Shimla was a mirch. That is to say that she was hot and spicy. That is to say that when she stepped out of the house that morning in her yellow shalwar kameez, dupatta tied about her supple waist, bust pouring out of her neckline and rolling pin in hand, the young wastrels of the mohallah howled and whistled at her slight form from their balconies. Ofcourse they took the precaution of not getting seen while doing this else they might as well have woken upcastrated the next day. After all apart from being the most ’taiz mirchi’ in all of Kolarauchi city she was a patakha and you never knew when she was going to blow up.