I fucking miss bollywood.

I starve till I am blue in the face. Every second begins to count, I feel the back of my eyelids turn darker and darker, till they are no longer pink but red-brown. Unhealthy but oh-so-happy I continue living like nothing happened. Nothing matters. Not even the food on the table and in my mind.

Home

We run out of conversation pretty fast, and that's a pity since we were running out of time in the first place.

"So.." I buy more time with the word, elongating to several more "o's" until I stumble upon the perfect topic "tell me what everyone was wearing?"

We're women now. (Estrogen or not) (Unshaped nails and scraggly hair still count)

"Nothing great" she says in her sing-song voice, "xyz-maasi has put on weight, wore a deep neck blouse as usual. She looked horrrreeeebblleee" The last word said in such a beautifully exaggerated tone, it would put the French to shame.

"But I thought she was on that diet" -I join in with my best conspiratorial whisper.

"You know her diets"

She's rolling her eyes. I KNOW she's rolling her eyes.

We might as well be sitting in a black Santro, on our way to PVR. I hang up and dream of nachos.