I was a chubby kid. At the age of 10, I was 4'10" and weighed 55 kilos. Throughout my childhood, I was addressed as Moti (fat in Hindi), football, or “very healthy” by the slightly more considerate. Meanwhile, my parents were always trying to get me to lose weight and stay healthy. My Mom would fill my plate with salads before I went onto main course, hoping that I’d have little appetite left for anything else. My Dad took me running and made me do push-ups since I was 5 years old.
The thing is, I LOVED food. You know how in primary school they ask you who you want to be when you grow up? My chest would swell with pride as I answered, “I want to be an EATER.” My ambitions didn’t last long as I soon entered my teenage years, when following the heart became far less important than looking good (a.k.a “thin”) and being accepted.
Over time, I’ve gone through some pretty extreme phases. One time when I was 14, I fasted on an apple for lunch and equally frugal dinner, to fit into these tight outfits that we were supposed to wear for a school musical. I managed to achieve the malnourished look that was in-vogue, and I was so proud of it! But then the musical ended..and come December, I started eating again with a vengeance. I just wanted to stuff my face and soul with everything I’d missed out on.
Finally in my early twenties, I shed the extra weight and settled at an equilibrium that I’ve been able to maintain for a decade now. But even this has been its own journey focused purely on weight loss at…
