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Being an Indian (Or is it an Asian thing?), sort of binds you to be an engineer. You could even stretch so far as to call it your birthright? For some, it begins when you’re a kid and for some it comes in much later, probably in high school that being an engineer is your first most important goal in life. It is instilled in us, that if you do end up being one, you’re rewarded. 

Most of us are born into a family that has produced engineers of all kinds and some of us are fortunate to be born into a family that has a mixed bag of professions (absolutely nothing against the profession or the ones who choose engineering as their profession, just normalising). Well, I wasn’t one of the fortunate ones. I come from a family of engineers after engineers after engineers. The probability of finding a non-engineer in my family is 1 out of a 100 or more (That would be me).

My journey began when I was in primary school and all I wanted to be was a teacher. My mother was a teacher back then and I would miss school (something I love doing, taking a leave of absence from my responsibilities) and go to my mother’s workplace and just watch her teach. I would sometimes find an empty classroom and pretend there are kids and teach (not like I knew much to impart knowledge). On the days that I did go to school, I was introduced to EVS (environmental science). It was a culmination of biology, chemistry and a little bit of physics (how much ever a 10 year old could handle). Lucky for me, I had a great EVS teacher. EVS always had my full attention, given that I possessed the attention span of a squirrel. 

Then came high school and all doors to rumination opened. Suddenly everyone around me was frantic and always had their hands full with things that could get them an extra grade or extra credit. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do or which direction I wanted to head. I was never one of those class toppers or extra curricular queen or in the student union trying to make a difference, I was just an ordinary run of the mill high schooler. I discovered that I had a penchant for science and English. There was something about these subjects that was so fascinating. I was also beginning to get good at it, as opposed to all the other subjects (it was inversely proportional, the better I did in science and English, the worse I got in math, socials and whatever else existed. Math still gives me nightmares). It came to me as almost a revelation that I should be a vet or a journalist. I’m passionate about animals, I can comprehend science and I know the ways of English, yes that’s what I will be. My father wasn’t too happy about my choice but he didn’t take it too seriously as I was known for not making steady decisions. 

When it actually came down to choosing my specialty, I did not get to choose biology and that drowned my dreams of being a vet and gave birth to my father’s dream of me being an engineer as I was offered a computer science seat. Oh the disbelief, I was dismayed. What was actually playing havoc with my dreams was that I was good at computer science and my father was ecstatic that he would produce yet another engineer and I had pretty much forgotten about journalism. 

As I wrapped up another educational milestone, it was soon time to address the elephant in the room, to be or not to be, that was the question. We had been sweeping it under the carpet for far too long, my adamant (apparently) need to not be an engineer. Has that happened to you, where something is expected of you, a pressurizing expectation, when not living up to it will cost you? There I was, stuck and sinking. You would think, standing up for something you want and almost inherently believe in, will be easy. Almost everyone I knew (literally 90% or more people), had decided engineering was the way to go, whether they liked it or not (that was secondary. How can something like that even be secondary?). Some paid more for it and some paid “just about right” for it. Early 20s and I’m adrift. I did not have the courage to say that I cannot do engineering, it's just not my cup of tea. Instead of facing what was an inevitable conversation, I stalled by giving architecture a hand. Oh did I crash and burn. Miserably. 

It was a very foreign concept, not studying engineering (definitely still is). What would people say? How will you make a living? How will you sustain yourself with a meager earning? It is almost shameful and lowly for one to take up something like a bachelor in science or arts or commerce. A stigma that is so deeply engraved in our society that it hinders the way we look at people and tag their intelligence or their sheer capability to become something. A prejudice that exists everywhere but goes unaddressed. It comes out maybe as a thinly veiled insult or a snarky comment at a family get together. If I had a dollar for every time I heard someone say oh a B.Sc doesn’t get you anywhere, there’s no future, I would be rich. I get it that among generations before us, engineering was the only way to a sustainable living. Urbanization and industrialization were booming and engineering was in demand (it still is, no doubt). But since when did it become a thing of status and knowledge? Since when did it become a tool to categorize people? 

And so war was commenced for not wanting engineering. It was a period of agony and mostly breathlessness. Does it have to be this hard though? Not only do you have to do this alone in society but also alone in your own family? And live low-key always in fear of facing the "I told you so"? For as long as you prove your worth (actually even after you prove your worth, wait why should I even prove my worth?). 

Even now, I see so many people not taking up what they actually want out of fear and the very “in your face” discrimination that exists in our society. So many people I’ve spoken to who are just dissatisfied and unhappy because they wanted to be something else and end up with “you know how it goes, my parents didn’t support me” or “it's the cliche story. I wanted to be so and so but then, it didn’t work out”. Why do we make it so difficult for people to just.. Flourish? 

Today I’m 26, a nutritionist (B.Sc and M.Sc). You know, it's funny how I came about becoming a nutritionist. I had initially opted for chemistry and chemistry came with its pals, physics and math. Now, physics I don’t mind at all (I’m all about that Ohm) but math, I did mention about the nightmares bit right? A week of it and I was dying. I had to get my subjects changed to something with chemistry (and ta-ta math) and found nutrition and dietetics in the prospectus. Sounded quite fancy and interesting (obviously) and a very whimsical choice it was that completely turned my life around and for good. I’ve never felt so right, ever before in my life (I say that about a lot of relationships in my life, my friends would know but this one’s a keeper).

Don’t get me wrong, my parents and my sister are super supportive. Took my dad a while (a long time) to wrap his head around it but he eventually did. I’ve nothing against engineers (did I tell you my family is full of them?) and I know so many engineers who are very passionate about what they do (only respect). But think about it, does it really have to be this hard? With all the “road not taken” poetic jazz to it? No. It doesn’t have to be. I mean, how can you presume that engineering is a shoe that fits all when you don’t live another’s life but your own? 

TLDR- Be compassionate because everyone’s trying to fit in. Respect a profession for what it contributes to society, just as yours does. Everyone’s hustling. It doesn’t have to be this hard or feel out of control when it's your own life that you’re deciding for. Isn’t this prejudice stronger towards men than women? (read: benevolent sexism). Abort. Abort. Abort.

Normalise it. Accept it. Love it. Respect it. Do what makes you happy and pursue what you're good at. We’re on each other’s team. Kinda tired of having to throw my hands in the air.

You know the number of body positivist influencers I follow? You wouldn’t believe it but I also follow a few animal/pet profiles on social media that promote body positivism. A very “LOL” moment when I realised that’s how intensely I’m battling body positivism. If there’s one of me, then there are many like me right? A very millennial problem to possess, yet so subjective. You know what I don’t get though, how do I expect someone living outside of my body to help me normalise what’s happening within and on my body? No matter who I follow or what they preach, you can never normalise what I see when I look in the mirror or what I feel when I touch ME. No matter how many stretch mark photos I see, no matter how many uneven breasts I see, no matter how many paunchy human beings I see, its never enough. Do you feel that dissatisfaction? And eventual remorse? Well, I do and I couldn’t fathom, why not? They are doing it, I sort of look like her or him, so its okay. Its not. Its really not (because growing up, I never saw a body like mine up on the big screen and I still don’t see it). Especially those 1000 word essay type captions I see, the ones that do not have a TLDR version saying how they overcame this or that (no disrespect to the ones who have such posts, no offense intended, just normalising), still doesn’t help. 

I’ve batted an issue with weight, almost all my life (at least since I hit puberty, in my head that’s when my life actually began). Not weight exactly because I’ve weighed healthy (according to all the WHO standards) but the way I “looked” to myself, in the mirror. I was never satisfied. I always found my thighs too heavy or “thunderous” if you wanna call it. I’ve always found myself too paunchy, there have been times when I’ve breathed short and heavy so that I’m able to hold my shape at a party (WTF right?). I’ve always caught myself staring for too long at my classmates’ (in high school) legs or arms, how they don’t jiggle and mine always did (and still do). I would starve myself, skip lunch and feed my lunch to the dogs. 4 years of braces and hating on my frizzy and curly hair, you would think growing up helps right? Newsflash, not really. Freud was right. if you don’t figure your childhood out, it’ll be your midlife crisis. Then came my 20s, 4 years of braces and 3 teeth short after, joined college and suddenly I was one of those girls that men looked more than twice. Men and women of all races wanted to look at me twice or felt the need to tell me that I looked “good” or they like how I’m dressed or how it accentuates so and so. I was being talked about, I was a standard to many girls. I couldn’t believe myself. I would still look at myself in the mirror, unsure. When I was eventually used to it, I was satisfied. My idea of satisfaction is allowing myself to eat an extra serving of rice (yes, I’m South Asian) or more meat or extra desserts. I discovered this new found confidence that glowed within me and helped me walk with my chin up because men wanted me. They wanted my sex. I was so confident, I was audacious. Happy. This new treatment mollified everything and I soon forgot I ever had issues with the way I looked. You know, until I was in my early 20s, I didn’t think I was a looker. That someone would look at me twice. It was in my 20s, that I heard someone call me beautiful. Pretty. A looker. Hot. Sexy. Cute. That hair is exquisite on you. Then I graduated and transitioned to my mid-20s. Being a professional and all that jazz. 

Slowly that confidence began to chip away. Maybe because I didn’t have men/women constantly validating me? Or that constant flow of attention? Then came the string of online dates and I got my next (best, apparently) constant source of attention and validation. I wasn’t out there hunting for validation for my wounded ego, it just came my way and of course I lapped it up. I was so used to that by now. I was hungry. With the “Do you know the kind of effect you have on men” to “Come on! You are being modest. You are fetching for compliments, aren’t you?” Well, no. I’m not. I really don’t know how I look. I don’t “believe” how I look. I mean, how can you believe in something you have no understanding of right? I also began noticing that every problem/hurdle I faced in my life, the first to erode, was the way I looked. That’s when I realised that the most fragile part of me is that, what I see when I look at the mirror. Bad relationship and I “let myself go” and ate whatever I could eat. That’s when I saw the scale dip to the higher end, something that’s never happened before. And now, I was unhealthy and of course I didn’t like what I saw either. That didn’t affect me then because he didn’t think I looked bad. He was attracted to me, even if I wasn’t. Then he left and the veil lifted. An alarm went off and I saw her. Me. 

I was sad. Moping everyday. I stopped looking at the mirror. I stopped dressing well. My self-esteem left the building. Being quarantined didn’t help for sure. I knew I was dipping into being unhealthy and finally found that courage in me to face myself and my body. I started eating healthy. Tried not to deprive myself of anything. I exercised (overdid it in the beginning to an extent where I almost injured myself but now I’m learning). It wasn’t easy. I would beat myself bloody (metaphorically) if I cheated or overate or didn’t stick to my regime or didn’t exercise. Now, I’m slowly transitioning. I’m having conversations with my body in front of the mirror. I love looking at myself in the mirror now. I love my hair. I love my skin. I love my stretch marks. I love eating cupcakes. I eat loads of rice. I’ve a paunch and I love it. I sometimes make it talk to me, you know like how kids do it. Yet, there are days when its really difficult. When I’m bloated and I feel like everything I did has gone for a toss. When I look at my arms and think they’re too large. At least, those days are lesser in number than the happy ones. I like taking pictures of myself now and uploading them, regardless of who thinks what. Especially pictures that show my paunch or arms or thighs. I breathe deeply and through my belly now. I finally don’t add as much value as I did when someone compliments me. I thank them and tell myself you bet I do. Because I do. I really do. 

Today I’m 26, a vegan (because animal husbandry is going to drive us to extinction), slightly overweight, paunchy, thunder thighs, beautiful curly hair and hairy sometimes. I eat healthy and unhealthy, I exercise whenever I can and I’m happy. I’m “satisfied”. I still follow those pages and like every post because I’m supportive. I realised that no matter how much positive energy you surround yourself with, its never gonna be enough until you fill your insides with it. I look in the mirror everyday because I like who I see, she makes me happy. I don’t upload photos so that someone else validates it or to help someone else see if I can, so can you. No. I do it because it makes me happy. I’m celebrating, everyday. This body. This smile. This hair. This skin. Every time I hit a block and have difficulty accepting a part of my body, I photograph it and look at it again and again. Until I’ve normalised it for ME. When someone says, do you have any idea the kinda effect you have on people, I genuinely know the answer to that because I’ve that same effect on myself, when I look at myself in the mirror. I’ve created this masterpiece today and I’ll fiercely protect her. 

Its funny how I came to realise that I need to normalise it for myself, every time I’m intoxicated and my inhibitions dropped, I would see someone else in the mirror. A woman fierce from within. Appealing from within. Her personality defining her features. Her personality and her looks amalgamating and reflecting off of my mirror. I would suddenly find every part of my body so appealing and almost turning on. When it would wear off, I wouldn’t see that anymore. That’s when I realised, I’ve to do it for me. Just like how all these influencers are doing it for themselves. 

Don’t get me wrong, I still love makeup, dressing up and being complimented. The only difference is I do it only to accentuate what I already am and have and not to change the way I look or am. 

TLDR- You gotta do it. You gotta do it for yourself. I mean, you live in that body. You feel its feelings. You masturbate with that body. You dress that body. How can someone else do it for you? 

The irony is that my profession is helping others eat healthy and maintain a better lifestyle, I’m a nutritionist. I didn’t plan to be one at all. That’s a story for another time. The universe sure does work in mysterious ways.