My name is Naina. I am twenty-one years old, born into a middle-class family in Mumbai where the walls of our flat were thin enough to hear every argument my parents had about money, about my mother's saree purchases, about my father's overtime that never translated into enough. I have a very curvy body — fat at the right places, slim waist, big boobs. The kind of body that made aunties whisper at family functions and uncles stare a beat too long when I bent over to touch their feet. Growing up, I always felt ignored by my family because I am a girl. My brother got the new school bag. My brother got the science tuition. My brother got the questions about his future. I got instructions on how to roll rotis without burning them.