousin’s friend’s sister’s crowdfunding wedding gift.