FAT FATIYA

Jane was a fine specimen working diligently and efficiently in her blue collared job. Her work at loading docks was monotonous, energy intensive and without any incentive for any remarkable growth. Every day, after her shift she would recharge herself thoroughly, replenish essential fluids and get hooked to social media for hours. She was an active observer online, she absorbed all the trends and skimmed all the notions of being cool and attractive.

Jane and her entirely family were stockily built. Heavy hips, thunder thighs, narrow bust and forky hands. From her experience on net, she shockingly discerned that her body type was highly body shamed and considered to be highly unattractive; almost despicable. Though there was a vocal minority campaigning for body positivity and self-acceptance; a large cantankerous carnal majority lusted for the perfect hour glass figure. Her suggestion feeds became unidimensional. Options of extreme diet and extreme exercise were now being imprinted on her cortex. She was already performing heavy duty work and wasn’t jiggly, so the option of exercise didn’t make much sense. She, like the rest of us, bought into the extreme dieting theatrics. She tried consulting her family, but they were unresponsive as usual. She figured out that a record 10 day no-energy-intake diet will help her shed 8% of body weight as claimed by influencers.

Her first day went fine. Jane went home, cross checked social media for progress and then conked out. Second day she felt a little rusty, not much low on energy despite her energy replenishment being null. Jane felt empty but waited for the third day. Third day, she felt pangs of extreme thirst. Her footsteps were shaky, her solid legs were wobbling and her forky hands trembling as she was running short of fluids.  She checked herself in the mirror and the weighing scale, but there wasn’t any noticeable change. She was extremely dejected. Dizzying thoughts and psychedelic colours were now clouding her mind. Third day proved to be a greater grind than she anticipated. She was now extremely low on energy. She was experiencing spatial disorientation. The rooms were spinning, the floors were caving and lines were bending. Fourth day, was harrowing. She collapsed midway. Her knuckles buckled under pressure. She tried standing up but the entire room was folding unto itself. Her body let out a huge creaking noise, similar to what the belly gurgles in a dehydrated de-electrolysed state. Jane had been on the floor for over 45 minutes now. When her eyes lit up again, she rushed home. Her joints felt hot, her belly felt empty. She was now leaking residual fluids from all of her orifices. She obliterated any thought of assistance and checked herself out on the weighing scale. Not even 1% of body weight difference. She was fading; blacking out. She could hear all the body shaming trolls in her system; screeching hungry in her ears. She felt belittled and insulted; a total failure.

She was convinced that her commercial as well as sensual appeal was next to nought. She wasn’t worried about her current situation but that she wouldn’t have any admirers and her bodyshape was something that she might have to forever live with. Jane loathed herself. Jane barely managed to wake up the next day. She was falling apart. She could barely stand; she was blanching and fluids were dripping. Everything was hazy, spinning and bending. She fell down again, tried getting up by clawing her fingers in the ground, but failed probably for the last time. Everything blurred in grey and faded into white noise. She now lay on the operating table. The engineer grumbled in utter anger and shouted towards the door, “I told these puppy programmers not to put so much brains in these J.Alpha.N3 (J.α.N3) series of dud forklifters. These tin head robots start believing themselves to be Melissa McCarthys. This is the fifth one that has ruined my siesta this month.”