me, she’d wrinkled her nose. She said she didn’t want to smell the sweat of the rickshaw-walla or wrinkle her clothes.)
As Radha came down the last step, Sheela Sharma cut in front of her, bringing my sister to an abrupt halt. Without apologizing, Sheela dove into the back seat of her family’s sedan. Radha’s mouth tightened.
I held my breath.
To my relief, Radha resumed her walk to the guard’s station to check herself out for lunch. The gateman took his time looking for Radha’s name on his clipboard. She seemed nervous, glancing up the street, chewing on her lip.
I called to her. She turned, startled. She didn’t look pleased to see me, which, by now, I was learning to take in stride. I was carrying no tiffins, no carriers—only a handbag.
She took another look up the street. Her shoulders slumped.
“How smart you look in your uniform!” I said brightly.
She looked down at her clothes, self-conscious, as if I’d spotted a stain on it.
Hooking one of her slim arms in mine, I guided her to the chaat shops at the other end of the street. “I thought I’d take you to lunch.” I stopped to rearrange the long chunni so it fell evenly across her shoulders. “How are you enjoying school?”
“Fine.”
“Come now.” I took her arm again and resumed strolling. “This is your first big-city school—not like Pitaji’s little shack. There must be some surprises? Have you met anyone you’d like to have as a friend?”
She wagged her head from side to side and shrugged. Yes. No. Perhaps.
Two girls in uniforms identical to Radha’s overtook us and turned to smile at my sister, but she was too distracted to return the greeting.
I squeezed her arm. “It must be wonderful. So many new experiences.” With a practiced eye, I judged the wares of each chaat vendor we passed: samosas, choles, pakoras, dal batti.
“How about some sev puri? Puris take so long to make at home, and here we can order them fresh off the stove.” I looked to her for confirmation.
She raised her brows. “You don’t approve of street food.”
She was right, but I said I wanted to make an exception. She managed a slight nod. We sat at a small table in front of the food stand.
“Tell me about your teachers.”
Tracing a finger along a groove in the wooden table, she sighed. “The Hindi teacher is small and thin and has dandruff in her hair. You would not like the way she cleans her neck.”
“Radha! Is that any way to speak about those who teach you reading-writing?”
She met my eye as if to ask, Have you come all this way to scold me?
I put my hand over hers. “Pitaji would be so proud of you.”
“He would have been happy with the government school.”
It was true that our father had supported free education for all castes. But a chance at the Maharani School—the girls she would get to know, the opportunities! Even he would have been excited.
Our tea arrived in small glass tumblers, the potato-and-chutney puri wrapped in newspaper. She must have been hungry because she took a large bite. Automatically, I laid a hand on her forearm to remind her to eat like a lady. She checked to see if any girls from her class had seen me correcting her, making me wish I hadn’t.
I sipped my tea. “How about your other teachers?”
“For History we have Mrs. Channa. She’s mean. A girl in my class was talking to her friend. Mrs. Channa didn’t like it, so Sonia had to squat with her arms under her knees and pull at her ears. Like a rooster.”
Some school punishments never changed. My lips twitched. “Looks like Mrs. Channa was trying to set an example.”
Radha lifted her shoulders, as if she didn’t care either way. I thought of how happy my sister always seemed around Malik and Kanta. Why couldn’t she be the same way with me?
I pulled a slim kidskin case from my handbag. “Since you like to read so much, I thought you might want to try your hand at writing. This should come in handy.”
She looked at the case for a moment, then at me. It occurred to me that she might never have received a gift before. She pulled out her school handkerchief and wiped the grease from her hands. Slowly, she opened the case and lifted the marbled orange fountain pen carefully from its blue velvet bed, as if she were afraid to break it. She slid her fingers over the