Anu didn’t have the heart to dim that child-like light in Kavitha, though going shopping with her was a painful act. Every single thing Anu picked up, Kavitha would order and pay for two of those—one in medium and one in XXXL. One may think to get so many gifts was fun but Anu was like the Lannisters in Game of Thrones—she always paid her debts. Which meant, each time Kavitha paid, Anu had to match.

But Kavitha was like a child, she wouldn’t leave Anu alone until her wish of going to shopping was fulfilled. Anu gave in. ‘Tomorrow it is. Meet you here at 11. Bye.’

Kavitha’s obsession with Anu went back to when they were fifteen. The usually lethargic residents of Ramesh Apartments came alive during their resident’s day, which they took very seriously. Taking part in any of the activities was considered to be prestigious. There were dance performances but mostly the middle-aged women who were once-upon-a-time dancers dominated the scene. There were dramas but older men and women who nursed theatrical ambitions when young would be all over it, singing was the domain of the music teachers in the apartment and their students. In Bangalore music is big—every street has at least two Carnatic music teachers with at least twenty students each. So one can imagine an apartment complex with a hundred houses.

One event that was left for kids was a beauty pageant of ethic wear. Every year it was same deal – contestants strutting awkwardly in strangely draped sarees. Tamilians and Coorgis sashayed confidently because their mothers knew how to work the pallus. Then some proclaimed their drapes were Gujarati or Rajasthani which nobody contested. It was before the internet era so nobody knew the difference between Gujarati, Rajasthani or Marathi. Kannada kids had it hard. Their style was too everyday but their mothers didn’t know any better.

Only girls fifteen years of age and above could audition and finally, Anu had qualified that year; but so had Kavitha. The audition was held in the car parking lot and the aspirants had to walk the slopy ramp. The selectors were older girls who were also the self-nominated fashionistas. Boys, uninvited of course, gathered all around passing comments.

Anu’s grandmother had draped her in a Kanjeevaram saree. Kannada style. Anu wasn’t happy about the non-exotic nature of it, but that was the only way her grandmother knew. Anu, determined to make it to the event, had watched enough Femina Miss India shows on TV all year long. When the time came, she made herself proud by walking down the steep ramp with a hand on the hip and head-tilted upwards. She had secretly practised not to tumble at the end of the ramp. Whoa! She even got a big round of applause when she finished.