A foodie she is. A foodie she is not.

I don’t consider myself a foodie.

It’s a statement that I iterate in the same breath as when I say, “I am not intelligent”.

Somehow ‘not being intelligent’ does not get interpreted as ‘I am stupid’ (thankfully).

Because what it does convey is that while my intelligence quotient (IQ) isn’t quote-worthy, I am nevertheless an able-functioning-being who can hold a conversation, participate in discussions and also watch out for herself (and others) thereby still contributing to society in whatever manner deemed required.

And now back to me not being a foodie - it further also has this subtext: I for all seemingly fathomable reasons (i.e., not being so ample) do not even look like a foodie!

Therefore, this has been (and still continues to get) interpreted as ‘I don’t enjoy food’.

The above logic of ‘intelligent versus stupid’ out rightly defied (even though applied to the same specimen i.e., me) because well, I’m skinny!

That I can be (and am) excitable about certain foods during all stages –

(i)                  the build-up (i.e. planning/waiting for the food),

(ii)                the devour (self-explanatory) and,

(iii)               the story-tell (i.e. reliving the foodgasmic experience)

– seems to astound many.

“Look at you”, they say, “…I’ve never heard you sound this descriptive and ecstatic about food. Not even when you’re describing your travels”

“See her grinning so wide; so happy…”

Hmm... whaaaa?

Yeah I am capable of being excitable about all things food.

Even though I may still never know all the cuisines or the best places to eat them at or manage the wide range of cutlery for that matter (when I’m ravenous, I pig with my hands). Because in spite of what my physicality seems to suggest, if it’s food that’s well-prepared (and I’m biased towards larger portions) it doesn’t matter; even if it’s street food (another one of my biases incidentally).

Nor does it matter whether its food that is super-healthy. Does it have protein, carb, fat etcetera in proportion to my requirement? Let’s just say I don’t judge every morsel I eat (which shouldn’t be confused with ‘living to eat’ either).

And that I’ve been ‘complimented’ on some recent weight gain might just happen to be a consequence of a slower metabolism rate and a very very sedentary lifestyle!

The Skinny Curvy Conundrum

When Not-At-All-Ample is friends with Not-At-All-Skinny, the world seems like a funny place; albeit only through the rear view mirror. How so? Let me take you through it.

To the one who is Not-At-All-Ample they say:

“Have some more. Don’t be shy. You’re thin. You can afford to eat as much as you please.”

And to the one who is Not-At-All-Skinny they say:

 “See. Look at her! She’d asked for just one roti but I gave her two. And she ate just one. But you? You’d have eaten both....”

Do you see something wrong with those statements?

If you see nothing wrong with either of those statements or you see something wrong with just one of the above statements, then you my friend are someone this post in particular (and this blog in general) are dedicated to.

If you see something wrong with both those statements, then you’re the kind we need more of.

Somehow it became acceptable to call someone fat or thin.

Until, very recently, when the ‘real-girls/women-have-curves’ movement took over and it became fashionable to single out the not so curvy ones! It was (and still is) considered downright rude and insensitive to make fat-girl jokes. 

What happened to the curvy boys and men no one knows. No wait, it’s a beer belly hence it’s fashionable to have one, I guess.

So then it was deemed (presumably) that you, Skinny girl, shall be the focal point of all things size. And focal point literally translates into:

Sympathy (Oh! You poor thing. Mustn’t you put on some weight?),

Condescension (You’re such a weakling),

Envy (I wish I could be as thin as you),

Mockery (Do you pick your stuff from the kids’ section?)

“Hey skinny” you say and quickly cover up saying you meant that in good jest. Yeah. The world is a funny place. Funny, only if you’ve resolved to not let all things this provoke you.

What baffles me is how it doesn’t matter what role genetics or sometimes just good old metabolism had to play. 

And as ironic as it may seem, in the grand scheme of things it matters little who says it. Between you and me, we’ve heard and seen equal number of people along the ‘Ample to Not So Ample’ continuum who’d come to mind right now for having made such remarks.  

Is there a threshold, then, or a safe spot where how much (or little) you weigh is accepted?

I, Skinny, have spoken

I’d started writing this blog as a sign of finally having found the nerve to respond to that one characteristic that had seemed to cloud everything I was – weight! (Or to be more precise, the lack thereof). This meant that until April 2009 I had no outlet to either talk about the things I’d gotten used to people saying (albeit forcibly) or air my views (albeit humorously).

This also translated into something else. For close to 20-odd years, I was made to believe that something was wrong with my physicality. That it was not good enough. And that I was less because of it. It had wreaked havoc with my self-esteem. And I at this point will let you in on one more piece of information: I was oblivious to the damages caused.

Only because no one said it’s nobody’s fault if they’re thin.

Only because no one said it’s alright if you’re thin (well, because you need that permission. Or so it seemed).

It’s taken me a while to understand the quirk of fate behind this line - “Sticks and stones will break my bones; but words will never harm me” – because while the “words” tore me down one jibe at a time, it’s the “bones” that’ve proved how un-frail I really was. The tongue doesn’t have a bone, you see! And I also had to find my tongue her voice – a constructive (not destructive one).

No, this isn’t the point where it’s time for -- Cue. Insert “…and they all lived happily ever after”.

Tragically for the rest of the world (and hardly at all for me), I still continue to be thin. So I have yet to hear the last word on the “you’re so thin”, “you must eat some more” and “why don’t you try gaining some weight” conversation starters of the world that make the “let’s talk about the weather” seem like a preferred option.

…just as I am hoping to someday know what it feels to be envied for a ‘Size Zero’ figure! And at the risk of sounding out rightly shallow, I’ll add that hell yeah, I deserve every right to live through that emotion. I’m after all naturally endowed when it comes to this.

But no, thanks.

A couple of weeks ago I derived inspiration for this post when I read this:

“…I worry for the girls out there who are like I was -- who are suffering from the same self-esteem issues that most teenagers do, and are being told they are ugly not only by their teasing peers, but by adults around them who are crusading for change…”

This is an excerpt from a Huffington Post article titled, “Stop Making the Thin Girl Ugly”

However though it provoked me to think about the baggage I’d been lugging around courtesy my own body structure, it also triggered a string of other thoughts.

“Being thin” is okay (read: un-ugly) when a person has “lost” weight because it is viewed as an achievement/triumph. All hail diet regimes. Ugh! The farce

“Being thin” is okay (read: can be lambasted in the mainstream media) when it’s the fashion industry because they are the perpetrators of a faulty sense of body-image.

Interestingly enough, “being un-thin” (AKA fat/overweight) is also friggin’ okay because the above two arguments have guaranteed there are enough supporters championing for the cause of the un-thin; whether in hushed tones, despair stricken eyes or as diet-regime over-throwers.

It’s the thin girl like me who still stands in the corner somewhere likened to, as pathetic it may sound, a stick meant for dogs.

It’s the thin girl like me who because she is ‘Not So Ample’ has to deal with every body part being sized-up and scruntized as if she was on display in the ‘Hall of Approval’.

Without the blink of an eye.  

But it’s the thin girl like me who owes no allegiance whatsoever to the diet-regimes or the fashion industry who deserves to be respected. At the very least. And may be sometimes be told that she’s alright just the way she is.

On strength and being strong

I have since a while now fancied myself getting a tattoo and I realize that more than the thought of the tattoo itself, the thrill is around what this tattoo should be – should it be a wise line in an ancient language in its own script or should it be a cryptic symbol that represents an aspect of my personality? As I keep dilly-dallying, I remember once having come across a symbol for ‘Strength’ in the Chinese script.

Strength.

Besides it seeming to be a rather simple image to have etched on my skin (read: lesser pain), I think I have been fascinated by the word itself.

Strength. Being strong.

If you’ve been following this blog on being ‘Not So Ample’ you will realize that I’ve brought up the innumerable references to my skinny frame by everyone I’ve known and met and how that has immediately demoted me to a frail, lesser being almost – only because I haven’t ever been ampler, larger, bigger.

Size.

Weird, misplaced fixations.

And all the while – all throughout childhood, early adulthood till this point - I’ve rather consciously tried to search for something else to centre my notion of strength around. I guess that’s where my fixation with the word and everything it means might actually stem from!

To my mind there had to be more to strength than just the physical aspect. Don’t get me wrong – biceps, abs, 4 and 6 packs, triceps, calves et al are impressive and sexy! I had my own stint at the gym a couple of years ago and loved the shape I got into. I agree that being in shape does wonders to your sense of self-esteem for sure because for a while thereafter I couldn’t care anymore about people making any remarks about my skinny frame well because skinny had some shape and could also flex a muscle or two!

Now of course lethargy and laziness have completely taken over and despite that niggling voice in my head to get back to training I seem to be an absolute disappointment. Nothing. Nothing seems to get me to get back to some discipline – not even the thought that I can have those flat abs once again! *sigh*

Being a woman – yeah, I’m bringing in a gender perspective – physical strength isn’t quite expected out of you. I mean that. Even during that short stint at training at the gym, I once had a middle aged woman (aka the local neighbourhood aunty) express disdain at me flexing that lone single muscle. 

“As a girl, you shouldn’t be muscular”, she said to my face. Like I said, I had already surrendered to the I-couldn’t-care-less mantra.

And yes there is a blind eye approach to the biology of a woman that actually proves the physical strength of women – think child birth if nothing else and you have to ask yourself why women are referred to the weaker sex. Answers anyone?

Still moving to another realm is that of emotional strength.

Softer aspect. I know. I hear the sniggers. Can it even be considered as strength?

I had come across this line a while ago and it appealed to me: "Strength is nothing more than how well you hide the pain"

Well, what else would you attribute society’s outlook that men aren’t supposed to cry to? Or lately a statement like ‘big girls don’t cry’? Or that ‘strong is the new beautiful’? 

For the longest time I have upheld these myself. Not only did I think and believe but also imbibed these through my own disposition and actions.

Being strong was a good thing.

And I had to prove that I was strong.

I pushed my own limits. I couldn’t think of looking back.

And I didn’t.

For quite a long time.

Somewhere I was also beginning to realize that being strong almost necessitated that one is emotionally void and therefore capable of demonstrating strength!

Really?

So is every notion of strength – physical, biological, emotional, spiritual (for those who believe in an external being) –  actually quite skewed, then?

Not quite. Not if you acknowledge and accept that the above is a uni-dimensional force-fitted view towards whatever it is that we think comprises of strength.

And this is what I set out to discover by myself.

What did I find?

I’ll share that in my next post… But I’m curious to know what your experiences have been around “being strong” – What according to you is strength? 

What roadblocks did you overcome (if any)? 

How has your own mind-set changed if at all?

Oh! And should I really get that tattoo now?

Karmic Retribution

The film, ‘Gangs of Wasseypur’ is my personal favourite because of its in-your-face, gritty, raw appeal that I found very endearing. I’ve watched this three hour movie twice only because I had to miss the final 45 minutes of the film the first time around. But no one who has loved the movie will ever forget the scene in Part I that led to the infamously famous dialogue, “तुमसे ना हो पाएगा…” - the panache with which those lines were delivered was simply terrific!

There was a certain definiteness to it which is in complete contrast to the inquisitorial  " क्या तुमसे हो पाएगा ? " that i'm afflicted by when my capabilities are under dubious scrutiny (courtesy my skinniness).

Allow me to elaborate with live examples:

Me: “Let me help you with those boxes.”

Them: " क्या तुमसे हो पाएगा ? "

Me: “Could I give you hand with your bags?”

Them: " क्या तुमसे हो पाएगा ? "

Me: *lugs her own bags on the shoulders*

Them: " क्या तुमसे हो पाएगा ? "

Me: “Okay, the starters aren’t enough. We should call the waiter for our order. I need more food.”

Them: " क्या तुमसे हो पाएगा ? "

Me: *when finally the main course is out of the way* “I want dessert.”

Them: " क्या तुमसे हो पाएगा ? "

Me: *when I decide to pick whiskey over beer*

Them: " क्या तुमसे हो पाएगा ? "

Me: *when I’m pumped and revved up about an outdoor activity. Think: running, cycling, trekking, rafting*

Them: " क्या तुमसे हो पाएगा ? "

It has begun to humour me that people go about casting those aspersions at me only because of my apparent not-so-ampleness for I’m the sort who goes by: ‘Seeing is believing’. And rather ironically on many an instance like those highlighted above for every single time they were flagged (whether under the guise of concern or for the purpose of ridicule), I’ve been able to k!ck a$$ real bad.

And for the purposes of my entertainment perhaps, I’ve been a witness to circumstances where someone either couldn’t manage their bags/luggage or had way too much leftover food or got too tipsy after their first pint of beer or gave up on their outdoor activity mid-way because they couldn’t keep at it… All while I’m silently smirking with a thought bubble over my head, “ तुमसे ना हो पाया।  रहेनेदे "

Weigh-ry funny...NOT!

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­“This joke is on you missy”, that seems to be the message the story writers of my life seem to be keen on directing towards me off late!

Know how I’ve been swooning over the moon about my recent achievement (read: gain in weight)? Know of how elated I’ve been because there’s been a significant needle movement on the scale (the last time I checked)?

Then you definitely know how much this meant to me – you’ve read the testimonies of grief I’ve been subjected to because of my not-so-ampleness!

And right there in the middle of this joy being celebrated over more cheesecakes is what I’d like to classify as a paranormal activity.

Sale season is here. Or at least was around until at least a week ago. And I’d been somehow lured into walking into a store to check some stuff out. Checking ‘em out led me to actually finding a pair of pants that caught my eyes and hence I decided to give it a try. In my new Zen state of awareness I pick up a size that’s larger than what I’d otherwise fit into.

Lo and behold! Pant won’t fit. I walk out with a grin decide not to bother any further. It’s established. I need to start looking away from familiar racks to those that stack a bigger size.

Now here’s where the cosmic joke kicks in -- two days ago, I was raiding my own wardrobe and found myself a pair of pants. Slipped in and realized I’d need a belt. Not to accessorize, but to hold ‘em in place. A quick check-in on the size and guess what? This pair of pant is a size smaller than the one I didn’t quite manage my way through only a couple of days ago.

W.T.F.!

 So this continues… some of things I own restrict my movement because I’m suddenly rendered too big to be in them anymore and some others, well, still need the alterings, the belts, the whatnots…

I’m convinced – the joke is on me!

And as if this wasn’t strange enough, over a seemingly generic conversation the topic veered towards weight issues. To which my parents unanimously chimed in, “Don’t worry about your weight. Be grateful that unlike others you don’t have to tone/slim down!”

What? 

No more bashing me on how little I eat. Good riddance. Being a personified rodent in the house nibbling into almost everything is proving to be a boon.

So what if I’m not the last one laughing? I’m the happy one eating to my heart’s content!!! 

Not So Skinny...Say Whaaaa?

“You’re looking much better”

When conversations start like that^^ -- I find myself at a loss of words. Though, of course, my face tells a different story -- my cheeks (yes, godammit I finally have cheeks) start swelling, my pupils dilate and my grin, just terrific!

So recently when a very good friend of my mine said to my face, “You’ve put on weight!”, I grinned and repeated that statement I’d been bestowed upon by someone else – “You’re looking much better” – and she (my friend, i.e.) was mortified.

It’s not funny how our society has branded ‘weight’ as a taboo – not to be spoken about, never to be referred to in a positive manner.

I, on the other hand (as is obvious already), could not care less or take offence to a statement like the one above.

My pet peeve (and courtesy my blog I have started to learn isn’t just mine alone) is that people make such a fuss about thin, skinny YET otherwise normal and healthy people (like yours truly)!

But I think those days are far behind. And it’s for real. I haven’t stood on the scales (it jinxes it for me) but everyone I’ve been meeting has made a remark about how I’m no longer reed stick thin!

I’ll attribute it to a relatively easy paced way of life I’m currently living (in contrast to the mad one for the past few years where I’d been juggling a dozen of things, multitasking and basically sacrificing food and sleep). Now however The Good Life comprises of being in the nomnomnomnom mode, be it cheesecakes, ghee dripping dal khichadi or good old beer!

I was even asked you say so much on your blog about how thin you are, but you’re no longer that skinny. That!

And that’s the one piece I’m worried about though – this blog of mine is linked with my identity, my identity at being skinny.

No skinny me would leave me to blog about what?

P.S.: The opposite of skinny isn't fat. #JustSayin

WANT: S.P.A.C.E.

It’s ironic how we live in a country where politeness, general niceties and simple manners are not only just taken for granted but more often than not even chucked straight out of the window! It seldom baffles us when someone tries to push their way through (literally and figuratively) and even makes it through. Our reaction, "Hmph! Yet another 'Tu mere baap ko nahi jaanta hai' lout."

Well to each their own.

Live and let live.

Let live!
Even if that person next to you is reed stick thin!

So when you see (it’s not that difficult) and hear this aforementioned caricaturish creature next to you or around you in semi claustrophobic spaces (read: railway stations, for instance), please hear them out and budge a bit.

They definitely don't have a beer belly nor hips the size of a Martian spaceship...perhaps their demeanour ain't half or even quarter as terrifying or intimidating -- but that doesn't imply or give you the gawd damned right to stay un-budged!

I've been there.

Urging for a lil more than a strip of space especially because there is that extra space.

This gross misunderstanding that skinny folks can wriggle their way out is a misnomer. We could be lugging a backpack three times our size and that's nobody's business. 

There's space. You simply make way.

If there's place to sit, you shift completely - not only how much you estimate the skinny folk to occupy. 

Some of us might be accommodating personalities.

But our physicality needs breathing and moving space. Refrain from cramming us like poultry on their way to the slaughterhouse.

Because when push comes to shove we can do that mighty well - given that our elbows have no fat caps to soften those blows.

After all ain't it the size of the fight in the dog that counts? Phir matth kehna 'Dhakka kyun maara" *grin*

That glorious moment...

I've had one too many. So many that quite a lot of them have made it to this blog!

It's time to add another...
Among the very many female eccentricities I remotely bear any affinities to, comes shopping. Yeah. I absolutely loathe it and would be happier without it but end up crappier with it!

What makes it an even bigger challenge is that I choose to embark on it as an annual activity such as 24 hours prior to Christmas. For the rest of the year I couldn't care less. Or at least that's what I hear myself say!

Christmas or no Christmas, however, besides just finding the right outfit, finding the exact desirable size of the said object is the biggest challenge of all. And I don't like altering my clothes – hence the complexities.

Another thing about shopping and clothes particularly is the size..of which XS is a misnomer! 

There are a few of these brands adorning mannequins (of which no more shall be said) that give everyone the impression that size zero or whatever it's called these days is the place to be. Allow me to enlighten you: XS reads eXcesS. Gettit?

So...you can imagine the delight when what was a mere hunch for the past few weeks got confirmed over this weekend.. that being ‘yours truly’, the sole rep of the skinny genus in all her not-so-ampleness has gained a few grams!!!

Pants need no belts to hang in there, t-shirts that fit right as does everything else. 

The cherry on the icing? For some brands that had been kind enough to allow their XS to read as eXtra Small, I find I have to force fit myself in to them now. Those random stray kurtas I had to get altered, I now fight arm and elbow to wriggle in and out of!

I now know what an achievement means, I guess!

Damsel in distress...NOT!

We grow up being taught that there's strength in numbers. Size is one such number.

And in a very perverse sense, being identified and singled out as skinny puts me in a somewhat disadvantaged position more often than not. Why? Because being skinny has been reduced to being synonymous with being weak.

Now I'm not volunteering to prove my strength by challenging anyone to arm-wrestling or lifting weights. And I’m not saying I haven't done either before.

All I'm trying to say is that there's a distorted world view about what's really strength. Even physical strength. Emotional and/or spiritual and GawdKnowsWhatElse is a different battleground all together!

I believe that physical strength alludes to Immunity.

One of my most favourite anecdotes is when I'd been to a doc a couple of years back and his reaction was: “Long time no see”. 'Nuff said, I believe!

Seemingly healthy bodies are seen sniffling, coughing, etc when not popping pills, going through the rounds of tests and hospital visits. It's scary. Their size would seem to suggest that they're doing everything right. Apparently not.

And then there's Fitness. Let alone trekking, even a little brisk walking and/or taking the stairs has had so many break into a sweat gasping for breath. And these are the very same souls who do this very classy thing of burning their calories 'running the treadmill'.

My point? Just because someone is skinny does not mean that they can't lift a few things from place A and put them in place B. When people tell me, 'Don't take all of it. Just carry this one bag/box’, my thought bubble goes: “Seriously, save your condescending attitude for another dude or damsel in distress”. What makes it even more disgusting is when some people throw in the gender card: “But you're a girl/woman”. “Has no one else come with you?”” You'll be able to manage?”
Pardon me for being appalled but they're five friggin' cartons. Why'd you need an army to transport just that much?

P.S.: To appease those patronizing souls, I volunteer to give up carrying cartons and the likes if it means that I don't have to work. I didn't say I wasn't a sloth. Ability is very different from Desire.

We all know who the joke is on. And who is having the last laugh.  

The Good. Not The Bad Or The Ugly

Being skinny aint been all that bad. In fact there are countless experiences where I didn't have to retort or hang my head in shame because of my not-so-ampleness

Just for the records, I am in my early 20s. 

Yeah, so getting on with those thank-god-I’m-stickly-thin moments.

So here I am walking into a lift or walking down the road or just bumping into acquaintances, people my folks know, people I haven’t seen in a really long time (or maybe it should read as people who haven’t seen me in a really long time!)

Well...we meet. We greet. Surprisingly enough these people are warm. Hardly ever has anyone of these sub species made a caustic remark about physical frame (one more reason to like -- no wait, love these people)

So they ask me how I am (see, I said they were nice)...about my folks... 

And then quite innocently I get asked which "standard" I am studying in ("standard" got replaced by "which year" about 24 months ago). 

It's during those moments that I cannot help blushing. But I have to suppress that stupid grin (These are nice people, remember?) And I have to then sound all modest and propah minus any tone that would strangely enough make it seem like I have been slighted. 'Cuz I haven’t. 

That's where I begin to tell them what exactly I am doing. More specifically how "standard" isn't quite where I’d fit.

And as far as "which year" goes, no sooner do they mathematically calculate my age, I realize that i can now no longer stop beaming...

Identity crisis

Nicknaming people is a real good fun activity. What makes it so is that it's something so much more personalized than one's own name. It's something that comes from people knowing each other at a much more open and intimate level.. and that all of it is meant to be in good jest makes it all the more special...

Nicknames are easiest when it's the shortened version of the persons real name...
But quite often nicknames come about from people's physicality...
So if someone is short, they are conveniently called chottu...but more often dhed phoot, dhaii phoot, tingu
And if you are tall, then lambu, khamba...
One isn't spared for having to wear spectacles. The words battery, dapphnya follow you wherever you go. I still remember the chant of "double battery single power, haath mein roti muh mein chawal". *sigh*
If you are a size larger than the rest...the list tends to be endless...
Ditto when you are a size THINNER...
Most of this stuff happened while at school.

However i have had one such in-my-face experience too. Not so long ago i'd been for a college trip to Sikkim and towards the end we'd all exchanged telephone numbers and email ids [This is the pre-Orkut and pre-FB era]. So once we were back to where we belonged -- and given that college was still a long time away from re-opening, we'd gotten into the mode of emailing one another, exchanging photos and the likes.

Likewise, i followed suit.
One fine day i sat down to check my mail and went through some of the replies i'd received. One such mail has left a lasting impression on me... What had happened was that since we'd been a group of 80 odd people from different streams and batches we weren't quite acquainted with one another even after those 10 days. If we'd remembered a face, we'd forgotten the name and vice-versa.
Given this background, i still continue to be amused by what one of them had to say -- or rather, ask by way of replying to my mail...and i quote:
"Are you the fat one or the stick with specs?"