The Body Journey: Tailoring Life to Fit Me

Two decades of thought about the body

Last year, I organised nearly 20 years worth of blogposts into more easily navigable categories. I found a lot of writing exploring sexuality, body shame and a few on health. I considered placing these under ‘Home & Identity’ (itself an amalgamation of several categories) since our bodies are our homes throughout our lives. But I thought it might be an opportunity for me to face yet another hurdle within myself.

Fifteen years ago, when I first started writing a novel, I struggled with writing a kissing scene between two characters. It felt wrong, intrusive, like I was looking in someone’s private moment. Never mind that these were fictional beings, creations of my own mind. I realised I was facing my own internalised body shame. So I decided to explore erotica in a bid to overcome that. That was probably the first time I actively decided to build a relationship with the body. It’s been a long journey starting as IdeaSmith, a genderless, formless being online.

Of course the ‘Body & Sex’ category that I finally decided on has become the most searched one leading to my blog. I might dismiss that shrugging off the general sleaziness of the internet. But, like I decided when I embarked on my erotica journey, nothing is shameful, nothing is to be shut away to my mind. Sex interests us all. Or does it? I know most of the searches that lead to this section of my blog are probably looking for something else. Sex as an escape. What a strange thing to seek reprieve in the body when the body is what many people seek to escape!

Turning the 40 corner

COVID was a surprise. A dear person a decade younger than me passed away and not even specifically of COVID. Another dear person in their 90s went to the brink of death in the ICU and returned, after we had said our goodbyes. Both my parents caught COVID’s most infectious variant at the time and despite being exposed to them for days, I didn’t catch it. But I did pick it up in the two hours I spent delivering a lecture in college. Do my body’s defenses go up or down in specific situations and company? That would make sense. Nobody knows but that’s okay. I live in my body; it only matters how I think of it.

The gifts of weight gain

I’ve been gaining weight in the last few months. The doctors tell me there’s no need to worry; that I’ve been underweight my whole life and I’m finally in the correct range. But also, they say, don’t put on any more weight and you’ll be good. The thing is, I don’t know how I gained this weight all of a sudden in the first place, how do I ensure I don’t continue to do so? There aren’t clear answers. It tells me doctors don’t know everything.

It also tells me that doctors, like most professionals are trained to identify and solve problems. They don’t necessarily know how to maintain the state of no problems, of equilibrium. Don’t we all go through life seeking out problems to solve so we can prove…something? How about if we instead recognised that equilibrium is an equally valid state? Maybe that’s what they’re trying to tell me. Relax and enjoy being in the right body for now.

It has been a whole other ballgame figuring out clothes though. I always thought I was lucky I fit the media body standards. And that having sleeves and pant legs being too short was a problem of my body – too long limbs. But I’ve just realised I’ve been wearing the wrong bra size my whole life and that’s not a measure that changes that easily. Moving up a size opened up my mind to the idea that I could just as well do that for everything else I wore.

And for the first time in my life, my skin doesn’t have elastic marks or deep impressions of a waist button. I don’t have the dreaded ‘muffin top’ simply because I’m not stuffing my body into a Small or even a Medium. I can lift my arms without worrying my armhole will rip. And I don’t think of terms like ‘bye-bye arms’ (when arm fat jiggles when you wave bye) when I wear sleeveless tops anymore. I’m not constantly at war with buttonholes that gape, seams that strain, ankles that are exposed, all for a scrap of validation.

Beauty is comfort, not pain

A new wardrobe has been a chance to let my breath out, literally and figuratively as I allow my most comfortable self out. I let out the stitches on old, much loved clothes. I put away clothes that don’t fit me that I realised I never really like that much (just that they were expensive and got me compliments). And I did shop but in stores I usually wouldn’t have.

Decathlon was another experience. I never thought of myself as sporty. Because of my near-asthamatic allergies as a child, I didn’t get into sports and until swimming happened, I had internalised the message of being too weak for ‘real sports’. In the later years, the sports association diverged from associations of femininity.

I had struggled with body shaming and misogyny for so long, I think I just took an easy way out when it came to dressing as an adult. Flowy garments, fitted cuts, non-breathable fabrics – these are fashionable. And I’ve been innundated with compliments and affirmations on how I have the perfect body for them so I ‘should’ be wearing only these. Oh well, I’m now proud owner of water-shielding trousers that have zippered pockets, need no ironing, dry easily and can manage everything from treks to Mumbai monsoons – in a larger size than I’ve ever worn before. And denim, my favorite material has its rightful place in my 90s grunge rocker cupboard again.

Footwear – another thing that really impacts my mood. Discomfort where I meet ground is a horrible foundation to exist on. What a relief to finally find sensible shoes in my size (even if I do have to shop in the men’s section for them). Speaking of, the menswear section has clothes that are tailored better, of superior fabric and are cheaper. But of course. I would have assumed money has no gender. But because Indian men value gender rules more than commissions, online shopping gives me a way out. I’m sitting happy in my cotton shirts whose sleeves reach my wrist for the first time and whose buttonholes don’t gape. This is not men’s clothing. It is my clothing.

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Is beauty a privilege?

Maybe because I’m on this journey, I’ve been considering all the areas I’ve met shame. Privilege is an area that’s fraught with it. I’ve never faced fat-shaming. But I’m melanin-rich. In my culture, I’ll never be considered truly beautiful. A few years ago, I saw a Facebook post making a ‘joke’ that said, “Men prefer curves anyway.” I asked the person who posted why a man’s opinion was so important. It’s the same token by which I deal with the daily dark-shaming.

It occurred to me that the concept of ‘pretty privilige’ is misogynist. The idea that a woman should feel lucky or guilty for being objectified while other women are dismissed is victim-shaming. Being objectified is not powerful; it diminishes a person. Predatory attention is not a reward—it’s gunfire.

And it’s not about ‘letting yourself go’. I genuinely enjoy caring for my body and vanity is a part of that. After the 2020 lockdown, my first purchase was an epilator. Going through a life-threatening pandemic gives you perspective. Was this frivolous? Yes, certainly. And so what? I put up an Instagram story asking my community what they thought about my getting an epilator.

One of the responses was vehement and angry – PLEASE STOP SHAMING WOMEN FOR HAVING HAIR! I reeled by its force. I was not shaming anyone. Hair removal may not seem feminist to some but it’s a choice I’m making about my body. Isn’t feminism about choice and isn’t it also about refusing to let my body be politicised? I like how my body feels after I use an epilator. It’s a luxury, not a need. And I’m okay with that.

Burning down shame barriers

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And I’ve adapted my body language over time. This burn recovery made me have to sit with my legs apart for a month – a pose that is actually more comfortable but which I was shamed out of, before I even hit puberty. Girls don’t sit like that, I was told, like a slut. Yet, manspreading continues to occupy public spaces far more than my very existence.

When wearing traditionally feminine garb, I keep my feet together but with one slightly in front for balance. In gender-neutral clothing, I stand with my feet apart. It’s actually a more stable position for me. Understanding how to dress my body for comfort makes me more at ease while walking, standing, even sitting. It’s great for physical and mental health.

This body is home

Tehmina and I were speaking today about places that feel like home. She said,

“I am a misfit everywhere which also means I kind of fit in everywhere but nowhere very closely.”

But that also describes me, having lived in one country, a single city made of tiny islands, my whole life. So I replied,

“I wonder sometimes if anybody ever actually fits anywhere closely. I think most people are just pretending that places fit them like well tailored clothing. But most people can’t afford to have lives tailored for them so everyone is kind of suffocated in places and sagging at others.”

Shouldn’t our lives be tailored to us rather than our bodies be tailored to the world? In all this, the big revelation is that capitalism doesn’t care about our humanity. My whole life I’ve been wearing clothes too small to be comfortable. Clothes marked M or L fit me best. And I pass for one of the thinnest people in my circles (even with the weight gain). What do these measurements even mean then? And how ever can I rely on them to explain my body, let alone my relationship with what I call home?

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This week I met my doctor. In conversation about my weight gain, he remarked that I looked much better, happier. And, he said,

“Sometimes when you’re happier, it fills out in your body.”

I definitely sit easier in my skin now that I’ve welcomed the visitors of happiness and healing.