‘I do!’ Yudi said, perking up suddenly ‘There’s this little momo stall on the way where you get the most awesome momos, but I don’t know if that’s really your thing.’

I looked at Yudi, speechless, and he raised his eyebrows quizzically. ‘Yudi, if you could look deep into my eyes right now, you’d see momos instead of eyeballs looking right back at you! I love momos and I haven’t eaten them for centuries! Let me at ’em!’

About twenty minutes later I sighed contentedly and leaned back against the little white plastic chair plonked outside the makeshift Chinese food stall we were at. The most heavenly chilli paneer momos jostled for space in my stomach with the hot noodle thukpa and clear veg soup. Opposite me, Yudi finished licking his fingers and grinned. ‘It’s good to see a girl with a healthy appetite. I’m up to my ears with soups and salad, thanks to those fanatics on Dinky Chips! I never thought I’d be eating momos at a roadside stall with a GF brand manager!’

‘I guess I’m just one of the outliers as far as the rest of the GF gang is concerned,’ I said as visions of the highly health-conscious Dinky Chips brand team flashed through my mind. The Dinky Chips brand team comprised a bunch of enthu cutlets whose common passions included gymming and monitoring their basal metabolic rate, when they weren’t coming up with mind-blowing brand strategies. My good friend Vijay was among them and I was about to mention this to Yudi when I suddenly had a vision of Priyanka nibbling on carrot sticks and shredded cabbage for lunch. Priyanka was the other gym freak in office, probably the reason why she looked like she had just been poured into her skin-tight, slim-fit Levi’s. Very different from the frump in faded jeans and a kurti stuffing her face with all the available food in sight, I thought gloomily, pushing the last chilli paneer momo away.

‘I guess I’m just a misfit at GF,’ I said aloud, sighing heavily. Yudi looked up at this but my cellphone rang out before he could say anything. It was Chetan from the research agency calling to inform us that the first focus group was slated to begin in twenty minutes. We hurried towards the venue and, thanks to our competent bhangra-loving driver, made good time and reached with five minutes to spare.

The participants of the focus group were already seated when we arrived; a bunch of expectant-looking fifteen-year-olds dressed in their Saturday best. Their mothers, chaperoning them for the afternoon, were seated in an adjoining room, exchanging suspicious glances while simultaneously checking out each others’ clothes and mobile handsets.

‘Welcome!’ said a squeaky voice as Chetan bounded up to us, ‘we are all set to begin!’ I grinned at him, Chetan and I went back a long way. He had handled most of the researches I had organized since joining GF and was super sincere and highly competent. He was also a hard core Tam Bram, short for Tamilian Brahmin, and with his ash-smeared forehead and oiled hair, he looked as out of place in this conservative Delhi neighbourhood as an idli among aloo parathas.