After two divorces and an eating disorder, Marlene Flowers knew a change was needed. Her son suggested she start building her strength and she soon found her self-confidence growing ...

In 2021, at 64 years old, Marlene Flowers entered her first bodybuilding competition. Oiled, tanned and wearing a bikini, the auto repair shop owner from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, found herself under bright lights on stage, twisting and contorting to show off her taut muscles alongside people half her age. Once the flexing was over, she then performed a one-minute posing routine to the theme song from Flashdance, one of her favourite films. “I was terrified to get out there but as soon as I did, I realised everyone was so encouraging and supportive,” she says. “We all wanted each other to succeed and I walked away with a trophy.”

If you had told Flowers when she was in her 50s that she would be inviting people to judge her figure, she would have laughed in your face. She had a natural aptitude for freestyle swimming as a child, but struggled with her body image. Self-conscious and often shy, Flowers went on to marry and divorce twice. “It all affected my self-esteem and I ended up with an eating disorder for many years,” she says. “It was getting worse and worse until I was hospitalised for issues relating to my weight loss at 58. That was my wake-up call.”

She hadn’t lived in India for 50 years, but her last request was to be returned to the place of her birth. On the banks of the Ganges there were tears – but also all the chaos, hustle and humour of life

In October 2019, I was in India, standing by the dusty banks of the Ganges on a quest to spread my grandmother’s ashes. She hadn’t lived in the country for the last 50 years and hadn’t even set foot in it for a decade at least. My parents had never lived there and neither had my brother and I. This wasn’t a homecoming. It was a chore borne from her final request: to perform her last rites in the place she had barely clung on to. It was a strange holiday.

At 25, I had already experienced my fair share of goodbyes. The deceased were second cousins, granduncles, grandparents, even school classmates, and the ritual was always the same. We would visit their home to see the coffin and hear the wails of the surrounding mourners before heading to the local crematorium in Hounslow, west London. Regardless of the weather outside, the lofty chapel always felt grey and chilly. Close family members would weep through the eulogies while I looked on and blinked. The curtains would then close dramatically in front of the coffin, marking a symbolic departure to another world.