"Get dressed," Karen screeches up the stairs to her daughter a few days later.

"Okay mum," she obediently responds, changing into jeans and a t-shirt.

Her mother soon comes up the stairs.

"What. Are. You. Wearing?" she asks, astounded.

"You said get dressed..."

"Yeah, but not like this. You have to wear a proper saree, for God's sake, how are you ever getting married?"

"Married? This is just a meeting mum. Stop taking it so seriously."

"No. Be quiet, I know what's best for you and your father has demanded that you wear that saree you wore at that wedding last year," Karen replies, rummaging under the bed for the suitcase containing all the Indian clothes. "Found it," she retrieves the saree and chucks it at her daughter so that she can get changed.

***

"Beautiful. Now you look like a proper Indian. Let's go downstairs now," Karen says, pleased with herself at how great her daughter is

But Deepak isn't.

"Why is she wearing that?"

"Why should I not?"

"You look so fat in that. No family will marry their son to you if you look like that. Girls always have to be skinny and pretty. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Deepak, she looks perfectly fine. And she's not fat. She's healthy. For God's sake, you can see her collarbones sticking out."

"I don't care about that. She looks hideous in that outfit. Get her changed."

And so, the mother and daughter trudge up the stairs again- following the commands of the breadwinner of the household.