The Train Journey – Words That Stay: Rommal Surana

I was on a long train journey, watching people settle into their little worlds. Across me sat a family: a father, a mother, a 12-year-old boy, and his younger sister. They were travelling to their grandmother’s house.

For a while, everything felt ordinary—snacks being shared, light conversations, the quiet comfort of being together.

Then, the little girl said with excitement, “Papa, Nani makes the best ice cream.”

Her father smiled and replied casually, “Yes… Just don’t eat too much, or you’ll become moti.”

He laughed.

She didn’t, not fully.

Her smile softened, and for a brief moment, her eyes dropped towards her stomach before she leaned back quietly.

A little later, the boy jumped onto his father’s back. Laughing, the father said, “Oof! I can’t carry you anymore—you’ve become heavy.”

Then he added, almost playfully, “But you’re still too lean. At Nani’s house, you need to eat properly. Become strong… like your sister.”

There was a small pause.

“Like me?” the girl asked softly.

No one really responded. The moment passed, as most moments do.

But not everything that passes… disappears.

That night, when dinner was served, the girl said she wasn’t hungry. The boy, on the other hand, ate more than he needed.

No one spoke about weight again.

And yet, something had already settled—quietly, invisibly—within them.

As I watched, one thought stayed with me.

The father loved his children. There was warmth in the way he spoke, ease in the way they stayed close to him. There was no intention to hurt.

And yet, it made me wonder how often it is not our intention, but our everyday words, that begin shaping how a child sees their own body.

What This Reminded Me

Body shaming doesn’t always sound harsh. Sometimes it hides in jokes—“too fat” or “too thin”—but both quietly tell a child that their body is not okay.

When children hear this repeatedly, they don’t just hear words—they begin to measure their worth through their body.