“One day, you will explode!” my cousin said nonchalantly as she plonked a third serving of her famous chocolate biscuit pudding on my crowded plate. Her observation was impeccably timed to coincide with that exact, horrifying moment everyone else in the room chose to fall quiet. “Boom!” my other cousins screamed in unison, as if on cue. Everyone laughed. I laughed harder: it helped fight the almost uncontrollable urge to punch her in the face and ignore that thorny lump in my throat.
That’s how I have spent a good part of my life – riding on an ever-swelling tide of obloquy, oscillating between ‘constipated-with-fury’ and ‘queasy-with-self-loathing’ and finally taking refuge in self-deprecating humour (works like magic) and tall glasses of chocolate fudge sundaes, or multiple helpings of gooey chocolate biscuit pudding.
Wanted: Thick skin
{{/usCountry}}Wanted: Thick skin
{{/usCountry}}The thing is, I am fat. No. Actually, I am obese, which is the same as being grotesque, if not outright ‘criminal’.
I have struggled with weight for as long as I can remember, which means that I have been ridiculed by absolute strangers – be it in airport lounges and in grocery stores, on crowded streets or in posh restaurants; labelled lazy and unambitious, reprimanded by my family and friends, tirelessly counselled by ‘well-meaning’ uncles and aunties –“hot water with a squeeze of lime, on an empty stomach”; “No, curry leaves and rock salt pounded together,” – and asked pathetic questions about my sexual prowess by candid (and prurient, perhaps) acquaintances.
Once, a close friend called me in the middle of the night, excited. “Did you know there is something called fat fetishism? It seems like there are these ‘pervs’ who are turned on by really fat females. See, you have a chance still,” she said, and hung up almost immediately. I hurled a few curses at the blue walls of my bedroom, wished she would rot in hell, and cried myself to sleep. Next day, we met for lunch and got drunk in the middle of the afternoon. A burgeoning waistline warrants proportionately thick skin.
Mind your own business
Through my third drink, I mulled over how, in the words of Frank Bruni, “In some perfect world where human nature is less messy and history less fraught, any and all people who had ever suffered discrimination would find common cause, gathering together under one big anti-bigotry banner.” But that was not to be yet.
In addition to preposterously low levels of self-esteem, there was the Ugly Duckling Syndrome (talk about flawed fairy tales). I would either tell myself that I was at least a good human being, on the ‘inside’, or I would imagine, in vivid details, dramatic makeovers, quite like Patty’s in Insatiable (2018). I wanted to go away, so I could return ‘metamorphosed’. The opportunity came when I got accepted in a university abroad. I was determined to pop eyes when I returned.
Alas, during my year abroad I didn’t lose weight, not significantly anyway, unlike Patty in Insatiable. Instead, I discovered plus-size fashion (this was a decade ago). For my big homecoming, months later, I picked a pair of roll-up cropped jeans, my first adult pair, and a gorgeous red cape top with a sequined hemline. However, the spunk in my stride, in all probability, came from the black and beige lace balconette that had replaced my boring T-shirt bra. I had picked it up from my favourite store on Oxford Street.
The victory, however, was short-lived. The moment I stepped out of the gates of the airport, I knew it was a mistake. Talk about killjoys! However, this wasn’t the first time my happy-moment was trampled by strangers who chose not to mind their own business. It wasn’t the last.
You are who you are
Over the next decade, I got new degrees, made new friends, lost some, bagged new jobs, quit boring jobs, fell in love, fell out of love, fell in love again, had sex, switched careers, travelled the world, got married, lost weight, put double the weight back on, suffered from crippling despair and celebrated life with abandon. Basically, life happened. It wasn’t easy, what with my weight out of control, hormones running wild and aches and pains taking over. It was an act of will. And in the middle of it all, I came to realise that, “after all I can have it all!” What I didn’t need was validation.
However, while I may scream ‘fat is fabulous’, and ask “Fat, so what?” and tell you how the size of my buttock is none of your business, the obverse is slightly tricky. I cannot argue in favour of obesity. What is important though, is that it is seen for what it is and dealt with. Lose weight if you must, but for the right reasons. Let no one tell you who you are. And while you are at it, let life unfold. No, it isn’t easy. It is an act of will. So, will it.
Priyadarshini Chatterjee, is a freelance journalist and a food writer. She contributes to publications like Mint, Condé Nast Traveller India, Lonely Planet India and Scroll. A globetrotter, when she’s not writing and travelling, she’s busy concocting a dish or two in her kitchen
Read: The fashion edit: Six plus-sized fashion bloggers show how style is for all!
From HT Brunch, March 24, 2019
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