Fifteen Lanes - S.J. Laidlaw Page 0,72

you to know, she must tell you. I think perhaps you also keep secrets for your friends.”

“I would, if I had any friends.”

“I think you have a secret with Vijender Patel?”

“He’s more of an acquaintance. He’s nice, but we’re not that close.” I suddenly realized what she was getting at. Of course I was keeping a very big secret for VJ.

“Would you tell me what really happened when you returned to school?” I asked. “I’ve been worrying about you.”

“Everyone was kind to me. My best friend Gajra told everyone we must treat each other the same. It does not matter who your parents are, or what caste you’re from.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“You may ask. I may not answer.”

I scanned the café and noticed several people watching us. It confirmed the suspicion that had been growing in me. “Why did you choose this café? It’s a long way from where you live and it doesn’t seem like … your kind of place.”

Noor gave me an appraising look. She also glanced at the nearby tables. You could almost see the other patrons leaning in, trying to eavesdrop. We were the definition of colliding worlds: not east and west, but rich and poor. This café was a bastion of the rich. The people in here may have shared nationhood with Noor, but they were my people.

Noor stood up, shifting Shami onto her hip. “Do you want to see my home?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” I jumped to my feet. “Time to go home, sweetie.” I extended my hand to Aamaal, who took it as though holding my hand was the most natural thing in the world.

When we got out on the street my first impulse was to flag a taxi. I stopped myself just in time. Noor was showing me her world, so we’d do it her way.

Twenty minutes later I was seriously regretting my decision. Not taking a cab in brutal heat, when you have more than enough cash in your pocket, is just stupid. It had to be worse for Noor. She hadn’t put Shami down once. Nor had she shown any of the annoyance I’d felt on the multiple occasions we’d had to walk in the street because everything from livestock to makeshift stalls had taken over the sidewalk. Several times I’d had to stop walking and jump out of the way to avoid becoming roadkill.

“Are we almost there?” I asked for the third time.

“We are close,” said Noor, as she had the previous two times.

Finally we turned into a quieter lane, though that was mainly because it was so congested with people and animals that the cars could only inch along. I walked carefully, watching the ground, but had to look up occasionally to avoid collisions. There was filth everywhere. Even the walls of the crumbling cement buildings were cloaked in a layer of grime. I knew, from my previous visit, that we’d entered one of the narrow lanes of Kamathipura, though being later in the evening it was busier and somehow different from before.

Though it was teeming with people, women were scarce. A few burqa-clad women fluttered quickly from stall to stall making their purchases before racing off. In contrast, the other women, in neon-bright saris, with fake jewels sparkling in their noses and ears, lounged in doorways or strolled slowly up and down the lane shouting out to passing men.

Many women greeted Noor, and she paused each time to exchange a few words. Her whole demeanor changed as she wove her way down the lane. Gone was the girl who’d perched uncomfortably on the edge of her seat in the coffee shop. Noor was at ease here. It was home.

At first I wasn’t concerned when a boy, perhaps eleven or twelve, popped out from between two parked stalls and grabbed Noor’s arm. She spoke to him as if she knew him, but her tone wasn’t the same as the one she’d used with the women. She wasn’t happy to see him. Had Shami not been asleep in her arms I felt certain she would have shoved the boy away.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

The boy smirked at me. “My name Adit,” he said in a heavy accent. “What is your name?”

I ignored him. “Is he bothering you, Noor?”

Noor looked pointedly at the boy’s hand, still gripping the arm that was cradling Shami. He let go.

“Adit is a friend from when he was a child.” It wasn’t clear if she was telling me or reminding him.

“I