Nisha and I had been friends since Class II and we had been inseparable. When Nisha opted for Kannada as her second language and I, Hindi, in Class V, I switched my second language and followed her right into her class, not worried about how I was going to study Kannada.

Then, Anirudh came along in Class VII. He was a typical bespectacled, shy boy who had a rather wicked sense of humour once you got to know him. He’d sprayed the back of our chemistry teacher’s saree with ink once and all three of us got detention for that. Probably because we were sitting the closest to him and he looked much too innocent to do something of the sort on his own.

When we walked into the detention room, he was busy trying to capture a lizard using a plastic bag wrapped around his fist. I’d normally run miles away from such a person, but we somehow became good friends and we continued to be, right through our tenth and now in pre-university college.

A part of me was worried about what was going to happen after this. Anirudh was going to sit for competitive entrance exams and study to be a doctor, Nisha wanted to study architecture and I . . . I was still undecided.

I didn’t really like the idea of them together. I’d be the third wheel, the ‘kabab mein haddi’ all the time. They’d want to meet up and spend time without me. And if we made plans to meet, they would either be waiting for me to come late or leave. Aaaargh.

Later that evening, as I dressed for dinner, I put the two of them firmly out of my mind and wore the new dress I’d bought for my birthday. I glanced at myself in the mirror quickly, bracing myself.

My arms were still chubby in spite of all the yoga, dieting and exercise. The churning in my stomach began as I wondered if I should wear some sort of a shrug to cover them up. Why did I think I could carry off a sleeveless dress? I’d need to diet for another ten years to have the kind of thin arms that I could show off.

I paced my room for a few minutes, itching to chew my fingernails. I could do it, I told myself sternly. I could step out of this room and face the world with my chubby arms.

Thick ankles.
Round shoulders.
Ms Piggy.
Fat Ananya.

No, I couldn’t.

I yanked the door of my wardrobe open and rummaged through my things. I found a white scarf, draped it around myself and walked out. The whispers in my head hadn’t died down but they were a little less sibilant. I tried to push them to a corner of my mind as I walked outside.