Let’s start with the obvious, shall we?
In India, love doesn’t come with a box of chocolates. It comes with a calibrated, unsolicited diagnosis of your BMI, melanin levels, and general physical presence. “Arre, you’ve become so thin!” isn’t concern—it’s a tactical opening gambit. “Beta, you’re looking…healthy,” isn’t a compliment—it’s a coded missile launched across the dining table. We are a culture where “You look tired” means “You look like hell,” and “Have you been out in the sun?” is just passive-aggressive poetry for “You’ve achieved a new shade of dusk.”
Welcome to the grand, chaotic, deeply irritating ecosystem where affection and audit are locked in a close, sweaty tango. And here I am, your irreverent guide(unappointed of course), weighing in (see what I did there?) with all the weight, wisdom, and weightage I can muster—which, according to at least one reel-a-tive last Diwali, is “a little more than advisable, but your face is so shiny!”
What if every time someone “lovingly” pointed out your body, you sent them an invoice for emotional labour and gym membership? They’d stop. Or you’d be rich. Either way, you win.
At every Indian Wedding Ever:
Aunty emerges from the samosa queue like a heat-seeking missile. Target acquired: You. Her opening gambit? “Arrey, you’ve become SO thin! Are you eating properly? What will people say?”
Rewind a bit: Last year, she said you were “putting on weight” and should “control.”
Welcome to the Indian Body Commentary Olympics, where everyone’s a judge, nobody asked for their opinion, and the scores are wildly inconsistent.
Question is: Is it Love, Concern, or Casual Cruelty?
A sneak peek at Indian “concern“—it wears the mask of affection while delivering precision strikes to your self-esteem.
We’ve somehow convinced ourselves that commenting on someone’s physical appearance is not just acceptable but mandatory. It’s the conversational equivalent of a handshake. “Hello, you look darker. What happened?” is considered small talk, not psychological warfare.
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“You’ve become so dark! Stop roaming in the sun.”
“Arrey, why so thin? Eat something, will you?”
“You’re putting on weight, no? Better watch it before marriage.”
“Fair-skinned girls have better prospects.” (If you read between the lines, it means: You don’t.)
And the sucker punch? All delivered with a smile, often while shoving another ladoo into your hand.
Love, But Make It Violent
Indian body shaming is rarely loud.
It arrives smiling.
Wrapped in affection.
Delivered as “concern”.
It never says, “I judge you.”
It says, “I care.” As if you care!
And that’s the genius of it.
Because when cruelty dresses up as care, the victim is left with no rebuttal.
You can’t protest without sounding ungrateful.
You can’t object without appearing oversensitive.
You’re expected to accept the wound and thank the weapon.
The Real Damage Is Not on the Body
Let’s be precise.
Body shaming doesn’t hurt bodies.
It colonises self-worth.
It teaches people to:
• Shrink before they speak
• Laugh off insults to stay lovable
• Measure confidence in inches and shades
• Apologise for occupying space
It turns mirrors into interrogation rooms.
And compliments into suspicious events.
Worst of all, it trains victims to become future perpetrators, passing the same comments down like family silver.
Ever noticed how the loudest body comments come from people who’ve made peace with none of their own mirrors?
Classic Examples That Permeate This Ecosystem (A Short, Infuriating List):
The Wedding Waistline Watch: The marriage mandap isn’t just a sacred canopy; it’s a forensic lab. Every auntie is a scientist examining the specimen. “You’ve lost weight for the wedding? Good, good.” (Implied: You were substandard before.) Or the classic, “She’s such a pretty face. If only…” (The sentence trails off, but the ghost of the unfinished clause—“if only she dropped 15 kilos”—hovers over the gulab jamun tray.)
The Sunlight Conspiracy Theory: My personal favourite. As if darkness is not a pigment but a moral failing, a result of reckless cavorting in daylight. “You’ve become so dark!” is delivered with the gravitas of announcing a terminal illness. The prescribed cure? A slurry of ubtan, avoidance of the nearest star, and a side order of internalized shame.
The Backhanded Buffet of Concern: It’s a masterpiece of doublespeak. “You’re looking too thin, are you eating?” swiftly followed by, “But don’t eat too much maida, you’ll get fat.” You are Schrödinger’s cat—simultaneously too much and not enough, locked in a box of someone else’s making.
This isn’t affection. This is performance art in projection. It’s a societal tick, a conversational filler more reflexive than asking about the weather. It fills awkward silences by creating far more profound, awkward silences within the recipient.
Dear Victim, This Is Not a Pep Talk
You are not “too sensitive.”
You are too aware.
You are not overreacting.
You are finally reacting at the correct volume.
And no, you don’t owe politeness to people who mistake proximity for permission.
Here’s the truth they won’t tell you:
Your body is not a topic.
It’s not a before-after slide.
It’s not a community project.
It’s not an emotional punching bag dressed as affection.
Your silence was never grace.
It was conditioning.
But Why Though?
Because we’ve confused surveillance with love.
Because controlling someone else’s body gives us the illusion of control in our own messy lives.
Because colorism, fatphobia, and patriarchal beauty standards didn’t just permeate our society—they threw a house party and never left. Talk about trespassing!
And because—let’s be honest—we’re terrified of actual vulnerability. Easier to comment on someone’s waistline than ask, “How’s your heart doing?”
The Inspiration Bit (For the Victims, Warriors, Survivors)
Listen up:
Your body is not a conversation starter. It’s not a democracy. It doesn’t require a consensus.
The same people monitoring your weight aren’t paying your bills, fighting your battles, or living your life. Their commentary has an expiration date of exactly zero seconds.
Here’s your new script(remember I am a budding scriptwriter too):
Reframe the Narrative: That comment says precisely nothing about your worth and everything about the commentator’s limited imagination. Their vocabulary of care is impoverished. You are not the problem; their outdated dictionary is.
Master the Deflective Art of the Witty Retort: You don’t need aggression. You need audacity. To “You’ve become so dark!” try a pondering, “Yes, I’m charging my solar panels. The coal crisis, you know.” To “You’ve gained weight!” a cheerful, “Thank you! I’ve been working hard on my gravitational pull. It’s for science.” Watch them sputter. It’s therapeutic.
Claim Your Body as a Non-Negotiable Sovereign State: Your body is not up for public debate in the parliament of random relatives. It is the vessel that carries your genius, your kindness, your dreams. Its job is to function, not to decorate someone else’s narrow fantasy. The only weight you need to drop is the weight of their opinion.
This tango needs a new rhythm. One where we step on the toes of outdated norms and dance to a tune of unapologetic self-possession.
Remember: Every minute spent defending your body to someone else is a minute stolen from actually living in it.
The Final Word | The Last Laugh
The next time someone tries to gift-wrap their body shaming as concern, remember—you’re under no obligation to accept deliveries you didn’t order.
Your body is yours. Their opinions are theirs. Never confuse the two. They are mutually exclusive.
Now go forth and exist gloriously, unapologetically, exactly as you are. The aunties will talk anyway. Might as well give them something real to discuss.
Like your absolute refusal to care.