Annie is short and fat, and tanned. She has thick long hair, wildly curled towards the ends.
Dressed in red and black, she has forgotten to carry her dupatta to work today.
The right side of her face seems to be swollen.
When I ask her, she says, a pimple popped on her chubby cheek last night.
She had even tried to dissect it with a safety-pin.
Annie asks for some Boroline, and meekly cribs about the discomfort.
She narrates how she couldn’t sleep yesterday because she didn’t hear from her son who had left for a motorcycle trek.
She now pats her head and bites her colourless lips, receiving a phone call from him.
Annie lives in the lanes of Lokhandwala, in suburbs of Mumbai with her husband, James and two children.
She was a Hindu Maharashtrian before her marriage to James who is a Christian.
Annie went against the will of her mother to continue with the relationship.
And now she wonders why?
I take out my camera and ask if I can film our talk? I think what she might have comprehended of the term film.
She questions if I’m doing this to assess my new tripod?
It’s going to be a natural conversation, I explain.
She doesn’t respond to this.
I too keep mum.
She again puts some more Boroline on her swollen pimple and smirks. Then mildly gazes at the camera.
Her deep black eyes safely meet mine hidden behind my purple glasses.
This time she smiles.
Annie’s ready for the talk.
I turn on my camera.
These are my Conversations with Annie (CLICK TO WATCH)