Girl Friends

GIRL FRIENDS

CHAPTER 1: OUR PRIVATE SPACE

I was born in a small town but a large family. My father was a trader. My family consisted of many cousins, uncles and aunts. The house was large but old, with a big courtyard, where most of our life passed. We quibbled and laughed and cried all day. You might wonder how we survived gossiping all day, but that’s what we did. During the day we girls would get chores of chopping vegetables, cleaning something or serving things to eat. The boys hung around and in the evenings went out and gathered near the square with their friends, talking incessantly. I was called Rani: my father says I was as beautiful as a princess so I would grow up to be a queen. I had a younger brother, Sanskar. My family was steeped in traditions but somehow the burden of that fell mostly on the females.

My only friend outside my family was Sangeet, with whom I studied in school and then in college. Our friendship blossomed in the senior classes, when we found that we shared so much. We would talk endlessly with each other in school, and sometimes visit each others’ home in the evenings. There was nothing much to do, except talk.

Sometime during school we started discovering that we were two rare beautiful girls. Boys were scared to talk to us, and occasionally a Romeo would send us a letter saying he was in love with one of us. We also discovered cosmetics, secretly. Sangeet would sometimes steal her elder sister’s nail colours and we tried them on our nails. We tried lipstick too, but had to rub it off before we went out. Sangeet shared a room with her elder sister, who was working, so we could have some privacy during the day when she was out for office.

We talked about so many things, and also the boys we liked. We had kept names for my brother’s friends. But we had to keep away from the boys or we would surely get into trouble.

“What are you girls talking about?” our mothers would ask when they came across us.

“Nothing,” one of would say and giggle.

“Well, you spend a lot of time talking nothing. All right, cut these vegetables for the evening.”

And we would keep talking and do anything that was told to us.

In college, our bond grew stronger. Our world also grew bigger: Sangeet’s parents bought her a scooter to go to college. I too cried and hollered till I got permission to take my brother’s scooter when he didn’t want it.

We didn’t have any money most of the time – there was no concept of pocket money in our families. But I would at times wrangle some money out of my mother or brother. Sangeet had a lifeline – her sister – who was more generous.

We would zip around on a scooter and explore new places in our small town. If we had money we would go to the nearby market and buy some snacks from a vendor. There were spiced potato cakes with tamarind chutney that we loved. The vendor was a generous man who would give us something for free, or let us pay later if we ran out of money.

There was a dam at a short distance from our homes and we enjoyed going there. We would walk along the path looking at the water and then sit on the steps gazing out at the reservoir and the birds. There were not many people there except for some walkers and groups of boys who had nothing better to do. Most of the visitors ignored us, except for some boys who would pass comments on us. We learnt to deal with them.

And as we grew up, it was natural that our talk would turn to our bodies. We noticed how were becoming more attractive as the days went by.

“Look at my hands,” Sangeet told me. “They have suddenly started becoming smooth.”

I looked at her hands, soft and slender, with well rounded nails.

“So are mine. The colour and skin are also improving.”

We noticed our feet too, smooth and well kept. Thanks to Sangeet’s sister, we could get some creams and lotions. We liked looking after our hands and feet. Every few days we would apply nail colour. And we also noticed our breasts, which had begun to poke out from our clothes.

*

Growing up was a comfortable affair. As we grew, we would discover more things. One day I caught my brother smoking. He was beside himself and begged me not to tell our parents.

“OK, so what will do you in return?”

“Anything you say,” he said.

“Think before you say, I might ask for something big.”

“Sister, just say. Only don’t tell the oldies.”

“All right. Here is what I want. I want you teach me how to smoke, and give me some cigarettes.”

“Are you crazy? Girls don’t smoke.” He was appalled.

“You decide. At least you will also have a secret about me.”

“Ok, but don’t tell anybody I gave you these.”

I hustled two cigarettes from him that day. That evening at the dam I showed Sangeet what I had. We were both excited and lit up. After some initial tries we finally got the hang of smoking.

It was a unique feeling to hold a cigarette. It was a statement of revolt and freedom, of breaking barriers. We had never gone against rules or gone against what we were told, but now we could. We were both excited. I watched Sangeet when she held the cigarette in her slender fingers. She took small puffs as her hair swayed in the breeze. She looked like a modern girl from the big city. Sangeet watched me with the same feelings.

“There is something sexy to see a girl smoke,” she said.

“Yes, I have been watching how beautiful you look, your beautiful fingers holding it to your lips.”

I looked at Sangeet: some girls are delicate and she was one of them. Her hair fell carelessly on her forehead. Her skin was flawless. She had a natural pout that made her look very desirable. Her eyebrows were well shaped. She wore a light lipstick and eyeliner that highlighted her eyes. When she put the cigarette on her lips it was somehow very attractive and sexy.

Thereafter smoking became our pastime. We loved to sit beside the dam and smoke whenever we could. My brother would get us some cigarettes sometimes and we also gathered the guts to buy some from the small shop near our college. It was done in a secret manner, and the vendor understood. Usually we shared one cigarette because we didn’t have supplies.

I don’t know what I enjoyed more, the act of smoking or the smoking itself. I think it was a way of expressing our freedom in the very strict society. It was a small rebellion against so many rules and controls placed on us.

“I love this,” Sangeet would often say, blowing smoke. “I feel so – liberated.”

“Yes, here we are, away from society, doing the unthinkable. It is so liberating. But Sangeet, I am also sexually turned on with ciggies. I am all wet inside.”

“So am I, but hush. What can we do about it? Just enjoy the freedom that you can get. You will not get a boy soon to screw you.”

“Oh, how I wish I could. I am wasting away my life. I would love to get laid.”

“You know what I’m going to do? The moment I can I will go to the big city and become a call girl. Get laid everyday and make money also.”

“You naughty girl,” I said, and we laughed at the impossible. “How much will you charge?”

“I don’t know. I read somewhere that some high class call girls charge up to fifty thousand for a night.”

“Fifty thousand!?”

“Yes. I will be happy with twenty,” she said and we both laughed at the impossible.

We would hide our cigarettes when people passed us by. They would look at us disapprovingly. When we saw boys at a distance, we would put them out because we knew they would pass some cheap comments on us.