Body-shaming (critiquing yourself or others because of a particular aspect of your appearance) is a vicious circle of judgement and criticism. When one mocks or criticizes someone’s physical appearance they are body shamed.  There are many ways in which body shaming manifests itself, including making a passing comment about your appearance or criticizing someone else’s appearance in front of them.

It is so common for sitcoms to make fun of overweight characters’ bodies. People have become accustomed to criticizing their bodies as a way to bond with their friends – if everyone hates their bodies, this creates a sense of unity and belonging. 

When we are upset, annoyed, or intimidated by someone, do we automatically criticize their appearance? When these situations arise, particularly during adolescence and early adulthood, the default defense we often use is “They’re ugly, whatever.” Some people find it more convenient to aim for something that will hurt, like a physical appearance, than to express their emotional state. It is easier to bury underneath the body-shaming comments that rush to our mind when we say, “I am really hurt by how my friend treated me,” or “I am terrified of losing this friendship” when we open up and make ourselves vulnerable. 

Body-shaming hurts a person physically or mentally. As a result, people may feel insecure, depressed, and more. Body-shaming is a vicious tool that can be used to hurt individuals. Engaging in such heinous acts is therefore morally wrong. 

So, the next time you’d wanna shoot down comments on someone else’s appearance, pause and think about the consequences. Spread love, not hate.

“Persistence can grind an iron beam down into a needle.” Here’s such a story of Savitri and Satyvan. 

Princess Savitri of the Madra Kingdom was as benevolent, brilliant, and bright as the Sun God she was named after. Her grace was known through-out the land, and merchants and powerful princes often flocked the royal palace to seek her hand in marriage. Despite the infinite proposals she received over the years, she did not take an ounce of bit interest in anyone of them. Men often would propose but would lose their nerve upon spectating her blinding splendor. Frustrated, the princess determined to find herself a husband. She wasn’t going to be the next victim of the cruel Fate.

Mounting her golden chariot, she traveled at a fast clip over rolling deserts, glittering cities, and snow-capped mountains rejecting many suitors on her way. Eventually, Savitri ventured into the deep tranquil forest and, amidst the play of dancing stars, she met a man chopping wood. His name was Satyavan, and like her, he loved the forest and the blissful solitude that wrapped itself around it. The princess saw he was not at peace.

After talking for hours, Satyavan told Savitri of his plight. He had been once a prince with wealthy parents who ruled over endless lands until his father had been blinded and overthrown in a violent coup. Now Satyvan worked tirelessly to support their meager new life. His youthfulness had wilted a long time ago, and he had no hopes for the future. His determination and devotion moved the princess. As they gazed into each other’s eyes, Savitri knew she had finally found an equal.

Savitri rushed back to her father to tell him the good news, only to find him conversing with Narada, a traveling sage and the wisest messenger of gods. At first, her father was thrilled to learn of Satyavan, but Narada revealed a tragic prophecy: her betrothed had only a year left to live. Savitri’s blood ran cold. She’d waited for ages to find her partner-was she already doomed to lose him? The princess refused to accept these terms.

Right before Narada, her family, and Savitr himself that she would never marry another. Satyavan was her true love, and their fates were entwined forever. Nobody, even the gods above could separate the two of them. The sky clapped with thunder, and the earth shook. Moved by her powerful words, Narada advised the princess to follow an ancient spiritual regimen. With regular prayers, periods of fasting, and preparation of special herbs and plants, she might be able to prolong Satyavan’s life. Savitri was ready in a heart-beat.

After a simple wedding, the couple returned to the jungle to live in keeping with the sage’s instructions. Life was hard. This modest existence was far away from her lavish upbringing, but her love for Satyavan was deep like the ocean and long as the wind. She wasn’t going to lose him. The couple was happy in one another’s company. A year passed, and the fated day arrived. 

On their first anniversary, the sun grew horribly hot burning everything it lay its presence upon. Satyavan’s brow began to burn, and Savitri barely had time to pull him into the shade, before he grew still and cold as the night. His eyes turned foggy, and a ghostly smile lay upon his lips. The earth grew silent only to be filled with Savitri’s sobs. Through her tears, the princess saw an immense figure on the horizon filling the sky. This was Yamraj, the God of Death, come to escort Satyavan’s soul to the afterlife.

But Savitri was not giving up yet. She followed the god for hours in the beating sun. Yamraj thundered at the princess to leave him alone in his peace. But even as her feet bled and her throat burned, Savitri would not turn back. She followed him like a devoted servant. Eventually, Yamraj paused. He would grant Savitri one wish as a reward for her persistence, but she couldn’t ask her for her husband’s life. Without any hesitation, she asked God to restore her blind father-in-law’s eyesight. The wish was granted, and Yamraj moved on. But still, Savitri’s foot-step echoed behind him. Exasperated, God granted her a second wish. This time, Savitri asked for her husband’s kingdom to be restored. Again the wish was granted, and Yamraj began his descent into his subterranean kingdom. 

But when he turned his head back, he was astonished to see the bedraggled princess stumbling around. His mouth was dry as a bone. He had never seen such devotion to the dead and honored her dedication with one final fish. Standing cool as a cucumber, the princess asked to be the mother of many children. Yamraj agreed and waved to dismiss her. But the princess only repeated the vow she’d made one year earlier: her fate was forever entwined with Satyavan. How could she bear many children, if Yamraj would not return her husband?

The God smiled knowing Savitri had beaten him to his own game. With Yamraj’s blessing and respect, Satyavan was returned to Savitri and the two walked back to the land of the living, united in a love that not even death could destroy.

Persistence and smartness lead to wonder. Thank you!

Oftentimes children are told bedtime stories about kings who bravely fought against the forces of evil. While other leaders were honored with statues and temples, King Midas of Phrygia is renowned for his folly. Known as a rogue ruler, his antics amused his people and distracted the gods.

Midas spent his days in a stupor of splendor, spoiling himself and the apple of his eye – his daughter, and gorging down on lavish meals. It was no surprise he looked up to Dionysus – the god of wine, carnival, and performance.

One day, Midas discovered a satyr – a perfect opportunity to win over Dionysus. He was dozing in his rose garden and drunk on more than the scent of flowers. He took in the wasted satyr, and let him nurse his hangover. Pleased with the king’s hospitality, Dionysus offered to grant him a wish. Midas cast a greedy eye over his surroundings. His luxurious lifestyle did not seem to suffice, no matter how many fine jewels, silk, and gorgeous decor he had. Life lacked luster, he thought; he needed more gold in his life.

Midas was gifted with the ability to turn anything he touched into gold. Like a child in a sweet shop, Midas ran towards his palace walls – lo behold, it indeed turned into sparkling gold. At his lightest touch, stone statues shone, and goblet glittered. With wild abandon, he galloped through his home, handling everything until it was polished to a lustrous finish. Soon the palace glistened with his golden touch, and Midas delirious laughter echoed off the walls.

Exhausted after a long day of work, Midas picked up a bunch of grapes from his newly gilded fruit bowl. He almost shattered his teeth as the fruit had turned to metal in his mouth. When he picked up a loaf of bread, the crumbs hardened in his hand. Flinging himself onto his bed in frustration, Midas discovered his plush pillows had morphed into solid gold. “What is happening?!”

Hearing his cries of frustration, his daughter entered the room. Upon reaching out to her, Midas saw with horror that he had frozen her into a golden statue. He let out a cry of despair – his daughter, the most precious to him, was gone?

Midas begged the gods to take his power away for fear of the consequences of what he had done. Dionysus, taking pity on the foolish king, told Midas to wash his hands in the River Pactolus.

Traveling over snow-capped mountains, and rough terrains Midas finally reached the river. Gold oozed from Midas’ fingertips as he reached into the river. Midas returned to his palace and rejoiced to see his daughter safe and sound. That’s how the phrase ‘Midas’s touch’ came to be.

You’d think he would have mended his ways – but, oh boy. Midas was incorrigible – he never learned from his mistakes. Just a few weeks after, he made a Himalayan blunder, insulting the music and sun god Apollo when he declared Pan a greater musician.

Apollo scornfully declared that the king must have the ears of an ass to make such a misjudgment, and transformed Midas accordingly. The foolish king nearly had a heart attack upon seeing his ass ears and begged the god to reverse the curse. Apollo simply refused and rode away.

Once again regretting his behavior, Midas kept his hairy ears hidden in public. They were seen only by his barber, who was sworn to secrecy during a very awkward grooming session. Can you imagine? The barber stifled his laughter and fought the urge to tell someone, yet the secret consumed him.

When he couldn’t take any more, he walked outside the city and dug a hole in the ground. Plunging his head into the earth, the desperate barber whispered, “Midas has ass’s ears.” He was relieved.

Days passed, and a clump of reeds sprang up in the spot where the barber buried his secret. When the wind blew, they carried the echoes of his whisper through the breeze: “Midas has ass’s ears.” Donkeys rose their heads in recognition, and people chuckled at the antics of their king. From that day onwards, Midas was called the king with ass’s ears.

With his golden touch and ass’s ears, King Midas wasn’t the most respected ruler. While other leaders had statues and temples built in their honor, his people remembered him a little differently: in the depths of the glittering river and the rustle of the Phrygian wind. Thank you!