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?

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 "

Chocoholics Anonymous

Just when I’d begun to think that I had a handle on this ‘Hey! You’ve lost weight!’ moment of conversation with people – both fiend and friend alike – I stop getting poked with jibes. And I say this rather wistfully.
Why? Well…
I haven’t been able to come up with a theme to write around my ‘not-so-ampleness’ since quite some time now; except of course for a snippet or two around phases where I’ve mentioned how I cannot stop gorging on food!

Hence, I conclude that I’m a lost-in-transition-skinny.

Except that there is one recurrent theme - now that I think about it *the grin of redemption*- : every time I decline chocolate!

Yeah, I hear the gasps; see the sympathetic looks and the likes.  The gods deemed it this way and I’ll come to the why in a lil bit (though most now have heard of it already)

What makes this tragedy the most farcical manoeuvre by the story writers of my life is that I (*sucks air in*) used to be (yeah, past tense) a chocoholic, a compulsive one at it. That just makes the present, imperfect (punning the grammar)!

Birthdays, festivities, celebrations, random celebrations or just plain ole’ randomness like someone returning from a holiday in the Swiss Alps (yeah, random no?) just mandates that there be chocolates on the table, in the fridge, as takeaways. Except in my tummy!

Why? Not because *ahemming and rolling eyes out* I’m on a diet!

Gah! Who goes on a diet and strikes chocolates off their list?

Who then strikes chocolates off their list, you ask? Well, someone with a medical condition so acute that self-restraint is much less painful than consumption itself. I’m going to spare you’ll the gory details of what happens if and when I do eat chocolate. Because you’re going to have to trust me when I say that I went through the excruciatingly painful procedure of monitoring my food in-take over a period of time (read: months) only to forcibly reckon myself with the ‘fact’ that all my woes and inconveniences were linked to - *heart skips a beat* - chocolates!

Yes, I gambled a little with my fate. So, though I knew I still didn’t exercise any self-restraint and the b!tc# came to bite me back (you know where).

So here I am with a condition that similar to my size has the capacity to evoke among people a similar reaction (read: eyebrows disappearing into their receding hairlines; shock, awe and pity) while I, the evolved dessertarian have moved on to explore flavours, finer tastes and eclectic delights outside of the cocoa world that leave me at an equally happy (if not happier) place.

Finally one shout-out  goes out to my bum-chums who have now taken it upon themselves to never order anything chocolate (even when it’s their own birthday or reason to call for a celebration) because of this lone ranger. There’s a heightened secret sense of camaraderie when there are 6 heads and 6 pairs of hands fighting it un-fair and square for the last crumb of dessert on the table…and happiness is a grin whipped across our faces!

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!!! 

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*

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.  

Age Miracle

As a representative of the 'Skinny Genus', I continue to exist in the world that's too darn busy making fat people thin and chiding thin people for well, being thin! 

Every once in a while I have to subject myself to this tormenting routine which some other folks seems to thoroughly enjoy: Shopping! 

UGH! Sheer torture... 

Yes, I have ranted not so long ago about  how I never seem to find 'MY' size... But I was rather pleased with my luck (more than myself) a couple of days ago when I swooshed in and out of a store with a decent find. 

Most folks resort to retail therapy to get over other things that are bothering them. I, on the other hand, walk out of a clothing store and find peace by binge shopping at a book store! It's another thing that my wardrobe's empty while by book shelf is bursting at its seams!! 

So I'm walking in and out of stores the other day and decide to catch up on a movie. This movie now is apparently certified as 'A' by the Censor Board. (P.S.: At the end of the movie, yours truly just couldn't help but fathom the 'A' certification! Anyhoo, more on that at a later point). So yeah, I'm in the line purchasing tickets for the show and just as I announce the name of the movie, I'm told that I might have to submit my proof of age. Why? Well, in her words, "because it's an adult movie!"

Seriously? 

I'm standing there, stopping myself short of balking back at her and laughing out loud in her face because she's said it in all innocence. So I had to contend myself with just reconfirming her own suggestion back with her.

Oh well, I was never asked for any proof eventually... But yeah makes me think if things continue this way I'll have one more thing I won't be in need of -- anti ageing creams! MWHAHAHA 

The angst of going shopping

I hate shopping.
I don't understand the term 'retail therapy'. Cuz contrary to popular belief i end up feeling 10 times more harrowed and agitated post shopping...

The problem? Size.

Whether i'm walking down Colaba Causeway or Hill Road and Linking Road at Bandra or swaying in and out of the comforts of the air-conditioned glitzy malls, my plight is still the same.
Stuff is always too big or way too itsy-bitsy! While 'big' makes me feel like i'm walking about in my night wear, the latter makes idea of clothes being comfortable is all too discomforting.

What i take offence most to is SIZE 'XS'! Either it's taken too literally or too figuratively. Literally speaking i end up imagining how a 'woman' is actually going to get into that piece of garment without compromising on her lungs while figuratively XS makes me wonder whether what it does really imply is 'excess'...

 These are the very times when i'm made to realise what an in-between size i really am...quite like the proverbial dhobi ka kutta

Like shopping isn't bad enough, receiving clothes as gifts is worse. It's always that i like what i've got -- it's just that it doesn't fit right!

So i go about wincing to myself every time something that quite catches my eye isn't going to find itself a spot in my wardrobe *sigh*

U ask whether i've heard about tailors and the magic of 'alterations', right? Well, i have. And i have two arguments why i don't favour them...
(i) I'd like to believe that if it fits right it feels right. More like destiny. I like the ring to it :)
(ii) Altering an outfit/piece of clothing sucks. Apart from making U feel like it's being compromised to simply accommodate U...the number of rounds i recently underwent just to get the fitting right had me at my wits end quite literally. Imagine when to my horror the garment was altered such that i had trouble getting into and then out of it!!!

 The only comfort probably lies in the fact that it's not just me. A friend once told me of the time a sales person tried convincing her to wear a skirt and pass it off as a tube top! Sheesh...

Clothes isn't all...
Shopping for foot wear is as much of a crisis situation. The reason is the opposite. Big Feet!

Hmph! What was God thinking of?