In defence of the fat aunty
When on earth did the Fat Aunty become a bad person? We're seeing them everywhere nowadays. Fat Auntys with bouffants and red lipstick criticising the modern young bahu who uses the healthy oil to deep-fry wadas for her family. Or carrying some gossip from the next house in to the happy, peaceful home of the perfect-family-who-never-forgets-to-do-a-pooja, next door.
The worse kind of Fat Aunty is the Evil Fat Aunty. She twists her lip and raises her eyebrows in that filmy, highly scary way. So when the camera close-up lingers on her face, winged eyeliner, plump red lips and all, Fat Aunty practically quivers in indignation for a full 90 seconds, the camera so close, it captures her chin wobbling from the strain of holding the Angry and Indignant expression.
It's not a new thing. Fat Auntys have been the bad guy since we Indians got TV. In fact, in standard ten, when we were studying Julius Caeser, and Antony or some other toga-type said, "let me have men about me that are fat" or something like that, I used to wonder why he wanted someone who would hundred per cent leak his war strategy, or marry his daughter off to someone she didn't love, or withhold one essential ingredient from the gobi masala so it tasted shit. Means, in our country, Fat definitely means that you have Bad Intentions, and this whole logic of benign Fat people ideal for the Roman Army, just wouldn't fly.
It's getting a bit worse. Now apparently, the Fat kids don't know how to wash their hands properly, they push other children off playground equipment, and they're so stupid that they're always waiting around for the Hero of the sand pit, a Thin boy to deliver them from the stupidity that being Fat brings.
Fat People are the Number Vun Villain.
This has always created confusion for me. When I was growing up, the Fat Auntys were the only ones who could disappear you in to a scented hug so soft and comfortable that you never wanted to leave it. They were cookie-baking, in-empathy-crying, massive ships of generosity and hot-hot puris, just fried.
In all my life, never have I had a mean Fat Aunty. Or one that put down my mother's burnt pakodas. In fact, one Fat Aunty even told my mother to believe me when I told her my stomach was aching, because what if it was? Another Fat Aunty sat with her pudgy hands on my forehead shielding my eyes from the sun as we drove home. She wasn't a Fat Aunty. She was 17. But she has no doubt grown up in to someone's Fat Aunty somewhere, and I'm pretty sure she's not using the bad quality rexine sofa covers, but the Excellent Quality Fake Leather.
I am a Fat Aunty. The cake-baking, joke-cracking, taking-in-the-neighbours' kids variety. I never-not-one-time stomped over in to someone's house, talking about my fancy holiday to "Thighlind" or my big solitaire in which you could see 8 carrots. I did have a Thin Delhi-Aunty who did that, and went to a Five Star to eat chaat out of silver plates, but not a single Fat Aunty. All the Fat Auntys I saw and knew, were simple types. Some even apologising for their existence, because what-to-do dieting-shieting toh we're doing, but we think-so that our genes are only cursed. So when, and with whose permission, did they become a community? A large group of same-type people who all behaved and spoke in the same way. Who felt the same hatred towards humanity - propelling them in to ruining lives, making comments about the kitchen dishes and the weak tea. Who existed purely to make Thin People look, and sound good.
Suddenly being a Fat person means you have to display a degree of dislikability formerly reserved for Sour Uncles and Cooti Kids. Being Fat, intelligent, and in good taste, is like eating a sour fruit and not making a lewd face - impossible.
Sure, the Fat Auntys are not the first to be stereotyped. There's Rich Bitch. Dumb and Gorgeous. And don't forget, Scrawny and Nerdy. But really, the Bitch has her money, Dumb has her looks, and scrawny gets to be smart. What do we Fatties get stuck with? A spare tyre and an extra sundae?
Tell you what. Let's leave the Fat Auntys alone. It's getting boring. And really, we really ought to be getting on with finding a cure for cancer or developing eco-friendly fuel. Let's look for another equally vulnerable, equally unconnected bunch to put down in our TV commercials, movies and radio jockey speeches. What about the five-year-olds? No one's messed with the five-year-olds yet.