Over the years, your support has made Women’s Web the leading resource for women in India. Now, it is our turn to ask, how can we make this even more useful for you? Please take our short 5 minute questionnaire – your feedback is important to us!
Beauty is defined rigidly in our world, with little place for those who don't fit. Here's an account of the big, fat, and f*gly, who remain ignored, or worse, ridiculed.
Beauty is defined rigidly in our world – fair, thin, tall- with little place for the dark, fat, short ones. Here’s an account of the big, fat, and f*gly, who remain ignored, or worse, ridiculed.
All they could see was a large lump of flesh – obstinate, smelly and lazy. That was all everyone would see. They took her pictures, posted offensive comments, laughed at her face, and applauded at her jokes. She was the brunt of every third joke in stand-up comedy. That was her, a disgusting lump of flesh.
They vouched against racism, against discrimination on the basis of religion, caste, creed, but it was alright to laugh at her. She fit no controversial agenda. It was OK. She was but a lump of flesh.
She had a name. No one knew. They named her Gluttony and expected her to respond at their call. They disguised their callousness behind her gluttony. They disguised their crude words behind her self-loathing. They blamed her for who she was; a huge lump of flesh.
She carried the burden of her cross. Day by day she dragged it as it grew heavier. They even got a fancy name for what they were doing, “Fattertainment”. Media could be creative, and no one blamed the media for flooding them with opinions. She had made poor choices and landed up where she was, they cried. They feared she would create an epidemic. Their fat humour was the best weapon against the lump of flesh.
She would never get into that little black dress hidden in her closet, the one she untiringly tried after every session of a sweaty workout.
The weight bias finally weighed her down. It killed her motivation and it crushed her chances. She would never get into that little black dress hidden in her closet, the one she untiringly tried after every session of a sweaty workout. Her genes had failed her as much as her jeans had. Away from prying eyes, all day, she would try a new regime, a new diet, a new set of exercises. No one would ever know. She would stand for hours in front of the mirror, wondering why everyone else failed to see her as she did.
She had beautiful eyes, she knew. Sadly, only she knew that.
Locked up in her room, she would emanate the fragrance of beautiful flowers. Sadly, only she knew that.
She longed for love. Locked in a room, crushed by their comments, beaten by the unrelenting media opinion, a lump of flesh longed for the love that they all took for granted.
She now rests, in a huge casket. As she disintegrates, like all of us will someday , it was noticed that she didn’t take up much space beneath the earth. They buried her deep, still fearing the epidemic. Filled with bony prototypes of humans created in labs and edited in softwares, this was certainly no world for the big, fat and the f*gly.
Pic credit: Concept image of obesity via Shutterstock
Hi everyone, I am a teacher by profession and a restless being at heart. I am a writer more of conviction, less of vocabulary. My restlessness along with my compulsive desire for learning anything new read more...
Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times.
Stay updated with our Weekly Newsletter or Daily Summary - or both!
Paromita advises all women to become financially independent, keep levelling up and have realistic expectations from life and relationships.
Heartfelt, emotional, and imaginative, Paromita Bardoloi’s use of language is fluid and so dreamlike sometimes that some of her posts border on the narration of a fable.
Her words have the power to touch the reader while also delivering some hard hitting truths. Paromita has no pretences in her writing and uses simple words which convey a wealth of meaning in the tradition of oral storytellers – no wonder, Paro is a much loved author on Women’s Web.
This June we celebrate twelve years of Women’s Web, a community built by you – our readers and contributors.
I watched a Tamil movie Kadaisi Vivasayi (The Last Farmer), recommended by my dad, on SonlyLiv, and many times over again since my first watch. If not for him, I’d have had no idea what I would have missed. What a piece of relevant and much needed art this movie is!
It is about an old farmer in a village (the only indigenous farmer left), who walks the path of trouble, quite unexpectedly, and tries to come out of it. I have tried my best to refrain from leaving spoilers, for I want the readers to certainly catch up on this masterpiece of director Manikandan (of Kakka Muttai fame).
The movie revolves around the farmer who goes about doing his everyday chores, sweeping his mud-house first thing in the morning, grazing the cows, etc and living a simple but contented life. He is happy doing his thing, until he invites trouble for himself out of the blue, primarily because he is illiterate and ignorant.