‘N
8
o way,’ Debu said. ‘She is not prettier than you.’
‘Oh, come on,’ I said. ‘Aditi didi is so nice-looking.’
‘Listen, sure she is, but not more than you. No way. You have better features.’
‘That’s not what my mother led me to believe,’ I said.
‘Must be the Punjabi thing. The whiter the skin, the prettier the person. Nonsense,’ he said,
somewhat agitated.
We sat on the edge of the hotel bed, my laptop in the middle. I had a two-year-old family
album open on the screen.
‘All my life I have been this nerdy, studious girl. Aditi didi is considered the looker.’
‘Sorry, she’s your sister, but she dresses like she is going to a party even for random family
pictures at home.’
‘She is like that,’ I said.
‘You did wear horrible glasses though,’ Debu said.
I laughed.
‘I switched to contacts a year ago,’ I said, and pointed to a picture of my family in our living
room. ‘That is dad. Simple, quiet man. Just doesn’t want people in society to say anything critical of
him. This is my mother. Dominates dad totally.’
Debu examined the pictures as I spoke again.
‘I miss home,’ I said. ‘Seeing these pictures I miss India. I want to watch TV serials with my
mother and do nothing.’
‘Says the new hotshot distressed debt banker. Too late, girl.’ Debu laughed.
I made a mock-sad face.
I need a hug. Move things forward, Debu. Do I have to give you an instruction manual?
‘It’s a sweet family,’ Debu said.
‘It is,’ I said. I wanted to stall the conversation with short, boring replies. Awkward silences
lead to many interesting things.
Unfortunately, certain intellectual Bengali men don’t often get the hint.
‘Have you read The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf?’ Debu said.
‘No, what’s that?’
‘A landmark feminist book. It talks about how women are culturally bullied into feeling
conscious about their looks all the time,’ he said.
‘Really? Well, to a certain extent it’s true,’ I said.
‘Yeah. Do men compare their physicality with their siblings so much?’