I keep knocking at the door, but she doesn't open it. Auntie joins me, and both of us start banging on the door. We hear a timid voice emerge from the frightening silence behind the door, ''i am coming''. We are both furious at her when she opens the door. "What were you even doing in there?" Auntie asks her. ''Nothing''. She tells us. Auntie yanks her arm forward which was hidden behind her back. There is a pack of biscuits in it. She looks at us with tears in her eyes , as if reproaching us for this breach of privacy. Both of us heave a sigh of relief. I know Auntie was afraid that she may be talking to a boy secretly, that is what anyone her age would be doing, but she was not hiding because of that. She was hiding because she wanted to enjoy a pack of biscuits without reproach.
I don't know what is this fog that enveloped us that we breathed a sigh of relief at the moment in which we should have sat her down and reassured her that she didn't have to hide from us, or from anyone. It happened before our eyes at all times, she refusing food or she gorging on it, she yo-yoing between cycles of being thin and overweight. But we told ourselves that it is just a part of being a teenager. It is now that I understand that not only did we overlook her suffering, we also reinforced her behaviors inadvertently, by ignoring, complimenting or reprimanding her based on her size and how well the clothes looked on her body.
Through the years, I saw her look at the food in the weddings and visibly retreat from it , I saw her subsist herself only on one slice of bread a day when she came to visit us, i saw her suck her cheeks in repeatedly while working, I found her pausing at her reflection in every mirror, I saw her checking her wrist width in the finger span of her thumb and index finger, and all of those habits became normal to us. In fact, as she got thin over the course of time, her obsession with the scale and her measurements became something to aspire to, for the younger girls. We saw the end result and we liked it. We talked about her self control around food and her ability to withdraw from it for long periods of time, with a touch of admiration.
Last time I saw her was at a wedding. We were in the kitchen and there was the aroma of gulaab jaamuns everywhere. Around us, people were talking about the songs they wanted to dance to, and she was sitting on a Kitchen counter with her legs above the ground. We started talking, I offered her the gulab-jaaman dipped in a bowl of sweet syrup, but she refused to take it point blank. I looked at her, again with a sense of admiration. ''You know, you used to hide behind closed doors and eat your biscuits. At that time, Auntie and I literally thought that you were talking to a boyfriend. Look at how far along you have come''. As soon as I said this, her expression changed as if she had snapped out of a reverie. '' I have come far along ? '' She smiled at me. ''You think this is far along that i cannot enjoy a single gulab jaamun without feeling bad?" The sentiment in her voice struck me. "It's not that I won't eat it or I haven't had any dietary breach like that in the past week or even yesterday night'', she laughed '' It's just that i ll eat it when everyone is sleeping, and when i'm half asleep myself so that i am not conscious enough to put up a fight against my will. And you know what will happen next? I will wake up bloated, i will eat nothing for the rest of the day, but in the evening, I will eat because I will have suffered so much by that time, and i may end up eating too much and this cycle will repeat again. Yes, some self control. Yes, i have come a long way like you said''. She smiled sadly, then seeing the shocked expression on my face, she took my hand in hers, and said it in a voice as gentle as her touch. '' It is not wrong for you to remark that I have come far along. I am not that chubby teenager anymore. And in that way it is true. ''. She said it, just as the tiny swarvoski crystal on her delicate neck gave a sparkle , attracting my attention to her prominent collarbones, as if to prove a point.
'' But inside, It's not a good feeling, you know, when you can't enjoy food. When your relationship with food, is this toxic, impossible thing, that always makes you feel bad after. When you have to experience it like a forbidden luxury day and night" She looked away with tears in her eyes. " I still hide to eat, you know. And I hide not just from everyone, but myself too. ''
In my hands, the gulabjaaman sat like a stale offering at the bottom of the bowl.
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