Jewaira’s Boudoir

You could spot Mita from a distance as she walked along the narrow paths of the Southern college. It was not just her Asian looks; there were other Asian girls on campus but Mita stood out because she wore the typical salwar kameez. This consisted of a long-sleeved tunic top over bottoms of the same material. She almost always wore her Indian slippers as she waddled along to her lectures or down the dells to the refectory.Mita had typically Indian features. Her delicately shaped eyebrows outlined large, dark brown eyes. Her eyes were very expressive and I became adept at discerning her mood changes, from the movement of her eyelids. When haughty or moody, the lids became heavy and lazy over her bovine eyes. When she was animated, the whites of her eyes flashed in expression, contrasting with her brown eyes and her tawny skin. When she was in a festive or sarcastic mood, she looked teasingly from the corners of her eyes as her mouth pulled back into a smile that revealed small, even teeth.

Mita’s face was small and oval-shaped, with a hawkish nose and a weak chin that tapered into her neck and disappeared. Her long, dark brown hair lacked the luster of typically Asian hair but was nonetheless thick and healthy looking. She wore it pulled off her face in a pony tail or a bun, and more often than not it was done in one thick plait down her back.

Her shoulders were slight and tapered gently down to small, neat breasts and a slim waist. But from there on, everything became large. She had a typically pear-shaped figure and it gave her nightmares. She was horribly self-conscious of her large hips and her ample thighs. And that was the reason for the salwar kameez. She hid in shame behind its flowing cotton fabric.

I wasn’t aware of this in the beginning, obviously. Like everyone else I thought it was quaint the way she wore her traditional clothes, and jewelry. In addition to the usual bangles and rings, she wore gold earrings and a nose stud which I had tweaked more than once in my juvenile playfulness only to suffer her screams as she remonstrated at me for injuring her nose.

Although she was three years older than I, we soon became close, confiding to each other our deepest, darkest secrets. Except in this situation, I became her confidante and she poured out her heart. I acted older than my age and certainly gave the impression of being a sage, at 18, but I was inwardly perturbed at her confessions.

Years ago, in far off Delhi, she was in love with an English youth living in their same apartment complex. And it was to him that she gave up her virginity, thinking that the relationship was going to be forever. The English boy eventually left the country with his family and she was left with her shameful secret and pining forever for the love of her life. In the tiny dorm room, we discussed how she could find him again, me with all the optimism of an 18 year old, believing that nothing stood in the way of true love.

However, there were more disturbing secrets to be shared. She was, at the time of our friendship, engaged to a fellow called Rajev. Mita visited Rajev in Washington DC on the weekends when he summoned her to join him. She both hated and enjoyed those encounters. She enjoyed it I suppose because of the sex and the change of scenery. But most of all she hated it because in truth she was not in love with Rajev, but grudgingly engaged to him. Their’s was a lukewarm, lifeless relationship. Although they had sex, it was always in the darkness, for she was mortified that he would gaze upon the fat flesh of her lower body. This to me was most disturbing, after getting over the initial shock that she was indeed sleeping with her fiancée. I could understand her feelings of frustration; she was engaged to a man who didn’t send shivers up her spine, who didn’t excite her, who even before they were married made her feel bored. How could she want to marry someone who would not accept her body?

Then one day Rajev had left the country to visit India and Mita went to New York to spend the weekend with cousins and friends. There she met Kumar and she fell hopelessly in love. Kumar was more dashing, more attractive and definitely a breath of fresh air. When she returned to college there was a twinkle in her eye and a vivacity that was absent prior to her trip. The power of love! She had worn jeans and a short shirt there in New York for the first time. And she showed me the new green contact lenses she bought which made me scream in horror. No! Mita! I cried. They honestly made her look like a witch because they turned her eyes a pale yellow and did not suit her complexion.

But being Mita, she eventually turned that little New York affair into a problem, worrying how she would break it off with Rajev and a thousand other issues. She finally decided to stick with boring old Rajev for the sake of security and not rocking the boat.

Soon, however, it was time for me to move on and transfer to another college. Mita and I hugged tearfully and I knew that I would never hear from her again. She hated writing letters and was very lazy about keeping in touch. Her sarcastic sense of humor and her British accent make me smile to this day.