Have you ever been tempted by the VLCC’s “before” and “after” photos? Or by Sugar Free’s promise that you will acquire a Bipasha-like figure if you stopped eating natural sugars and started loading your system with aspartame? Have you ever wondered having a healthy appetite or being larger than normal is considered bad? If you identify with any of the above, or have even felt bad for a second ever in your life, you are not alone. You probably belong to the vast majority of middle-class Indian women who do not fulfill the traditional criteria for beauty. Me too!

It has taken me very long to get the feeling of guilt and even inferiority out of my system. Even today, I sometimes wish I were shorter and slimmer. I know who I am and what I deserve. But, I am still intimidated by seemingly perfect women with petite and perfect figures. I do not show it. I ignore, or even pretend all is well, but there are times I cannot shake off this feeling of imperfectness and inferiority. There are times when I truly wish I had a different body. While I am happy to be me in the overall scheme of things, beauty and brain inclusive, I do feel threatened by the constant harping on acquiring a better (read slimmer) figure, losing 20 pounds in one month and generally tending to Size Zero. The latest trend of writing books on weight loss that everyone talks of (like Women and the Weight Loss Tamasha) really don’t help my cause.

Frankly, it upsets me when people offer unsolicited advice about how to lose weight and how to watch the food I eat. In such instances, people generally approach on a rather apologetic note saying, “You are fine as you are. For your height, your weight is ok. But you would be truly gorgeous if you managed to reduce your waistline by one size.” To such people, I usually say I don’t care. But unfortunately, I do. I care about how I look. I care about being called fat. I have fought all my life against this perception of being “fatty” and it rankles to be called fat or plump even today.

Beyond these personal issues of body image, there is a larger issue at hand. There can be no argument that being obese is unhealthy. But the trend of perfectly normal women obsessing with exercise and weight loss and diet is disturbing. If I must be perfectly honest with myself, I love food. And most of the time, I really don’t care how many calories I am consuming. Like everyone else, I like some foods better than others. And I very rarely say no to food that I like simply because it is fattening. I enjoy my chocolates and ice-creams as much as any other woman, sans the guilt.

I suppose we have come a long way from the time heroines needed to be buxom and well-endowed to be successful. Today, size zero is hip. Is this really here to stay? I sure hope not! I don’t think I can take too many more years of listening to size zero bullshit!

There is something about life that makes it so interesting. What seems inescapable and irresistible on day, suddenly becomes dispensable the next. At the very least, we learn to accept that it is no longer a part of our lives and move on. But sometimes, the memories linger. Sometimes these memories are delightful, pleasing and reassuring. At other times, they are bittersweet, hurtful and depressing. How convenient it would be that God, who has given us all the power to forget, also gave us the power to choose what we want to forget. Alas, this is not the case. We can hardly decide what we want to remember and what we don’t. If only that were possible…

Over the last week, I have been overrun by memories…some good, some bad and some entirely forgettable. Maybe the problem is that I have had entirely too much time on my hands. With S in not-so-far-away Colombo, I find my evenings to be interminable. I can’t fall asleep before midnight, being compulsively nocturnal, and this gives me too much time to think. To think of things I should not be thinking of. Like the time, all those years ago, when the only thing that mattered was the next mid-semester long test. Like the time when Nandini would scream on top of her lungs, one foot inside the classroom and one foot outside, “May I come in Ma’am?” At the memory, I can’t seem to stop my tears. It’s been four long years since I realized I would never hear that voice again. At this point, I wish things could be different. I wish she wasn’t on that fated vehicle that day. I wish she could be here with me doing my wedding shopping, helping me choose my saris and my clothes. I wish…

Memories can also be delightful. They give you the power to move on with life. They help you stay positive during the worst times of your life. My memories of college, of Paris, of the time spent on long drives with S just a few weeks ago…they all make me believe that life is good. That you never actually face more problems that you can handle. I almost cannot believe I can be so happy. When I think of life after marriage, I know it will be good. Despite the jitters, the nervousness and the deep-seated fears of the unknown, there is a hope. No…scratch that. Hope implies a certain measure of doubt. I do not hope. I believe that all will be well. It has to.

To take my mind off memories and fears, I went back to what I know best. Reading. On an impulse, I went and bought 4 books from Odyssey on Friday night. The thought of spending a weekend with nothing to do was too much to handle. Looks like I chose right. Halfway through my first book I realized that this is precisely what kept me sane all these years. This, and writing. So, here I am. Back doing what I love most. Reading book after book. And writing about love, life and everything else!