Now that I have yanked, stretched and rebonded my locks to death, I'm back to my old frizz and loving it. I can appreciate my bulbous nose - it has character, if not proportion.

Appreciate that adipose and those dimpled thighs, says Farah Baria, who has finally learnt to love her body just the way it is

Nirvana, these days, is devoting your life to the bathroom scales. So, not long ago, I sought out the New Guru: a dietician. Actually, it was a snap decision made at a lingerie store, sifting idly through some sexy underwear. "Will that be large or extra large, madam?" inquired the salesman with impeccable politeness. I stopped and instinctively looked over my shoulder to glance at the unfortunate customer.

There was no one. "Excuse me madam, large or extra large?" And then it sank in. This toadying, potbellied man with the ingratiating smile was actually addressing me - me, the girl who once got into a size ten dress with room to spare! Mortified, I fled, but not before catching a glimpse of myself in one of those horribly candid, full length mirrors. The woman staring back was a complete stranger - drab, matronly and, dare I say it, fat. I blinked. Two kids and a decade of Epicurean profligacy had taken their toll. Clearly, a Guru was the need of the hour.

But, my very first darshan was far from inspiring. A poky, little waiting room, garish stained glass, polyester curtains. I allowed myself to be led into an inner sanctum, humbly accepted an electronic crystal ball called a Body Fat Calculator, which magically computes your adipose, and submitted meekly to its verdict - 32.6 per cent.

"My God, that's a lot!" said a voice from Heaven. I paled and looked up uncertainly. There, standing before me, was what could only have been a giantess, about a foot taller than my five feet, six inches and weighing not a gram less than a hundred kilos. Hopefully not a success story, if those formidable biceps were anything to go by, I thought nervously. The incredible hulk smiled, a don't-worry-we've-seen-worse-than-you sort of smile and introduced herself as the assistant. (Relax, I ordered my jumpy nerves, she's the paid help, not the advertisement).

Having passed the litmus test of corpulence, I was registered as a worthy devotee and was invited to sit on a narrow bench that could barely accommodate my insolent derriere. Precariously balanced, were two other ladies, with multiple chins that disappeared seamlessly into 'jowly' necks, colossal bosoms and gargantuan bellies. Opposite them, sat another aspirant, wearing ten diamond rings that seemed fated to remain trapped on her pudgy, manicured paws. I almost pirouetted with glee. XL or no XL, next to this lot, I was a dainty, spry ballerina!

Guruji obviously disagreed. She weighed me with silent eloquence (63.1 kilos) and pulled out a crisp sheet of paper to prescribe the penance: plenty of fruits and stir-fried veggies, low fat lentils and whole grain cereals. For some inexplicable reason, it was humiliating, like redoing a grade six nutrition lesson, in mid-life. Suddenly I was filled with self-loathing. I had waited over an hour, missed a favourite yoga class and paid an arm and a leg, only to be told what my body had been screaming for many, many years. (Plus another arm and leg for a battery of tests to check my insulin, biotin and B12. Needless to say, the reports concluded that I was disgustingly healthy). I tossed the painstakingly typed sheets into a dustbin and left the clinic, a free woman.

Ever since that fateful day, there has been a lightness to my step that I never felt even ten years and as many kilos ago. Back in my twenties, when I was slim enough to slither effortlessly into my drainpipes, I used to think I was overweight and ugly. My hair looked like electric wires after a thunderstorm.

But now that I have yanked, stretched and rebonded my locks to death, I'm back to my old frizz and loving it. I can appreciate my bulbous nose - it has character, if not proportion. I have developed a tenderness for my generous belly, with its web of silvery stretch marks - a free gift from my two beautiful children. I'm even getting fond of those wretched dimples on my thighs - they're old friends. And, I was delighted with my first gray hair.

In short, for the first time in my life, I am celebrating my body and treating it with new respect. I am careful about the nutrients I put inside it. I exercise when it wants to and rest when it doesn't. I am learning to tune into its subtle frequencies through the sophisticated language of yoga. And, most importantly, I am beginning to discover that beauty is not how you look but how you feel. You can look like Liz Hurley and feel like Little Lotta. Or, you can look like Little Lotta and feel like Liz Hurley. I'll take the latter - anyday.

And, oh, just by the way, I'm not fat anymore. I'm Rubenesque.