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Saturday, May 05, 2012

A tale of two…

It is the nth time when a group of aestheticians rounded up on me and said how fortunate I was to never need augmentation for certain body part(s). I told them I was not too happy. Honestly, I am worried what age will do to them. Not that I was very comfortable with them in the beginning either. In my early teens, small protuberances appeared on my hitherto proud flat chest and I tried to counter their attempts at gaining acknowledgment by walking with a forward stoop. I felt the whole world knew something was wrong with my body. My mother noticed me one day and asked me why I was walking weird. One of the most wonderful things that make a mother is that she understands her child’s problems-most of the times-without explicitness. She tried to reason in an old- fashioned way about the 'ornaments' of womankind and that I should bear them with pride. Ornaments or not, I understood that for better or for worse, they were there to stay.

I had a certain unhappy episode in a temple on Janmashtami during my undergrads. Some pervert took advantage of the crowd and grabbed me on the go while my friends and I tried to make way through to the temple to offer prayers. I screamed in shock, but before I could retaliate or even recognize my assailant, the crowd had shifted in chaos. I came back to hostel, feeling very hostile towards the world and myself. For a moment, I considered chopping them of like Amazon warriors did. But mutilation of my body to protect myself from unpleasantness and perversion of others seemed a bit extreme after much afterthought and counseling from my wise mother. I started avoiding crowds more than ever, of course.

My friends in hostel nicknamed me ‘Booby’ for obvious reasons. (You will be surprised how many kids are actually named that by their parents. )However, I embraced my new identity with all the grace and smiles I could muster. I thought it was better than the previous nick, ‘Hitler’, at school because I was such a stickler for school regulations as a class leader for 10 consecutive years.

Then there are those awkward moments when you catch an acquaintance gawking at the wrong places and you feel like saying,'My face is up here.' I have begun to make light of it now, considering it some involuntary, primordial tendency or a mark of coarseness.

SG says my hands are my best features, followed by my eyes, smile etc. I don’t want to press him to give me compliments on something I have outgrown. It is only at times like this when a girl pleads to me in jest to donate some of my abundance to her,’ Victoria (reference to Victoria’s Secret) give me some from you please!’ (this was shockingly new today) or someone tells me how all of her sisters have undergone surgery to have ones like mine, I think oh well - maybe it is something to write a post on after all.

Also, 21 reasons why having big boobs suck during summer.

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