Loving Our Bodies: Book Excerpt from ‘The Sensual Self’

Millennials and Gen Z are obsessed with body image. Straight up: nobody’s body is ‘perfect’. Not even David’s, as he towers over gasping admirers gazing at his perfect butt in Florence. Michelangelo’s masterpiece has survived scrutiny, since it was unveiled in the sixteenth century. It stands at an impressive 17 feet and is considered a colossal achievement, representing the finest marble sculpture of Renaissance art.

The magnificent statue was moved to its present home inside the Galleria dell’Accademia in 1873, from the original site of a public square. It took Michelangelo three years to carve the marble—a triumph. I visit Florence only to ‘meet’ David—young, vulnerable, real, heartbreakingly beautiful. I spend a couple of hours walking around the statue, taking pictures, listening to the stray comments of tourists, wondering if they feel equally moved by David’s perfection.

In my eyes, he is flawless, every inch of him. Millennials should take the trouble to study David and ask themselves a few questions about body-shaming, body-loathing, body-loving. The joy really doubles when you give your body to your lover with the fullness of your generous heart. Recognize your body’s potential for receiving and giving pleasure. And the deep fulfilment your body is capable of giving to another, when all the elements combine for the tactile celebration.

So many of us (me!) are hyper-critical about our physical appearance. We agonize over minute bodily imperfections and ‘defects’. Perhaps, women are far more body sensitive, since they are always seeking ‘approval’ from partners and feel insecure if the partner passes a single ‘negative’ comment (‘Oh great...you still fit into your jeans...but you still need to cut carbs...we all do...remember how you rocked in really tight, short dresses in college? That way, your legs and all still look good...toh bhi, carbs, baby, carbs!’) The offensive word is ‘still’. Women feel defensive the moment they hear ‘still’.They wonder,‘Does that mean he no longer finds me attractive? Has he met someone else with a more toned butt? Must be that over-talkative, giggly bitch at the gym.... I see him sharing diet tips with her. Like he is some Guru of Carbs.’ Relax! Maybe the guy was paying her a clumsily worded compliment. Errr...like the ones he pays you!

Every single one of us hates some body part or the other. A loving partner focuses on the part you hate the most! Extra care, kisses, caresses are reserved for that poor part that has committed no crime! I loathe my feet! They are gross! Nothing can be done to improve their appearance. I have protruding bunions on both feet, which, with age, have become flatter and wider. The toes lack symmetry. The little toes have their own life, and stick out of any footwear I try and stuff them into. My second toe is longer than the big toe—a sure sign, it is said, that I will dominate my husband. I so wish! I could live with a longer toe if that theory really worked.

Conversely, Mr Dé has terrific feet, well shaped and neat, with aligned toes, healthy pink toenails minus ridges, smooth heels without cracks, and arches that provide stability and support when he walks. Sometimes, he catches me staring enviously at his feet, while we sip evening tea on the balcony, waiting for a beautiful sunset, our legs extended, and our bodies relaxed at the end of a long day. He intercepts my gaze, and wordlessly reaches out to pat my feet! I hastily withdraw them and divert his attention embarrassed that he understood my feelings about ‘those ungainly peacock feet’. And I adore my clavicles! They make up for my lack of a deep cleavage.

My feet and I. It’s a saga. Which is why I was deeply touched when Mr Dé left his favourite cheese uneaten momentarily and reached out for my boiled potato of a big toe. ‘Pedicure? It’s so smooth! I like the nail polish also.’ He noticed! He touched! He shared. I felt ‘seen’. My feet felt loved. By the way, I like my ears. They are pretty!

Young people spend an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. What are they doing in there that takes this long? Well, if there’s a mirror in the loo, chances are they are examining every inch of their anatomy in search of flaws. Bathroom selfies are the rage with good reason. Bathrooms provide the ideal ‘me space’ even in crowded joint family homes. Who can time or question an individual’s throne time? Who decides it takes precisely seven minutes for a traditional ‘bucket bath’ or a shower? Kids take advantage of this loophole to indulge themselves. Intense self-scrutiny is the norm, even for toddlers today, who have specific opinions about their self- image and its ‘projection’ in public.

A cute seven-year-old-girl I know well, told me, when she was three, that she loved displaying her bare shoulders and exposed back. She also liked her ‘long, long hair’ and her ‘soft, pretty hands’ but was not as happy about the rest of her appearance. Nothing has changed. She still prefers bikinis over more covered-up swimwear, and ‘backless’ always rocks! No. She is not on Instagram. Yet. Does not possess a smartphone. Is not permitted unsupervised TV time. So where is this coming from? Within! She will grow up with the same feelings about her persona, unless something drastic alters her reality. She is innately ‘feminine’. That’s how this little girl is wired. Can’t say the same about myself. I often feel conflicted—androgynous or distinctly male.

Not sure whether these are inbuilt traits or I acquired a double identity persona as a response to my early training as a competing, national level athlete, running around with a javelin before daybreak, hoping to make it on time for my gruelling training in Azad Maidan. These days, I am much more in tune with my masculine self, to the extent my friends tell me my body language has changed and that I think/talk like men do in groups. Oh God! Hope I haven’t entirely forgotten how to flirt with the opposite sex! Light, happy, no strings attached social flirtations are such stress busters. I’m trying to recall the last time I was coquettish—blank!!

Excerpted from ‘The Sensual Self’ by Shobhaa De with permission from Aleph Book Company.