Over there, by the fountain, I could see Adil Mansur Chacha's eldest son, my childhood friend. He looked every bit the successful business man that he was, in his heavily embroidered, knee-length, navy blue sherwani. His hair was immaculately groomed, with just a touch of grey at his temples; his slim, dark-rimmed glasses gave him a look of astuteness.

A light, feminine laugh to the left alerted me to the arrival of Adil's wife, Shefali. She walked over to Adil and took his arm in hers. She wore a fine, semi-translucent, peach-coloured sari with lace edging and all-over gold filigree patterns that clung to her curves. On both forearms she wore matching glass bangles alternating in their twos with delicate, but expensive, golden ones. Her face was smooth creamy white; her colouring and flawless arched eyebrows drew the onlooker's attention to her intense, dark eyes. I watched her, enthralled, as she captivated Adil's audience with a sideways blink of her long-lashed eyelids and her gushings of "aha re," "oh, really," and "oh, you are just so clever."

I turned to my right to see if I could see Layla, my wife. There, by the tall palms, hovering at the back among a group of middle-aged, overdressed gossips, my eyes found her. I sighed inwardly. It was with a sense of irritation that I looked at her in her bottle green, heavy brocade sari and bulky gold necklace. Her face was bare of make-up except for a quick smudge of an orangey-brown lipstick and some thick, hastily applied kajal. Her sari was crumpled, the pleats not smooth and neat. She wore plain, light brown, almost-flat sandals, her unpainted toenails peeking out at the tops. I scanned the crowds of guests. My wife was not the centre of attention; she commanded no court at which she was chief advocate. It seemed that she was even finding it difficult to get accepted as part of a group of middle-aged meddlers!

I thought back to six-and-a-half years ago, to my marriage with a newly graduated college girl, smart, elegant, tall, confident and beautiful. As she had wept tears of sorrow at leaving her parents, my heart had filled with joy at the thought of her entering my life forever.

But things had changed since then. I don't know how or when it had started to happen. Gradually, plain cotton saris had replaced the translucent chiffon saris in rainbow shades. The way that she wore the saris too, slowly changed. Before, she had let the pattered achol fall across her left shoulder and float in the air as she waltzed along in her pencil heels. As days merged into each other, the click, click of her heels - that once used to make my heart race had been replaced by the soft, noiseless tread of practical but wholly unpretty sandals.

During these years, too, she had given birth to our wonderful little daughter, Nimmi. Layla was wonderful with Nimmi, spending hours reading to her or entertaining her in some new and exciting way. Layla would feed Nimmi patiently, bathe her soothingly, and lie beside Nimmi as Nimmi fell asleep, gently blowing air over her to cool her body after a hard day's play.

Now, dear reader, don't get me wrong. Layla was a wonderful wife too. She looked after my every need. She was good company too, and I enjoyed spending time with her. She could still make me laugh with some silly facial expression or story. If my parents had gone out with Nimmi, Layla would sit beside me, curled up like a content cat, legs folded beneath her, head on my shoulders, holding my hand in hers, as we watched an old movie together.

Nonetheless, today, as I looked over from Adil's wife to Layla, I couldn't help feeling a sense of disappointment in my wife. I thought back to when I had married. I'd wanted a modern girl for a wife. One that would be ready to go out as soon as I got home from the office. One that would hold back her long loose hair with large 'Jackie O' designer sunglasses as we would walk, just before sunset, arm-in-arm along by the lake. One whose outlook wouldn't only reach as far as her own front door. One that would tell the world about me, one that would tell them that I, too, am a success in the world.

It was with these lingering thoughts in my head that, the following morning, I proposed that Layla invite Shefali to come over and stay with us for a day. Maybe it wasn't too late for my wife to return to the fun-loving girl she used to be? And who better to learn from than Shefali, her old college friend? I knew that Adil was off on a business trip to Europe for a couple of days the following week. "It'll be a perfect time for you two college mates to get back together and reminisce about old times," I suggested.

Ma and Baba wholeheartedly backed me: "Yes, it'll be nice for you two sister-in-laws to get-together after all these years."

And so, the decision to invite Shefali was made.

After Shefali's delighted acceptance of our invitation, the next Friday she arrived at our doorstep looking glamorous in cool, aqua blue. Immediately everyone fluttered around her, like humming birds around a beautifully scented flower. Layla rushed in last, achol tucked in her waist and smoothing back her hair from her face. 'Sorry Shefali, I was in the kitchen'. Shefali gave a gracious smile and called her old friend to come and sit next to her. And so it was that I left them all, as I went off for prayers.

A couple of hours later I was back, to find a feast laid out at the table. Ma had cooked her special roast that took her all morning to painstakingly prepare. The rest had been put together by Layla and the maids.

We sat down to eat. Shefali "Oohed" as she looked over the table. But before anyone else started to load their plates, she pulled a plate close and loaded it with salad. Baba looked at her quizzically "Shefali, surely that's not all you're going to eat, my dear?"

'Oh,' Shefali laughed a little condescendingly, it seemed "Chacha, I'm dieting! I'll stick to the salad, otherwise I'll get fat like..." She managed to stop, but not before her eyes had rested on Ma.

Ma sensed the awkwardness in the air, and rather than let it settle, she laughingly made light of it by saying "But Shefali, you will try a little of the roast I made it especially for you. I'm sure it doesn't have any calories! I grew up on it, and look how slim I am!"

Everyone laughed uncomfortably as Ma reached over with a small piece of chicken. Shefali pushed it away a little roughly, I thought "No Chachi, not even your roast. I have a figure to maintain. People don't admire me without reason, you know." Ma looked disheartened. Baba coughed. Nimmi looked up. Layla looked across at me. I looked away.

For some reason the rest of lunch seemed to pass slowly, with all of us tucking into the elaborate fare while Shefali crunched her salad. After lunch we all went to have a rest and give the maids a chance to eat and have a rest too. I heard Nimmi playing outside Shefali's room, and Shefali slam her door shut with a loud bang.

Later that afternoon I walked past Shefali's room and noticed that the maids were sweeping the floor and changing pillowcases. I was a little puzzled as I'd seen them doing the same just that morning. I caught Layla as she went past and gestured. "Oh," she said, "Shefali thought she could feel dust under her feet, and she felt the bed linen wasn't fresh the maids are sorting it all out now."

I frowned. This little visit by Shefali was not turning out quite how expected.

Never mind, I thought, a little family excursion by the lake would be a nice distraction. I called out to everyone to get ready. Shefali came out of her room, but I didn't recognise her. She had thick cream on her face, and her eyes looked puffy and dull without the sparkling touch of makeup. Her hair was a mess and she wore a patterned maxi that made her look plumper than she was. "Yes, I'll come, the exercise will do me good I just need to get ready" and with that she ducked back into her room. Over three quarters of an hour later she came out of her room looking radiant. Her eyes had resumed their former glory, her face shone pure and clear.

Our late start meant that we would have to walk a little faster than usual if we were to get back before Magreb. Layla hung back to help Ma and Baba. Shefali walked on ahead, Nimmi dancing excitedly at her heels.

But as Nimmi began to get tired and call out to be carried, Shefali snapped: "No! You are too heavy and too old to be carried now!"

Nimmi was exhausted, and the rude retort had taken her aback. She stood frozen in her footsteps. I went over to scoop her into my arms as Layla and the others caught up. Shefali's former sweet voice was beginning to leave a bitter aftertaste.

That evening Baba, Ma and I watched the TV, Nimmi cuddling up to me, while Shefali and Layla had a sisterly time together. We heard girlish laughter coming from the room, and I must admit I was rather relieved to hear the sound. Maybe things would turn out as I had planned after all. Some time later Shefali opened her door with a "Ta ra!" and called a rather embarrassed Layla to come out of her room. Layla wore one of Shefali's saris, achol falling over her shoulder, and had her hair done up in a fancy style that didn't quite suit her. She wore lots of makeup that made her look harsh. Nimmi cried she didn't like her Ma like that.

Shefali harshly told her to "Chup" and, alarmed by the reaction, Layla rushed back into the room.

"Stupid girl, she'll always be uncultured" muttered Shefali to herself just loud enough to catch my ear.

The rest of the evening, and the evening meal passed rather uncomfortably. It seemed we were all seeing Shefali with new eyes.

The following morning I woke early, as usual, to get ready for work. Layla was already preparing my food with the help of the maids. I was rather surprised to see Shefali awake. She was lecturing Layla on how to decorate the house: to get rid of that old clock that Nana-bhai had received when he retired, and the family photos should be thrown away they looked dated.

She complained about the room that she had stayed in "You know, it's so noisy here. And the AC doesn't work well."

Later in the day, Shefali suddenly decided to cut short her visit and go back home. Shefali's room was now empty, and as I peered into it I mused to myself how I wasn't really sorry to see her go after all. There are other things more beautiful than what pleases the eye, and I considered how I had been blind to them all.

That evening, when I got home from work, Layla opened the door for me wearing a pink-bordered cotton sari. As she moved back into the room, the wind blew the achol from off her other shoulder so that it fell behind her, as Shefali's achols did.

I walked over and gently placed the achol around my wife's shoulder. I then placed a hand on both shoulders and turned her to face me. We looked into each other's eyes, and we both gave each other loving, caring smiles.

Julie Reza is a doctor who lives in London.