Catwalk

I was about ten when this photographer came to my friend Vidya’s house. He was her father's friend. He brought a bunch of animals with him -- an adorable brown puppy, a floppy-eared rabbit and a fluffy yellow chicken. I was mad about animals; was a bit of an animal myself. I didn't know or care much about human beings. Anyway, I went and slobbered all over the animals, completely ignoring the people. Man, I must have been an obnoxious kid.

Quite a while later, it dawned on me that these animals hadn’t been brought over just to delight me. The photographer was here on assignment. He had to create a calendar of children playing with animals. When I heard this, I was so excited. I was the only kid around who was comfortable handling the animals. My friends all stood at a distance, fascinated-but-horrified, squealed if fur touched them, and objected strongly to being licked or nibbled at – everything my soul craved. I had had no ambitions before, but now I wanted to be the calendar girl. Suddenly, it seemed like I was going to be catapulted to stardom, and I was drunk on the prospect.

One of my friends, Mini, was particularly squeamish about animals. But she was fair, soft, sweet and pretty, while I was brown, bony, awkward and wild. She was chosen to be photographed cuddling the animals. Her parents were called over to encourage and coax her into the poses that the photographer had set his heart on. I finally tumbled to a realization of how much looks count. It was devastating, and the sense of rejection stayed with me for years. Am I free of it now? I think so. At least I know that the photographer was an ass.