Chapter 1: I Hate This

I hate this. I hate everything about this.

Over the summer, my breasts have grown into massive disgusting melons. Melons who are just filled with water. I started walking slowly, carefully but even then, they can’t stop jellying around, bouncing up and down. And my nipples; they have grown into big chunky marshmallows. Sports bras and nipple pasties have become part of my regular attire and none of my regular tops, and none of my favourite dresses fit me anymore.

And then my butt. I don’t know why they have grown like that. They have become bigger than my breasts. The worst, they jiggle when I walk. Wearing pants has become a struggle, now it takes additional minutes and I have to wear long tops that cover my butt and even then, it’s not enough.

Walking has become a hazard with them bouncing and jigging on the front and in the back. I never run anymore.

I started dieting to deflate them but instead, my belly and my waist are shrinking without any effect on my breasts or my butt.

I can’t believe that only recently I wanted them so much. But no one told me about the reaction I will get from people. I did want attention, some, but not like this.

Seemingly overnight, men, not just boys from my age, but men of all ages, my father’s friends, my grandfather’s walking buddies, the neighbour’s gardener, auto rikshaw drivers, everyone has started acting differently. Some keep staring at my chest unashamedly and with creepy villainous faces. One day, I was just walking through our street when a labourer working on a house saw me. He stopped what he was doing and stared at me, at my chest, in a constant severe burning glare. His face had this greedy hunger that made me scared for my life. I walked as fast as I could, almost ran, back to my home in terror.

Others are awkward, and some have started stuttering around me. I have caught most of them looking at my chest secretly, in sideway glances with one eye. A lot of men suddenly want to talk with me.

Some women also look at me in the same way, with villainous hunger, but most just look at me with disgust and contempt like having a body like this, is somehow my fault. Most of my friends have stopped talking to me.

Thankfully, not her. My best friend since high school started, Rupa, has defended me from other girls.

“Why are you blaming her when your boyfriend is a giant fucking douche with a brain smaller than a fucking peanut?”, Rupa shouted when one girl asked me to wear more modestly because her boyfriend couldn’t stop staring at me. I was wearing a very conservative top anyway.

Rupa congratulated me with delight when she learnt none of my dresses fit me anymore. She was even happier to go with me to buy new dresses.

Even at the stores, I could see the employees and shoppers staring at my chest and my back, and talking among themselves. Some even pointed at me. Rupa was oblivious to everyone. When I told her she seemed unconcerned.

“So, you are upset because everyone finds you hot?”, she asked me with pretend anger.

She wanted me to buy revealing dresses, some with low necklines. When I refused, she threw a fit and we fought. She finally calmed down when I agreed to buy some normal, coloured bras with lacey edges instead of only buying the thickly padded sports bras as I planned.

But we fought again over the tops.

“Are you planning to become a nun?”, she asked horrified when I pulled a long black t-shirt from the rack. I wanted to hide my butt but she forced me to buy short ones, but I drew the line at exposing any part of my tummy.

“Do you know how many girls would kill to have a tiny waist? You are insulting all those girls and women ... and the women who fought for your right to show your tummy!”, she said with fake sincerity. I didn’t laugh because I didn’t want to condone her behaviour.

Though I didn’t like everything that we bought, I had a blast spending my time with her, having fun, laughing or pretending to be angry, the whole day.

I didn’t know this going to be one of my last days of being truly happy.

“Oh ... thank god ... How are you? Are you okay?”, I ask sincerely immediately after Rupa closes her bedroom door.

Her eyes are swollen and she doesn’t have her usual makeup or her usual cheerful smile. She looks sick.

“I am...” she says with a weak voice but pauses to clear her nose and continues, “I am fine”. It is clearly a lie.

Suddenly she hugs me and starts weeping on my shoulder. Tears are falling on my shoulder like constant raindrops. I let her cry as much as she wants while I stroke her hair. We remain still, hugging each other, without a word for a few minutes.

Finally, she pulls away. She sits on the bed, with her head lowered. I sit beside her.

“What happened?” I ask quietly.

She sighs like she is gathering her strength and looks at me.

“Rahul...”, she says and takes a long breath.

“ ... likes someone else!”, she says.

I suddenly get a shiver down my spine.

Rahul was her best friend well before me. They had known each other since they were one. They had chosen each other in a park and had decided to be friends. Even before they knew what it meant, they had begged their parents to let them marry each other knowing only that then they could live together, like in fairy tales.

As they grew up, they discovered and decided on their favourite colours, favourite ice creams, favourite books, favourite musicians, and favourite places, together, with each other. When she learnt about periods she was horrified. She told him first and they were horrified together. Then the next day, he had come with all the research and assured her it was okay. When she got her first period, he was by her side assuring her everything is going to be fine.

When Rahul got curious while watching a kissing scene in a movie, they tried kissing the next day. They liked it and continued to do that all the time. When she had felt getting excited by a love scene, they had felt each other up. It had taken a few more months for them to have sex. She told me how clumsy he was, how careful he was.