I think I was seven when my aunt looked me up and down
and took me into a corner and frowned
before taking a deep breath only to exhale
the word ‘fat’
then she stared and stared and stared
waiting for a wounded respond and maybe some tears
till I replied, nonplussed, ‘I’m aware?’
You see, at 7, fat was just a word
fat was just a new adjective I had learned
‘fat’ itself didn’t weigh much in my head
it was just another firefly I strung onto a thread
and wrapped it around myself
because if I were a dictionary it would be
just another word to be read
off the skins that I had shed.
A year passed, now I was 8,
and my father sat me down and said just
‘beta, we need to discuss your weight’
and this was the first time I realised
that something, somewhere, wasn’t alright
and that realisation didn’t begin from inside
it painted on my with bold strokes
by people who had no right to do so
over the years I changed dieticians
faster than my city changed seasons
and every time someone charted what I could eat
I ran into the bathroom with a handful of sweets
the thing is that nobody realised what’s happening
as plans were made on how to shrink my body down
to reduce it to ‘acceptable’ from ‘people stare at her when she walks around town’
the gaping hole in my heart started widening
the conflicts in my head grew so much more more maddening
It became a demanding force
asking for validation in terms of carbs
and I gave in. I gave in so easily
because I was never taught of negotiations as an art-
in my world, there were only yeses and nos
only commands and directives to be followed until they tore me apart
I never had a choice in the way words were thrown with such ease
I had to stand there and feel them splatter my skin
in colours I would’ve never painted me
the words grew heavier in my head
till they draped on me like carcasses of my confidence
and as my body bloomed and ballooned
I stuffed it with more hate and more food
till I was caught in this brutal tug of war
between the cacophony in my head
and the broken silence of loneliness
so I layered my insides with more cake
thinking that if I ate enough
the fat would insulate my body
and my heart from the barbs thrown at it
But that’s not how it works, is it?
it’s never as simple as the good old avoidance shtick
so eventually, I grew tired of the pain
because it’s so difficult to nurture and sustain
so much anger and hatred against yourself
that I decided it’s time to reclaim
The word reclamation is not just the Bandra extension
it’s having to undo so many painful perceptions
it’s having to untell yourself lies you passed off as truths
it’s asking for forgiveness when the other person is still you
it’s having to undo years of being less
it’s having to learn how to love yourself
so I invited the word ‘fat’ for tea
I refused to let it barge in and instead
welcomed it gently into my body
we sat and discussed years of misunderstandings
and wondered when we went from friends to where we were standing
I asked it if we could love again
and it asked me if I had any left to give
it’s still a brand new friendship, you see
we’re still figuring out the other’s needs
but the word fat doesn’t hurt me anymore
it’s what I am, and what I have been
it’s just a new adjective I have relearned
it’s a brand new word I’m wrapping around my tongue,
I’m tired of reducing myself to ‘fat’ because
I’ve learned to be so much more than that,
so while fat is an important word
and I refuse to let it control my world.
hk
