When I was 10 years old, we had to take the Presidential Fitness Award test (can you believe they are bringing that back! Ugh!).

I stepped on the scale.

The nurse looked at the number — 100 pounds — then looked at me and said, "Boys always weigh more."

When she realized I was a girl, she told me I was fat.

That moment stamped itself on my body.

And it didn't stop there.

I've been called fat by aunties, by classmates, by strangers, and even by my mom, who, despite her love, dragged me from nutritionist to personal trainer in hopes of "fixing me."

She'd take me to the gym…then feed me biryani and jalebi afterward.

It wasn't cruelty. It was culture.

At a party during my master's program at UPenn, a classmate told me I was fat in front of my cohort. I smiled through it. Laughed it off. I always do.

But inside, I made a decision:

I needed more than Weight Watchers.

I needed to understand my body so that I could love it.

What I've Learned Since

I started studying nutrition. Reading research. Testing supplements.

And slowly, I began to realize something:

So much of what I've been blamed for isn't my fault.

Not the belly fat. Not the sugar cravings. Not the energy crashes.

As South Asians, we carry:

• Genetic risk for insulin resistance
• Higher rates of visceral fat even at "normal" weights
• Centuries of colonization that erased our original food systems

Nobody talks about this. Not our doctors. Not our parents. Not the wellness industry.

What You'll Find Here

This blog is where I'll share:

• What worked for me (and what didn't)
• The science behind blood sugar, cravings, and belly fat
• Personal stories I've never said out loud, until now

I'm doing this for the 10-year-old me on the scale.

For every girl who was told she'd never get married if she stayed "fat."

For every brown woman who looked in the mirror and thought something was wrong with her.