“Tu kitni moti ho gayi hai (you have gained so much weight).” “Weight loss kab kar rahi hai (When are you going to lose weight)?” I am all too familiar with such remarks. I was probably not even older than 10 years of age when I started noticing the intense scrutiny around my weight — from relatives, family, and friends. Growing up, I learnt to live with these comments. I avoided the mirror and tasted guilt with every meal. Early whispers of “you’ll never be enough” evolved into a lifelong hangover of shame. Over time, I realised that these remarks weren’t about my health but almost always about fitting into the world’s set beauty standards, disguised as concern. And I am not alone. Most of us have faced body-shaming, just different versions of it. In Indian households, particularly, body-shaming is inherited from those who came before us. And pop culture doesn’t help either. The shows and movies I grew up watching rarely handled this complexity with the nuance it deserved. Fat characters were usually reduced to comic relief or the token quirky best friend. And when a film tried to be “woke,” its heavier characters were often cast as hypersexualised symbols of body positivity, as if that were the only role for anyone outside conventional beauty standards. The inheritance of shame The cycle often starts with a grandmother’s backhanded comment about “how much you have grown”, or an aunt’s subtle home remedies on how to lighten your complexion. Fathers tell their sons to hang from monkey bars if they are short, and mothers tell their daughters to watch what they eat before they even hit puberty. These aren’t just isolated cruelties. These remarks are handed down and recycled across generations, disguised as care, tradition, or concern. I was around eight years old when my aunts started keeping track of the sweets I ate at family gatherings. It was like being weighed in real time. I overheard dinner table conversations like, “Humare zamane mai to chashme wali ladkiyo ki shaadi tak nahi hoti thi (Back in the days, bespectacled girls couldn’t get married)”, and about “rang saaf karne ke nuske (home remedies for 'whitening' skin)". I was told that keeping yourself trim and dressing a certain way was necessary to find a man. Ironically enough, male members of my family never commented on my appearance — it was always the women. I don’t blame them entirely. Their remarks came not from reactions to my weight or body, but a mindset that was handed down to them by their mothers, and theirs before them. Body-shaming is like a family recipe that no one dares to question — not even me. I felt that mindset being passed down to me as well, when relatives would point at a heavy-set person in public and ask me, “Iske jaise banna hai tumhe? (Do you want to become her?)” It was not just an insult for that person, but also a way of planting in me the same cruelty they held toward anyone who didn’t fit their beauty standards. After years of criticism by family, friends, and the boys I had a crush on, I decided to join the gym. I was a woman obsessed: I tracked every single calorie and lost a ton of weight. I just wanted to fit the beauty standards of my own family. But those around me now found a new criticism: “Gymming karke aadmi lagne lagi ho (Working out is making you look like a man).” The comment hit hard as I realised that I wasn’t beautiful in the eyes of my own family. I avoided conversations, stayed on the sidelines, and stopped eating at family functions, just so I wouldn’t be the topic of discussion. Euphoria’s Kat taught me real self-love A kind of redemption awaited me in Kat Hernandez’s character on the teen drama Euphoria. When I first watched the show, I felt an immediate connection to her. Like me, Kat, played by Barbie Ferreira, had internalised shame about her body from childhood. The quiet jabs came not from strangers, but from family, close friends, and even her first boyfriend. At first, I thought the show had taken a stereotypical turn when Kat’s character development led her to become a hypersexualised cam-girl, seeking validation from middle-aged men to replace the years of damage caused by casual body-shaming. But my initial disappointment faded when I realised that Kat’s cam-girl arc was just a response to inherited shame and how people close to her treated her body as “less than”. As Kat gave herself a makeover — with mesh tops, body harnesses, and chokers — I saw more of her in me. I saw the version of me freed from the shackles of insecurities and constant criticism. As Kat — and I — gained more confidence, the people around us grew kinder, finally noticing a personality beyond our bodies. Kat’s attempt at empowerment wasn’t clean or simple. It was messy, conflicted, and haunted by the belief that her body is something to be hidden, corrected, or managed. Her journey reflects the painful truth for many of us, that the internalised body-shaming doesn’t just disappear with adulthood, it follows us, coded in the way we view ourselves and others. Kat taught me a lesson that my own family couldn’t: that it is okay to look the way you look without trying to prove to the world that you are working on yourself. Kat’s journey made me aware of how body-shaming can distort your perception of relationships and yourself, even after you decide to get past it. She taught me that my value doesn’t lie only in my appearance, and that I alone control the way the world views me. Kindness as rebellion: How I broke the cycle As I grew older, I rebelled against the thought process handed down to me by my family. I decided to embrace my personality rather than wasting away in a sea of insecurities. And as I grew more confident and found ‘myself’, strangers showered me with more kindness and compliments than my family ever could. I came to realise that everyone had their own set of insecurities, often deep-rooted in how those closest to them viewed their appearance. I could be looking at someone fit and athletic with awe and envy, and there would be someone out there who viewed me with a similar feeling. So, I have decided to break the cycle. Instead of passing down the same inherited gaze, I compliment people as much as I can, be it family members, friends, acquaintances, or strangers. It may be a small act, but for someone who knows the feeling of never receiving compliments, I know the power of a kind word to brighten a day or even change a life. And health? I stopped trying to fit a standard or have a strict, military-like discipline. I made it more personal. I fixed my broken relationship with food, mirrors, and cameras. And I now have a quiet pact with myself — to move my body because it makes me feel strong, to eat because it nourishes me, and to dress how I like for my own comfort and style.
