Short Story: Beef in the Belly

Marva Madakkattil’s story follows a woman’s uneasy reckoning with appetite, memory, and the intimate weight of what the body carries.

A few days ago.

From the app to bed, you meet all kinds of people; those who start with the question of your body-count, those who like boobs, those who prefer butts, those who love their own sweat, the-can’t-stop-tickling-your-toes type or want to watch you while you cook or garden. Then there are the navel lovers. Everything about bodily love is weird, yet so real.

Tashi, with his sharp eyebrows but soft eyes, was different. He liked pot bellies, or mine at least. The big blob of bubbly, jiggly, wiggly, fluffy flab. I was always discontent with how my tummy looked. I tried exercises, and a few diets, but nothing could beat my genetics. Even in my good dreams, my grandmother’s big pot belly peeking from her cotton sarees with tiny floral patterns mocked me. He totally ignored my sagging breasts and instead massaged the blubbers of my belly. I laughed out loud.