Chapter 3: Suspicions and Changes

I started to suspect that Meera was pretending to have morning sickness, and even felt like I had evidence.

She’d sometimes look at me after vomiting, as if waiting for my reaction. Once, I thought I caught a sly smile when my mother-in-law brought her fresh coconut water, as if she was enjoying the attention and pampering.

Because there was only one night between her vomiting constantly and suddenly craving every food she saw.

It was as if a switch had flipped. Yesterday, she couldn’t even look at food, and suddenly she was craving samosas from the street vendor downstairs. I started to wonder if this was all just drama.

Maybe she just got tired of acting.

That thought made me smirk. I messaged my friend Rohit, 'Bhai, yeh pregnant waali acting kab khatam hogi?' He replied with a laughing emoji—'Bas bhai, shaadi ka asli maza abhi dekh.'

One morning, she woke up and declared she wanted to eat.

Not just eat—she rattled off a menu like she was at a five-star hotel: poha, jalebi, even fresh mangoes, though it wasn’t mango season. My mother-in-law bustled in the kitchen, the smell of frying jeera filling the air, looking delighted. The sabziwalla’s bell rang from the street, making the house feel alive. I just shook my head.

From that day, not only did she stop vomiting, but she became incredibly greedy for food.

Every day, the list of cravings got longer—vada pav, chaat, ice cream at odd hours. I kept a straight face, but inside, I was equal parts irritated and disbelieving.

In just two months, her weight jumped from forty-five to fifty-five kilos.

Her old salwar-kameezes stopped fitting. She started wearing my oversized T-shirts at home, and when she asked, 'Do I look fat in this?' I just grunted instead of answering.

Fifty-five kilos might be normal for an average girl, but for her, it was a lot.

Her friends on WhatsApp would send her diet tips and yoga videos, but Meera just sent laughing emojis, enjoying the chance to eat guilt-free. My own relatives would whisper at gatherings, 'Meera thodi moti ho gayi hai na?'

Because she’s only 1.58 metres tall.

Sometimes her feet would swell, and she’d ask me to massage them. I’d do it, but not without making a face when she wasn’t looking, muttering under my breath. I caught myself thinking she was starting to look like a small water tank—like the blue Sintex tank on the terrace—but then I remembered my own mother’s weight gain during her pregnancy, and guilt mingled with my annoyance.

Sure enough, by the fifth month of her pregnancy, she really had become round and heavy.

Now, even the maid started commenting, 'Madam, abhi toh aap bilkul gol matol lag rahe ho,' adjusting her dupatta and grinning, making the moment more lively. Meera just laughed, but I felt embarrassed, especially when neighbours dropped by.