A large chunk of family had gathered for dinner the day before Nitwit’s engagement at my uncle’s house. My cousins, Nitwit and Tania, and their dozens of giggling girlfriends are the ubiquitous south-Delhi babes, designer-decked empty drums, asses covered in unicorn hair. I couldn’t bear to be around them; my skin grew uncomfortable and clunky.

It wasn’t that they were ever anything less than distractedly nice to me. But I had never been thin enough to pass muster as not-fat, committed the incessant sacrilege of not sporting a very specific version of beauty, and didn’t have a boyfriend whom I was trying to nudge towards marriage. It made me as inscrutable to them as they were to me. And I was just politely dismissed, perhaps as a failure.

I wore a heavy armour of America around Delhi, combat boots and Genette books. In my head I was still topping off my Parliament with a dash of coke and laughing about the narrative structure of Ke$ha’s life with Asher.

And under it all, I found it incredibly unfair that they were so validated in their own eyes that the universe seemed to recognize it and reward them in kind, giving them the only riches they desired. They always seemed so happy to me, and what was that all about?

Tania walked into her bedroom with a friend, where I sat dressed for the engagement party, reading an Augusten Burroughs e-book on my laptop.

They looked me over, taking in the black silk sari I’d borrowed for the occasion and the old gold jewellery Aunty Agnes had left behind. My mother had offered me fashionable lehengas and polki-crusted necklaces, of course. Offered, to the point of insisting. But this old gold was all that Aunty Agnes had left of herself. This, and the birds. Except that The Wolf had opened up the hatch on their cage after she had been buried and they had flown away, every last one of them.

She had been a whole person, and this was all that remained, and I couldn’t let this little bit fade away in the dark hollows of a forgotten locker.

Tania’s friend spoke up, genuine concern lacing her words, ‘Baby, are you going to go like this only?’

‘I mean, I’ll brush my hair first.’

‘But that sari is black, no. It’s bad luck!’

Tania was peering in the mirror, scrutinizing the mask of make-up on her face. ‘Baby, just let her wear it. It’s slimming na, at least.’

Tara: Ash, I can’t fucking be here anymore . . .

Asher: Why not?

Tara: These people are insane. They’re fucking aliens. Like, I might just lose my mind if I have to stay here much longer.

Asher: Oh God, just drink.

Tara: I’m trying! But there are people around all the time. Family and servants and stuff.

Asher: That sounds horrible.

Tara: It is.

Asher: Ugh.