Dear Ganpati Bappa, we need to talk. Period.

Old picture as I couldn't click one this year

Hi Ganpati Bappa, Happy Ganesh Chaturthi and welcome to our city, our country and our hearts. Everywhere I turn, I can see, hear and feel the abundant joy that you pack in your belly and get for us every year. Believers prepare for weeks for your arrival, and will bid adieu to you with teary eyes when you leave for your watery abode after enjoying our hospitality. It’s one of the best times of the year, where everyone in the city comes together, held firmly by your enormous trunk.

Through the years, I have enjoyed your presence at the family Ganpati celebration that takes place at my uncle’s house and this year, the plan was no different. This is what the day looks like. We get up and go to my uncle’s place early in the morning, my family yells at me for oversleeping and being the last one to get ready, wearing my earrings and fastening my sandals in the car, greeting my relatives and getting started with the celebrations. This year, this is what my day looked like. I woke up late, scrolled Instagram, did some leftover office work, watched Ellen videos, pottered around in an empty house, and am now typing this, still in my pyjamas. No, I’ve not turned into an atheist or anti Ganeshotsav activist overnight. I just got hit by the Crimson Wave. I have ‘female problems’. I’m celebrating Shark Week. I’m down (and apparently out). I’m on my period, which you must already know since you’re omniscient. Ewww, yuck, gross! Bust out the Ganga jal! Sorry to drown the readers’ festive mood in a red sea of grossness, and the squeamish can leave this page and go dance to ‘Jhingaat’ in a Ganpati pandal, but here’s my point. This is not the first time this has happened, and neither am I the first girl to experience this. Literally every girl I know has either dropped out of a plan to come visit you, or worse, has been shunned from your welcome in her own house during her period. When I protested about not being a part of the celebration, I was told, “Ganpati bappa is very strict about this, he doesn’t allow it.” So I thought I should avoid the middlemen and ask you point blank. Do you, son of Parvati, genuinely have a problem with bleeding women? If yes, why so? Honestly, in my daily life, I’m least bothered by either periods or organized religion. I consider both of them highly unnecessary, bloody (pun intended) unfair, if slightly painful facts of life that you just gird your loins (literally) and deal with. In this country, we may not send our girls to an actual school, but we’re taught this important math pretty early in childhood. Period = Bad. Period = Nothing doing with God for 4 days. It’s so ingrained in us (me included) that entering a place of worship is out of the question during ‘maheene ke wo chaar din’. Our feet automatically halt at the threshold of the temple while others go in, and we pray from outside for the family that forbade us to go in, to the God that refuses to grant us an audience because of a biological occurrence. The prasad is then dropped gingerly into our hands, as if we’re Edwards Scissorhands who will cut you up if touched. Look, I’m not here to tell you about the miracle of birth or how women are magical beings who transport souls wandering in the cosmos into the physical realm in the form of babies through their uteruses (uteri?) and that periods make it possible. I won’t tell you that pickles, tulsi plants, food, flowers and other humans are not going to be infected by some zombie virus if we touch them. I won’t refer to your fellow divine being the Goddess Kamakhya, who is revered even more when she bleeds. Of course you know all that, you don’t miss a thing with those big ears, do you? What I want to tell you, and I mean no offence, is that this time it’s personal. This time, your supposed revulsion for menstruating girls meant that I had to stay away from my family celebrations IN YOUR HONOUR for no reason. Because even if I’m always late for the celebrations, or have to leave in a hurry because of office work, I LOVE celebrating Ganesh Chaturthi with my family. This unwarranted, redundant, archaic taboo kept me from dressing up, from meeting my relatives, from listening to the Atharvashirsha Avartan that makes me feel at peace with myself. It means that I have to wait another year till I hang out with my amazing family, making wonky misshapen modaks for you, singing the aarti in a way only my family can - simply but with full emotion. It deprived me of a chance to bow down to you and seek your blessings for my plans for the coming year, it deprived me of witnessing the sight of my darling nephew joining his hands in prayer to you, calling you Bappa in his blessed voice. It kept me from posting a selfie with you on Instagram, damn it! #GannuBhaiyyaRocks. For a God who removes obstacles, you’ve placed quite a few in the way of someone who just wants to revel in your divine company while you’re here. So this is what I want to ask you, and your fellow Gods, across the spectrum of religions and faiths. Why is it that a God, who as legend has it is made from a woman herself, have a problem with a girl’s regular physiological cycle? What makes people so antsy about having a girl on her period around them? How will us being there affect anyone's bhakti towards you? Why do make it so that people have to be shunned from your presence for a thing that they have no control over? Do you expect all women to pop pills to delay their periods and mess with their cycles just because it makes period shamers uncomfortable? Does the 'Sukhkarta Dukhharta' suddenly sound like the screech of a crazed banshee when girls are 'chumming'? Or are you afraid that we'll polish off all your modaks and barfis in our glorious period fueled gluttony? Why is it that we are expected to perform at full capacity at work or at home even when we’re ‘down’, but the simple act of folding our hands in front of you becomes an insurmountable task? Why is it OK for ‘devotees’ to show their love for you by playing 'Kala Chashma' and 'Baby Ko Bass Pasand Hai', drink, abuse and play cards in front of you in the pandal, but God forbid a bleeding woman comes within 3 feet of you? Why can a pandal manager scream ‘Lavkar chal re bhenc**d, line pudhe sarkav’ to devotees while standing at your feet but I can’t say Ganpati Bappa Morya and touch your feet during those ‘khaas din’? And to think your favourite flower is the red hibiscus! Is it just a huge case of misunderstanding, that you never told the so called custodians of faith anything of this sort, and they just banned all women on their periods in a horrific, horrific case of Chinese Whispers? Or is it more sinister than that, a studied and deliberate attempt to make women feel powerless and frustrated, as I am feeling now? The frustration comes from the stonewalling of questions. The response to any protest is, "Because it has always been this way". Wow, that explains everything, guess I can't argue with that unassailable logic.
I don’t mean to be angry at you Ganpati Bappa, I mean, look at that face, who can be angry at you for too long? What I am is confused and disappointed. I also wonder whether I should just walk into the nearest Sarvajanik Ganeshotsav right away, and see if the pandal or the priest burst into flames. Or if you smite me with your Ankush if I dare disobey age old rules. These feelings are followed by guilt that I'm somewhere part of the problem, because I, a seemingly emancipated, independent girl, didn't rebel and go for the pooja. The fear is God forbid if something bad happens to any of the attendees 7-8 months down the line, the blame will be pinned on me and my normal, functioning uterine lining. I hope you can do something about it and pass on some knowledge to the custodians of faith and believers of taboos while you’re here, but even if you don’t, here’s what I can promise you. I will love you and worship you from wherever I am, regardless of whether I can be in the presence of your idol or not. I will live with the ideals that you stand for, despite the discrimination shown against me in your name. I welcome you to my city for these 11 days and hope you have a great time, even if I can’t be a part of the celebration. I will pass on your aartis and stories to my children, and make sure they realize how precious you are. I also promise that if and when I have a daughter, I will break this circle. She will never feel left out during worship or anything else that she wishes to do, and I won’t look at the days of the month while asking her to join me in prayer. She will have the freedom to feel the barrage of emotions that come with puberty, but guilt and shame will not be a part of them. She will march right up to you whenever she feels like, and demand an audience with you. Be nice to her, and give her your blessings. As you have given me yours. Ganpati Bappa Morya!

Yours forever faithfully, Anuja

Why Is It Such A 'Big' Deal?

What you’ll read next is not a well-marinated post, but just some thoughts that were triggered recently. And when the trigger is pressed, the bullets, I mean words have to fly. The below post is not to point fingers at anyone’s personal choices, but a general observation.
A few days ago, I changed my Facebook profile picture, as is expected of a young woman frequently these days. And as is expected of Facebook friends, the likes started trickling in, along with comments that reiterated the fact that I had, indeed, made the right choice by updating this particular picture. A few ‘much pretty, very wow, so beautiful' comments in, I saw some comments that spoke about my apparent ‘slimness’ in the picture. No need to quote anybody verbatim, but the general consensus was that being thin is desirable, enviable, and the perfect situation to be in. We’ve been taught that status quo leads to stagnation, but a slim status quo is the way to go, the delicate balance of which must not be disturbed. Of course, there was the advice that I should probably go eat something because a flat stomach means that I had been starving myself for that picture. Side Note: I took the well meaning advice and have been eating fries, and burgers and sugar loaded stuff since then, like I always have.

The offending Facebook picture

So I, who in my quest to become the acme of self-deprecation, don’t take any of the appreciative comments on my Facebook photos seriously, couldn’t let this particular batch of comments go. So just for my personal satisfaction, let me ask you very politely - WHAT’S THE BIG (ironically) DEAL ABOUT NOT BEING BIG? 

I’m not the first person to ask this question, but I’m hoping I’m one of the last. Who decided that fat (no I will not use the cutesy euphemism ‘healthy’) is not, forget desirable, but even a natural state of being? When did weight become a measure not of mass, but of a person’s worth? Why are people who churn out bigger numbers on a scale asked to be apologetic and not celebrated? Why did ‘ugly’ become a stage whisper whenever the word fat is uttered?

Sadly, we know the answers to this - Our collective conscience has been shaped by beauty pageants, Victoria’s Secret Angels, tall, thin and impossibly cellulite free Hollywood and Bollywood actresses and dare I say...porn stars? We have been indoctrinated by these fantastical images to think that thin is good and fat is abhorrent and worthy only of hiding in dark corners. 

Think this is an exaggeration? Imagine Christian Grey as having the same qualities (and the same bank balance), but being short and fat. Would you be convinced that Ana Steele had vanilla, or any flavoured sex with him? Nope. Think of Superman with a paunch, or Deepika Padukone having difficulty hugging her heroes because her adipose tissue comes in the way. Did I hear you going ‘Yuck!’? Exactly my point. 
Thin, good looking people just have to look good, while ‘big’ people need to compensate with their personality or their achievements. They have to have great personalities, be funny, and by that I mean laugh along when someone takes a ‘LOL fatty’ dig at you, achieve something good, and basically prove that you’re not a total dharti pe bojh. Thankfully, a rising tribe in the world has enough sense to call people out when they fat shame, but it has given rise to a new kind of apologetic and commiserative behaviour. This thought process started with a Facebook comment, so let’s go back there. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the photos of people on the heavier side (nope, still not using ‘healthy’) have comments that are wildly different from what ‘normal’ people get. Fat girls are ‘brave’ for putting up a photo in an off shoulder dress, one has ‘beautiful eyes’, another has AH-MAZING HAIR GIRL!, and the third gets ‘OMG that outfit is so pretty, I want it! (In Size S obviously, not XL like yours) Anything to take attention away from that chunky body of theirs, or to make up for it. Or to tell them that you support them (and their ungainly mass) as they dare to be their own person in a world that hates them for it. For God’s sakes, people who are attracted to chubby people have a ‘fat fetish’, because who in their right minds would like a fatty for who they are and not how much they weigh!?

This new age fat glorifying trend is another slap on the chubby faces of hefty people. Large girls don’t wear bikinis or monokinis, they wear Fatkinis. Models who don’t have their ribs or thigh gap showing are ‘plus sized models’ who are plonked on magazine covers and runways to ‘revolutionize the fashion industry’s standards’. These plus sized women are lauded for their courage in showing fat and flesh instead of bones, and everybody in the fashion industry sleeps a little more peacefully that night. Heavy people are called big boned in an attempt to make them feel better, because we’re all a bunch of illiterate people who don’t know what a human skeleton is supposed to look like. Heavy women are called ‘Women with curves’ or ‘Real Women’, like there was a niggling doubt that fat people are just humanoids made with cheese, butter and Nutella. Sidenote: That would be yum. 

You know what, screw you. It’s not ‘haddiyon ka wazan’ as we Indians like to say, it’s FAT. Deal with it. Bikinis are bikinis, regardless of who wears them. Next thing you know, there are thin-kinis (Ooooh, a nice business idea!), white-kinis, mom-kinis, gay-kinis, straight-kinis and what not. Side note: By that naming convention, aren’t bi-kinis supposed to be worn only by bisexual people? Or bipolar ones? And NEWS FLASH! The plus sized woman on your magazine cover is, sadly, very very normal sized, and most people would give a fat arm or leg to look like them.
This is not a post glorifying fat. If you’re genuinely unhappy with your body, or you have health issues, please go ahead and change the situation. But don’t do it because the world throws a collective sh*tfit if they see one stomach roll or a jiggly thigh. Don’t risk your life with a liposuction just because people say ‘Achha ladka/ladki nahi milenge’, or ‘Shouldn’t you lose some weight before you wear that skirt?’ It’s OK if you don’t have the perfect number on the weighing scale; like your 10th standard marks, that’s a number that will be irrelevant for anything worthwhile in your life.

Easy for me to say, right? I’m not the one trawling through the clothes store to find ONE non-dowdy and non depressing outfit in my size, because fat people don’t have the right to dress sexily. Or I’m being a hypocrite because I like the way Henry Cavill or Anushka Sharma look. Honestly, I don’t consider myself thin. Or fat. I just am. I do have ungainly bits of fat that I want to wish away, but if having love handles means I can eat another portion of wedges or cheesecake shamelessly, then it’s a love I can handle. 

A quote says ‘Your body is a temple, only if you treat it as such’. Have you seen temples? All the best ones are huge, grand, awe-inspiring and stunning. Being larger than life is the only way they can fit in all the amazing things inside, and give us a feeling of grandeur. Go ahead, treat your body like a temple now.

They say it’s a great practice for self love to stand naked in front of a mirror and look at your body for a long time. You’ll start seeing beyond the dimpled thighs, flabby arms and the doughnut tummy, and see the body that has been your Number One Best Friend.

At the risk of sounding like a pseudo self-help author, here’s a friendly neighbourhood suggestion. Even if you don’t have the time to stare at your naked body in the mirror because you have a life, and also because it’s creepy and difficult to explain if you get caught, do this. Stop thinking of your body as something to be judged by others aesthetically. Think of it as a mean (and not always lean) machine that is designed solely for your soul to have some amazing earthly experiences. Think of God as a cosmic Dilip Chhabria who makes a customized Taarzan -The Wonder Car for every soul. Actually wait, that might be counter productive to loving your body.

The point is, when you look in the mirror, you should see the body as your forever companion, who is with you to witness your first step, scraping your knee on the playground, your first kiss, the thrill of riding a bike, getting your face licked by a puppy, getting wet in the rain, looking into the eyes of your loved one, that Swoop! feeling in your stomach while riding a roller coaster, feeling the arms of your parents around you when they hug you, and doing the same to your children. Or even puking your guts out when you get too drunk for the first time. 

When your body is capable of such miracles, what’s a few inches more here and there?

Your body is a friend who’s not perfect, who you may not even like sometimes, but loving it is non-negotiable. And the good part is, the love comes easily once you shut out what other people say. Just like you don’t make friends based on waist size or BMI, your amazing body deserves all the love and happiness, and pride just for being a partner in crime for all your adventures - past, present and future. And in any case, it’s the only one you’ve got, so wouldn’t you rather spend a lifetime with it happily and lovingly, rather than bickering like an old couple? If you’re not convinced, go listen to John Mayer’s ‘Your Body Is A Wonderland’ and ‘Bigger Than My Body’. Seriously, the dude is obsessed with bodies. 
Moral? Fatkinis suck, all bodies are amazing works of art, you’re beautiful regardless of your size, not despite it, and most importantly, never, ever, comment ‘OMG you’re so thin!’ on my photo ever again. 
P.S. - It might seem like this post is written only for girls, but it applies to boys just as much. Just that seeing the number of uncles flaunting their beer bellies and bagel butts in tiny undies on the beach is proof enough that they don’t need too many lessons in loving their body.