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.

Munch Ado About Something

Circa 25th Jan 2014, Saturday 'yours truly' was aboard a 20:05  Thane local from CST when at Byculla (and I refrain from the pretense of being politically correct here.. I mean, I'm a self certified self proclaimed skinny and there aren't two ways about it) haan so back to the story -- at Byculla a rather obese woman hopped in and plonked right beside me.

Needless to say she had two dozen pair of eyes on her.

And she was...well, munching on some biscuits. I looked back at the 'audience'.
Something felt vaguely familiar.

For all those times I'm the one rounding up an 'audience', I realized I'd done so because at such points in time I'd turned down the offer to well, munch!

And the 'audience' has that same distinct unwelcoming look about their eyes.

They judge her for eating since she's obese
They judge me for not eating since I'm skinny

Why though..?
You're obese so you're not supposed to get hungry?
You're skinny so you're supposed to induce hunger at all times?

The satirical twist to this is that even someone like me,  who takes a dig at her own skinny-ness and at people misconstrued-ness (all in good jest), does a happy dance of her own if someone says either of the following:
"You've gained weight"
"You eat so much"
"You're lucky you can wolf down your favorites without being bothered"
And that^^ to me reeks of something sinister -- to be uncategorized as skinny/lean/thin.. to disown an identity.. my own identity

And I see glimpses of this all around me.. same ole eternal grass is greener on the other side -- obese want to get skinny, skinny want to be anything but skin and bones; the White bask in the sun to get tanned, the un-Whites are going in for whitening creams...

May be I should go grab that midnight snack than be up mulling over these first world problems of mine!

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!

Omnomnomnom

This representative of the skinny genus has been MIA busy updating experiences from a very refreshing and inspiring holiday! 

And while part of my head still continues to feel up in the clouds, my tummy in particular has been in a nomnomnom mode for a while. 

Just to make this even more visual – *open mouth, point finger in*

So what does that translate into? 

The need to snack in-between meals.
Spending more time on Zomato than Facebook
Purchasing a cookery book with the 9 others that are fiction

I have never, NEVER snacked (or been the kind who did) between meals. I ate my portions – three times a day. And I was sorted. Now suddenly I’m far from sorted. It may not seem as such a big deal but to me it is. 

How did it come down to satiate the need to munch at 10 when you’ve breakfasted at 7, pace around impatiently around 3 when you’ve lunched and leeched other people’s lunch too at 1, then repeat exercise from 5 to about 7, grab a bite around the corner with your street food vendor friend (if you stop by every other day he becomes your friend), get home to eat dinner only to scan the kitchen moments later for a pre-midnight snack, some how sleep only to wake up in the middle of the night because you can hear your tummy rumbling…wake up in the morning for a breakfast and repeat the cycle

Phew! When, why and how exactly did this happen? 

But more than my own disbelief, it’s the extreme reactions I still continue to attract that continue to keep me entertained:

 “I doubt you’re going to be able to eat all of that!” 

to

"You’re going to eat all that AND that?” 

to

“What’s wrong with you? Hungry and eating all the time? Go check you weight!” 

to

“Hey, here please help me finish my food”

Even better is when friends call you to catch up over a binge eating fest!

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*

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!

Shoe-ed off

Phew! Inertia.

Must write next about how skinny folks like yours truly do also succumb to the vice of sloth. I mean come to think about it popular media would always draw your attention to "a big fat slob" right? (emphasis being on fat)
And yet for the longest time ever, my mother's only constant grouse against me has been my laziness.
Yes, I should cover that in my next post. (Soon! ULP!!)

Back to my world, things have been "peachy".
And as is the case with all my encounters -- skinniness comes to the fore mostly whilst shopping. Arrgh! The bane of my existence. shopping, that is. Worse still, I wasn't shopping for clothes, but shoes. YHEA. SHOES!!

So in this classic display of the highest forms of creative license being claimed to be held by the writers of the story of my life, I encounter being remarked at for my not-so-ample-frame while I go shoe shopping.

E.X.C.U.S.E. M.E.!

Story goes like this -- I'm in dire need of sports shoes. Desperately barging in and out of stores, showrooms (you name it..) to no avail. However at some forsaken moment I decide to lower the bar of my expectations and slip my not so dainty feet (as opposed to the case with clothing, shoe shopping hasn't been easy because apparently my feet are too big for a lady! Hmph!) and try out a few pairs.
There I am, strutting about the carpeted floor getting a sense of how unlike this surface really is as compared to the craters I am going to have to either dodge or walk through out there in the real world, when the sales guy suddenly happens to say: "I would not recommend this pair for you. Since you don't weigh much, you could try something from the other range of shoes we have..."
Uhm, quite honestly he lost me when he uttered the forbidden word "weight".

Next thing he knew I was on my way out.

#facepalm
Could MY life get any funnier?

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