Poles Apart

3. RICH & POOR

NAINA

Throwing french fries at each other, blasting the songs on the speaker, and flirting with Eshana's driver we finally reached her driveway. The first thing that escaped my lips was fuck, she is rich. Her house is like one of those houses that we see on T.V-even better than that. Tall iron gates with more security gadgets than a military compound combined.

I wonder how much lifetime worth of earnings would it cost me just to buy a piece of wood used in the door of their house. I gasped in astonishment when a fountain at the midway of the court caught my attention. They must have installed it recently because there wasn't any, when I visited the last time, the lady in cream with a Matka pot on her hip stood motionlessly on the pedestal as the liquid which was clearer than the Atlantis blue poured through her pot, foaming the bottom, gracefully. Their house is more like a museum than a home. It's all neat and proper. It would be a lie if I was not a tad bit jealous of her. I felt like an outcast, like a square peg in a round hole. I mean I was born and brought up in a poor middle-class family. Our house with three bedrooms was enough for us, but when guests came over, space was a bit tight but somehow we manage to expand the area every time by sleeping on the floor. I'm not complaining because those were the best memories I have.

What I like most about her house is that from the outside it's all ancient, royal, and red like a palace but from inside it's the complete opposite. All white, modern, classy and elegant. It looks like the house has two faces.

"Damn, every time we come here I feel like a princess," Sameera gushed as her eyes were on the clouds and she twirls to memorize the small detailings of the house.

"Well, you guys are my friends so that makes you a princess too, Sam," Eshana replied passing a small smile in her direction.

"Hi, Aunty, good afternoon, how are you?" I asked as soon as I spotted Eshana mom's across the hall.

She was dressed in an orchid color tailored suit from the collection of a famous designer, the pearl that rested on her neck looked like it was clasped on her throat and her hair was salon-perfect. Every ounce of her depicted money, rich and authoritative demeanor. People with cash are good at hiding their age. At twenty-five, I could count the aches on my face and view the dark circles around my eyes but her face was stark white and without a hint of blemish or wrinkles. In fact, I look old to her fifty-plus age. Maybe, I would be toothless, bald, and have a witch's voice, a hag by the time I reach fifty. Aw, no. I don't want to be old.

She looked down at our appearance, and then back at our face, "I'm good, please make yourself comfortable." Her mom replied professionally pointing us towards the sofa and plastered a smile on her face, they looked real maybe because of years of practice.

Her cold attitude towards us makes me crawl beneath my skin and run away without my slippers on. Isn't it obvious that she hates us because we are no match for her daughter. Eshana and her mom are a completely different species. I always wonder how can one be so arrogant and hateful while the other is so humble and polite when they both share the same DNA. Is she really her daughter?