Indian aunties, wherever they are on the planet, share one superpower. Identifying even a 2-kilo increase through a 480p video stream. No level of life achievement you have had, nor how emotionally advanced you have become, will stop them from their favourite topic of discussion: your appearance.
So why the obsession? Is it love? control? cultural tradition? Or perhaps aunties have a sixth sense when it comes to BMI? Let's take a closer look.
“You've put on na?” is the stereotypical Indian auntie's go-to wedding, temple, gurdwara, or even funeral. What she means is I've run out of topics to talk about and decided your waistline is fair game. Weight is the ultimate conversation starter. It’s like your body walked in five seconds before you did, and they’d already formed a panel of judges.
You're thin? Better set yourself up for concerned head-tilts and questions about what you eat. “Beta, are you eating properly?” “You must lack iron.” And do remember, when an aunty praises you as “healthy”, it's just a polite way of saying you've gone soft all the wrong places, some subtle exhortation disguised as cultural courtesy.
Aunties have been culturally programmed to become weight-obsessed, heavily influenced by Bollywood heroines. They grew up in a world where everything a woman did was measured, monitored, and judged. Beauty wasn't self-expression, it was survival. From films to fairness campaigns to judging relatives, the message remained the same: your size defines your worth.
In their eyes, you’re either “too much” or “not enough.” You can't win. Your body wasn't your own; it was always the project of the aunties, their idea of the way you could look, should look.
Bollywood heroines were transformed, yet the aunty algorithm was unchanged. Curvy meant reckless. Thin meant unwell. Chubby meant unfit to appear. These antagonistic messages got cemented into their minds like a family recipe plucked through the ages without questioning the authenticity of the ingredients.
When your aunty comments about your weight, it isn't about how healthy you are, it's about control masquerading as care. On the outside, it's a friendly-sounding, concerned check-in. Strip away the polite tone, and it's all about you conforming to their specifications. These are not casual remarks , they are covert trials of the issue of the question of whether you are "normal" according to their understanding.
Auntie's love language is mildly passive, completely invasive and almost always with a smile. Do you dare push back? You're told, "Don't take it personally, beta… I'm saying it only because I care."
In most Indian diasporic communities, people still don't openly discuss mental health, emotions, or identity. That's why the awkward small talk, about your weight and your looks, is the default setting, a safe, familiar mode of connection without going all awkward. It's not that they don't have emotions; they don't know how to express them without beginning with commentary about your thighs.
It's all about vying for the aunties, the tight-knit Indians, and you're a member of the unintended, ongoing competition you didn't necessarily enter willingly. Your arch-rival is always a relative of yours who's taller, firmer and seems to have it all together. “Beta, Anika has three kids and yet no tummy, what about you?”
And when it comes to ranking, the aunties are the experts. That's their go-to pastime! Whose body, whose wealth, whose lengha is better? In the aunty universe, you always have a cousin better than you, and your better cousin gets compared to another cousin better than them. They'll nit-pick all the time. If it's not your weight, it will be your skin.