From Twelve to Twenty-Two

(Disclaimer: The incidents, experiences, and what may seem as ‘general understanding’ of the society is purely subjective and is written by keeping in mind the immediate surroundings of the blogger. It can seem as complete crap to some readers, and that is completely fine for their journey of growing up might have been quite different or rather better from that of the blogger. Also, the other dominant gender apart from the feminine one, might feel offended at some places, which is totally fine by the blogger for she isn’t telling their tale, but her own story. Any offence felt by anyone is not the intention of the post. Sorry. But not sorry. The purpose is simply to tell a personal tale. Please leave your comments, if you may.)

What’s inspiring is, a Punjabi middle class woman wearing big nerdy glasses has braces beyond the age of 21, wears a beyond  the knee length kurta, drapes dupatta in a fashion which actually serves the purpose of being a ‘dupatta’, goes to work in a fashion company whose CEO falls in love with her irrespective of her unconventionality. What’s heart crashing is that the same woman who was once proud to be who she was turns into a complete ‘conventional’ diva after a year of coming to every household at the prime time. Anyone who has seen Jassi Jaisi Koi Nahi at some point of time knows exactly what I am talking about. It was probably the first television soap that made me believe that the protagonist won’t undergo the transformation of becoming the conventional flawless beauty. But clearly, I was wrong.

The person that I was before puberty hit me resembles the person I am today, more or less. I used to be a girl who was fond of long hair, needed matching earrings and rubber bands of the latest designs in the market, and wouldn’t step out of the door without looking her version of perfect. At the same time, I was also the girl who would step out with uncombed hair and no earrings at all, because, she simply wasn’t in the mood to deck up. As I said earlier, the twenty two year old girl that I am today is more or less similar to the pre-12 years old version of me. My dress up or the lack of it depends on the intensity of my laziness, comfort, and mood swings. My teens though tell a completely different story.

As puberty took a toll in my friend circle, my girlfriends got the right amount of curves at the right places. Some of them certainly became the ‘epitome’ of conventional beauty. And then, for the first time I felt that being dark is a problem or rather, I was made to feel that way. When a doctor comments that, “beta abhi gore hone ke gharelu nushkhe mana kar rahi ho, jab shaadi ke liye ladka nahi milega to yaad karogi hume” ("child, you are denying the home remedies for a fair skin today, but when you won’t find yourself a husband, you will certainly remember me"), it sets the criteria that being fair is the only way to get married. Marriage of course was a must-do back then in my head even if it was after being financially independent. On an everyday basis, I had to hear about my skin tone, my body shape and size, my double chin, my sense of dressing and what not. Today I think the sad part was that it all came from people belonging to my gender and hence, I preferred to hang out with the other gender available to me back then, the men. It was definitely easier to talk about football, the Backstreet Boys, Matrix Trilogy, etc. than discussing the ways to de-tan into a lighter skin tone. I became the apparent ‘cool’ girl in the group of boys and the acceptance of a certain part of me made me happy. Though today I am certainly aware how problematic that acceptance was. Let’s just say boys befriended a ‘tom-boyish’ Anjali but fell in love with her only when she forgot basketball and wore a saree. (Tom boy, being a term I totally despise.) If conventional beauty was a must-have to be accepted by men, being unconventional was no way better for ultimately it was about seeking acceptance, irrespective of the desperation. 

How else was a twelve year old supposed to react when either she or the others shaming her did not even know what’s actually happening? She or the others did not realise the ideologies that were shaping them. She began to laugh with the people accepting the joke upon her. But what she actually did was, she made a note of everything that made her different from the ‘convention’. After a few comments she knew for certain, that lack of a thin waist is a big problem, that she has the skin-tone people would die to get rid of, that she isn’t someone boys/men would want to date or marry and of course that she isn’t her brother’s sister, because her brother is way too light skinned, good looking than her. She just lived with such microaggressions that led to an acute inferiority complex scarring her teens.

By the time I entered my twentieth year, I was proud to be unconventional because somewhere I had begun to understand the functioning of ideologies in my life. It took me a quite some time to realise that being blindly unconventional isn’t the way to break the ideologies that form the convention. It is to realise, to have the consciousness that you have the agency of choice. I still like to get my skin waxed, get my eyebrows done, but now I do not run in panic to the nearest parlour in every 15 days. A hairy uncovered arm or a hairy underarm in a sleeveless top bothers me no long. And I am certainly ashamed of shaming a friend, at one point of time, who was scared of getting her legs waxed without realising the effect I had in my teens, or she might have had. 

If I began questioning the idea of ‘beauty’, the ideas of being ‘hot’ and ‘sexy’ followed with it. I know I am not conventionally beautiful, and I definitely do not want to be conventionally ‘hot’ and ‘sexy’. Of course one can ask me why it is so. It is so because when I upload a picture in a salwar kameez, and a picture with shorts or halter top, I do not want to see a difference in the comments that follow. The difference in the comments goes from elegant, pretty, to hot and sexy. That, certainly, makes me miserable. Usually I am in a mood to explain the problems of so-called-compliments, but then usually, people are not in a mood to listen.

I might have grown from twelve to twenty-two; I am still bothered by what people have to say about my appearance. It affects me, if earlier I wanted somewhere to fit in the conventional idea of being beautiful then now I do not want to be the sexy woman when my body shows. I just want to dress or look the way I am comfortable and not want to be commented upon. Of course then, why do I update profile pictures on social media? I will also add, why do I post anything at all? Well let’s just say I am yet to break the ideologies (/notifications) that feed on my narcissistic desire of being popular which again is something that I never had in my teens as a side effect of succumbing to my microagressions.

Today, I see many posts on the social media that talk about beauty being internal, that show respect to every and any kind of body and skin tone. But in the end, I still live in a world where a friend of mine works all day driven by the fear of being fat, another friend scared of becoming bald, someone with the big tummy problem, and someone with another ‘problem’. Of course, it is okay when people want to look a particular way. What I am not okay with is why they want to look that particular way. The ultimate answer is, to be beautiful (conventionally, left unsaid). And yet, it is the inner beauty that matters, because well, the patriarchal, capitalist agents promoting a certain idea of beauty are foolish, aren’t they?