A marginal difference, you would say?
Her mother’s gleaming eyes and proud face never slips put of her mind every time she hears about the fact that she was born a healthy child of 3.5 kilograms. She looked “fair like cotton” and had “a touch of her perfection” to her features. She wasn’t the typical cry baby. She was the family’s delight and a joy to have around. She wasn’t ever the sort to get into troubles or create any for her parents. Naturally her parents were always in awe of her, complaining only about little things that every child needs to learn.
She grew up, acing at her academics and making her parents prouder. Eventually, she realised that while everything else was good in her little paradise, she was growing a bit too big to fit even through the doors of her castle. Her mother, drenched in the admiration of a daughter who couldn’t ever go wrong, chose to call that a healthy lifestyle rather than a fat body. When her old clothes stopped fitting her and when she had to shift to the section of XLs and XXLs, it struck her that she was shifting from chubby and plump to overweight and obese. Though she had to admit that she couldn’t have reached that realisation all by herself. Friends, relatives, acquaintances and strangers all gathered to ensure that she knew that that pair of skinny jeans doesn’t really flaunt her figure; that those sleeveless tops do not have any business in her cupboard now; that all her legs do, is degrade the beauty of that black dress and that her hips serve well to flaw the perfection of that exquisite sari. They did their best to convey the message and she observed that they were so keen on it, that the insistence went on even after she was clear with the fact that she was now, a fat girl. So the realisation finally dawned upon her that those were comments, not concern; taunts, not messages. Her parents’ assertion that none of those words were worth paying heed to, kept her inside her shell for longer than what would have been. But there did come a time when she stepped out to see that she was not being appreciated for ‘the way she was’. Her loveliness seemed to have flown away, her charm clearly beginning to fail. Her self esteem went down as her appeal broke down to shatters.
She fell back on a sudden attentive awareness. She started adhering to the ‘look good – feel good’ policy and growing overtly conscious of herself. She brushed her hair for no reason at all. She would change her clothes five times a day. She revamped her wardrobe and threw out all clothes that would focus on the tiniest of the flab on her body. She washed her face on an hourly basis and put on makeup even before going to bed. She did not like stepping out of her house unless it was important, neither was she fond of mingling with new people. She prepared a diet for herself, set up an exercise routine and forget about fatty junk food. She bought a weighing machine that stayed in her room and she made a vow to herself to lose a few kilograms with every passing month. And like they say, no promise is as significant as a promise to yourself. It took her a while, but she got there. She reached where she wanted to be and smiled down at a reflection of her 36-24-36 figure. All her clothes hung loose on her tall and lean frame. She would have to redo her entire wardrobe another time and she couldn’t have been happier about it. Her confidence boosted up like never before and her self belief went by a minimum of ten points. She now looked the perfect figure of the society and she felt good about herself also for having accomplished what she set out to do for herself. Or so she thought.
What she didn’t notice was that through this journey of the flawless shape, she had made this an obsession. She would walk into restaurants but she refused to eat unless it was a salad that was offered on her table. She would dress up for parties but she wouldn’t consume more than one glass of soft drink. She would have her sleepovers, but she would take care of completing a seven hour sleep every day to keep away the dark circles. She would learn how to and cook for her parents, but she would keep her hands away from the oil of that food. She knew more about the calories in each dish than she did about its taste. She chose her order not according to what she liked, but going for the healthiest option.
However that was not the tragedy here. The tragedy was the simple fact that she did not even realise that she has given up on her craze of a foodie, her likes, dislikes and her tastes and her sacrifices. She did not realise because she did not even remember what was it, that she used to love eating and what was it, that she would not opt for even if it was the last option on the face of earth.
So as she walked down the street, with pin straight hair, perfectly made eyes and lips and clothes covering the 36-24-36 bod, she felt like she had accomplished something without having had any actual real time growth in life. So as she walked down the street, society smiled down upon another slave they had created of a free being and another robot that they had created from a human.
From 38-36-40 to 36-24-36, she had dropped down a few more levels, lost more than just kilograms and centimetres. If only there was some way for her to know that.