We were having some carrot soup. I was sitting at the table, nose buried in an old Bronte classic; Kriti, living up to her name, was playing beautifully on the piano and Laila, who was sharing the rest of the soup with me, was peeking over my shoulder, trying to understand what interest such a book could possibly hold for anyone.
"Hey," she said loudly, by way of gaining attention and possibly saving me from utter doom by showing my nerdiness too obviously. I was a nerd, Laila accepted that stoically, but it was still a fact to be hidden, like some awful disease. Laila never tired of trying to make me a glam chick like her, for all her stoicism.
"Hey, have you seen that movie, you know, the one with the devil and something about a diary. You know, it's like that weird book which makes every evil thing come true." She waved her hand vaguely. Her voice sounded like wind chimes to my only half-listening ear.
"Hey! Wake up blind girl! Are you listening to me?" She prodded me where she knew it would hurt most, the fleshy part of the arm. Too bad I didn't have any flesh to speak of due to my prolonged illness - her finger nudged only bone. "You know, you really have to put on some weight, you're like a shell, you know?"
"Ow. Yes, I know." I rubbed my arm and glared at Laila; she'd made me lose my page. Just at the most interesting part too.
Kriti stopped her practising and looked up, amused. "That's better than being a polar bear like me, isn't it?" Kriti was very fair, and a little fat. Yet polar bear was completely absurd. It was Laila, of course, who had come up with that moniker. She said that Kriti's bushy eyebrows had made her think of a huge, fierce bear. Laila probably hoped that such 'constructive criticism' as she termed it - blatant insults we termed it - would have the effect of making us try to spruce ourselves a bit more: try to be more presentable. It did earlier, but now we'd gotten used to it.
"Well, I don't know. I wouldn't like to be in either extreme of the weight scale. I mean, those rake-thin models are sooo unhealthy (how do they even balance on those stilts they call heels anyway?) but I wouldn't like to be fat either. You can't wear anything but the most unflattering clothes."
I looked at Kriti's pretty churidhar. "There is evidence to the contrary" I said dramatically, pointing to it. "Would you call that unflattering?"
A doubtful look. "Not exactly"
I thumped her. "Go to the gym today, you need some limbering up. Now look closely, and say with perfect truth, is it not the most wonderful attire you have seen, befitting even a queen, an she were to wear it?"
A sulky look. "I don't understand you. Don't talk like someone from the Middle Ages. And it does not look royal." A dignified figure walked out of the room.
Kriti smiled at me :"I am in your debt, milady", said she, bowing deeply "for defending the honour of my poor attire."
I waved an airy hand and picked up my book again. I hoped Laila wouldn't be too cross. I'd miss her carrot soup too much.
