“As you all know, this has been a difficult year for us. Two of our foreign funders slashed their budgets, forcing us into a tight spot. I’ve had to make some difficult decisions…Shutting down our satellite offices, letting people go, reducing our operating costs…” Ma’am wipes sweat from her upper lip with her handkerchief. “But the only way to survive hard times is to get creative. This is why Justice For All will be launching a publicity campaign to boost our profile and ultimately generate financial support. And Rubina Mansoor has agreed to be our ambassador. That means she will be the public face of our organization.”

  Collective confusion sets in as lawyers scratch their temples and rub their cheeks. Bhavana’s hand creeps up like she’s not sure she wants to raise it. “Ma’am, are we investing a lot of resources into this new…effort?”

  “No more than if we were trying to find other sources of funding.”

  “What will a publicity campaign cost us?” Vivek asks. “Have you done the numbers? Can we sit down and look at them? What about the opportunity cost?”

  “Vivek, you leave that to me.”

  “Gauri, my apologies, but if this doesn’t work out, what does this mean for the rest of—”

  “It means you have to continue to do your work with the same level of dedication that I have always expected from each and every one of you.”

  The meeting ends, the lawyers disperse, and I go to the kitchen, but Vivek follows Gauri Ma’am to her office.

  “And what’s in it for her?” His voice is hushed, urgent. “What does Rubina Mansoor get from this partnership?”

  Ma’am peeks over Vivek’s shoulder and behind her, but she doesn’t spot me listening behind the kitchen doorframe. “She becomes popular again. Relevant. What else?”

  “Gauriji, please, we should be focusing our energy on securing long-term funding, not playing games with some fading celebrity. What if this all goes wrong? We can barely afford to pay the lawyers.”

  “Are you the boss in this office?” Ma’am’s voice is fierce.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Did you build this place from the ground up?”

  “Gauri, please, I mean no disrespect—”

  “Have you sacrificed everything for it? Friends? Money?” She pauses, her voice cracking. “Family?”

  No matter how much money Vivek has given up to work at Justice For All, it will never compare to Ma’am’s sacrifices with Neha. “No, I have not.”

  “Then do not question me. Especially in front of the staff.”

  “Forgive me, Gauriji.”

  Her door closes. There’s no sound of footsteps, and I can tell Vivek is still standing in front of Ma’am’s office. I hang back in the kitchen to give him some space. Eventually he sighs, long and deep, and trudges away.

  * * *

  Even though the floors of the Asha Home were hard to sit on, I did it for six years. Hips throbbing, mind spinning through the lessons, the grammar, the songs, I somehow passed each standard. Not by much, but I passed.

  Gauri Ma’am visited me a few times a year. The other girls would ask me why I had private meetings with her, and I wouldn’t know what to say. Ma’am never spoke about herself. She only asked me questions about my life. Why did you leave home? What was it like on the streets? What do you want to do when you leave this place?

  I told her everything. I told her I wanted to see Babloo.

  “He made you feel safe,” she once said. “He was the closest thing to family you had.”

  He was family, I wanted to tell her. My parents hardly existed in my mind anymore, my memories of them thin and hazy. But Babloo I thought of every day. About how we laughed at the same things. How he shared every piece of food he came across with me. The way we held hands as we left the dark, empty hallway in Ballard Estate.

  It was during my last three months at the Asha School that Gauri Ma’am asked me if I wanted to work for her.

  “What do you do?” I ask.

  “I’m a human rights lawyer. I fight for people who can’t defend themselves.”

  “And what do you want me to do?”

  “Support me, support my team. You’ll be paid. Enough to live independently. The office is in Bombay.”

  Bombay? A light in me switched on. “I’ll do it.”

  “It will be hard, Rakhi. You aren’t accustomed to being around middle-class people, to office life.”

  “I said I’ll do it.”

  Gauri Ma’am exhaled. “I want you to take a day to think about it before you say yes. You aren’t used to working under authority, to following orders.”

  “Arre, have you seen these nuns?”

  She laughed. “You’re clever. You’ll go far if you continue to apply yourself.”

  I told Gauri Ma’am I would do whatever she needed me to do, and I would do it well. Anything to get back to Bombay. To Babloo.

  “Good,” she said. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  * * *

  —

  My last day at the Asha Home, the nuns tried to hug me goodbye. I pushed past their scratchy grey frocks toward Gauri Ma’am. “I’m ready to leave,” I told her, impatient.

  “Then let’s go,” she said.

  The coach took almost an entire day to wind its way through hills and valleys to Bombay. As Gauri Ma’am slept, read papers, and took phone calls, I broke my head on what I would say to Babloo when I finally saw him. Would I start with “I’m sorry”? Or just drop to his feet and tell him I was indebted to him for life? And what if he wasn’t okay? No, of course he was okay. He was Babloo.

  “I can sleep on the street,” I said, after Gauri Ma’am’s taxi dropped me off outside a hostel. “The rains have stopped.”

  She shook her head. “Rakhi, you live in a different world now.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck and stared down the street, eager for her to leave so I could go find Babloo.

  “And I didn’t give you a job so you could go back to your old ways, understand? I don’t want you searching for that boy. Or any of your old friends, for that matter.”

  “No, but—”

  “Your past will only hold you back. I’m taking a chance on you, don’t forget. It would be a shame for you to throw away this opportunity.”

  She checked me into the hostel, took me to my room, and told me she would come gather me in the morning to take me to her office. “Get some rest,” she said, from the doorway.

  Instead, I waited ten minutes, then got on a train and went straight to Dongri. The remand home looked smaller than it had when I was twelve.

  I ran up to the night watchman, breathless. “Is Babloo here?”

  He ignored me.

  “Babloo, do you know him?”

  He continued to ignore me, so I ran past him, toward the gate.

  “Ei!” he called out, suddenly alert. “You can’t go in there. If you’re searching for someone you’ll have to talk to the Superintendent Sahib.”

  I held my chin up. “Call him, then. I need to speak to Babloo.”

  “Superintendent Sahib is not here. Come back later.”

  I returned the next day after work. And the day after that. I went to Dongri every day for two weeks until finally they told me that Mohammed had left the remand home a year ago and they were not aware of his whereabouts.

  9

  Alex pokes his head into the library after I’ve distributed afternoon chai. “Your tea is really good,” he remarks. “In case nobody has ever said it to you before.”

  I swivel around in my chair from my computer to make eye contact with him. “Okay,” I reply, hesitating. What else do I say?

  He steps forward. “Did you add…fennel seeds?”

  “No. Just tea, milk, and sugar only.”

  “I could have sworn I tasted fennel,” he says, frowning. “By the way, I put that Right to Housing book back. The one I was looking for.”

  “Kamini is not needing?”

  “No clue,” he says. “Guess she can come find it here if she wants.” He pulls out a book from the shelf and begins to flip through it. “Hey, listen to this. Higher education appears to provide women with the key to many of the same opportunities as their male counterparts. They participate in the labour market at salaries and positions comparable to male graduates.” He jabs the book with his index finger. “I was telling you this at lunch last week, remember? If you go to college, you can get a job that pays a lot more money.”

  Arre? This again?

  “So, what are you waiting for?” Alex asks.

  “Money,” I whisper, so nobody outside the library can hear me talking. “Too much fees.”

  “You can’t borrow from anyone?”

  “From who?”

  “Can’t your parents help you out?”

  Why does he think I have parents? Then it dawns on me. Gauri Ma’am must not have told him about my past. That’s why he’s being so nice to me. He doesn’t know what kind of person I really am.

  I turn back to my darkened computer and move the mouse so it wakes up. “No. There is no money.”

  “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize.”

  Just then, Gauri Ma’am bursts out of her office, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “Bhavana,” she shouts. “The retainer agreement with your Bangladeshi migrants—where is it? I need it right now. And Sudeepthi, you’ve got that mediation next week? Are you ready? You’ve consulted Vivek? Quick, print out your key points for me, I want to review them on my way to my next meeting.”

  Bhavana and Sudeepthi jump to their feet, scrambling to the printer.

  “And where’s Rakhi?” Gauri Ma’am calls out.

  I slide past Alex and out where she can see me. “Ji, Ma’am, I’m right here.”

  “You have therapy tonight, don’t you?”

  Kamini and Utkarsh peer up from their desks, their faces clouding at the word therapy. My face burns. “Ji,” I whisper.

  “Arre, what? Speak up. Yes, you have therapy tonight, or no, you don’t?”

  “Y-yes, tonight,” I stammer.

  “Don’t be late. I spend all this money, the least you can do is show up on time.”

  As the door slams, Jayshree stares at me. “Gauri Ma’am sends you to therapy? What for?”

  Shit. Now every last person in the office is gaping at me, even Alex. My eyes dart to Bhavana, the only person besides Vivek who knows about Dr. Pereira.

  “Oh, it’s for her wrist, na?” Bhavana says, blinking rapidly. “Rakhi has a muscle strain, so Gauri Ma’am found her a physical therapist.”

  “All you need is Tiger Balm,” Utkarsh says. “Don’t waste money on therapists and whatnot.”

  “Homeopathy, also,” Kamini says. “Works wonders.”

  “Arre, she’s fine,” Bhavana snaps. “Why are you all getting involved?”

  I shoot Bhavana a look and she gives me a quick nod before sitting down at her desk.

  As everyone returns to their work, I drag myself back to my workspace, my ears burning. Nobody else has to get their head checked every week just to keep their job. So why should I?

  * * *

  —

  By five thirty, the office is quiet and almost empty. On my way out, I pause outside Ma’am’s door. “I’m leaving for Dr. Pereira’s office, is there anything else?”

  She is still on the phone, rubbing the dark circles under her eyes. She glances up and waves at me the way you’d swat at flies buzzing around your soda bottle.

  I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear someone call my name. Behind me, Alex is slinging his bag over his chest. “You leaving?”

  I nod.

  “Great,” he says. “I’ll take the train up with you.”

  Outside on the street, it’s still sweltering. Alex and I trudge down the lane, past dogs panting in the early-evening shade of parked cars, toward VT Station. The trains will be packed at this hour.

  “It is busy,” I say. “You taking taxi, okay? Or you waiting. Taking train later.”

  Alex appears to think about this. “Okay, well, do you want to go for a walk and take the train with me in half an hour? Get a…” He scans the street and spots a juice cart with pyramids of oranges, lemons, and mosambis stacked up to eye level. “Get a drink?”

  I hesitate, thinking of the poking and prodding that awaits me in Dr. Pereira’s office. Who cares if I’m fifteen minutes late. “Okay.”

  Alex buys us two nimbu panis, one salty (for me) and one sweet, no ice (for him).

  “I have some good news,” Alex says, with a gleam in his eye. “Gauri is changing my title to consultant. I’m not an intern anymore.”

  “Means?”

  He uses his straw to stir the sugar granules settling at the bottom of his drink. “Consultant is just a fancy way of saying someone who provides expert advice. It’ll look better on my resumé when I apply for jobs in the future.”

  An expert? On what? It’s only his second week. This isn’t going to go down well in the office. “You telling others?”

  “What do you mean? It’s not a secret.”

  “No, just…others not happy, maybe.” I look down at my nimbu pani, dragging the straw through the floating bits of pulpy lime.

  His gaze wanders for a moment. “I’m not worried about that. There’s politics in every office. I’m only here until September, so it won’t really impact anyone or anything. And anyway, it was Gauri’s decision. I haven’t been here long, but it seems like whatever she says goes, right?”

  Maybe he’s right. Why should either of us have to take the heat for Gauri Ma’am’s decisions?

  He peers over my head into the distance, pointing to a wide row of trees. “Hey, what’s over that way?”

  “That is Oval Maidan.”

  “Can we go check it out?”

  My gaze jumps between the Maidan and the road to VT. I’d rather do anything than go to Dr. Pereira right now. Especially after Ma’am told everyone at the office about it. I shouldn’t have to go if I don’t want to. Not tonight, not ever.

  “Wait,” Alex exclaims. “You have some wrist therapy tonight, right? Gauri was saying—”

  “No,” I say, pulling my shoulders back. “Not tonight. Cancelled.”

  Unless Gauri Ma’am wants to drag me up to Dr. Pereira’s office in Borivali herself, I am going to spend this evening doing exactly what I choose.

  “Come,” I say, lifting my chin. “Follow me.”

  * * *

  Gemma and Giles were the kind of firanghis who didn’t mind being ripped off for a pair of sandals in the market—they said that was the price they had to pay, as goras. That, and of course their British currency was worth so much that an extra two hundred rupees here or there meant nothing to them.

  They came to Justice For All a year after I started. A few months into their internships, they asked Gauri Ma’am if they could take me to Kerala for a week.

  “Imagine how exciting it would be for Rakhi to go out of town on a holiday,” Gemma said, while I stood beside her and Giles in Ma’am’s office. “She’ll get to sleep on houseboats and visit tea estates. We’ll pay for everything, it won’t be much. We’re happy to do it.”

  I couldn’t believe anyone, let alone a couple of firanghis, would want to take me on holiday. It was the first time anyone in the office besides Gauri Ma’am and Vivek had paid me any special attention.

  Ma’am motioned for me to leave the room, so I did, though I kept listening to the conversation from outside. “Rakhi’s been through a lot. She’s getting used to day-to-day life off the street, out of the girls’ home. She has a lot of rehabilitating to do. She still views relationships as transactional. If she goes to Kerala with two young people, it would certainly undo much of the hard work we’ve already done. And you wouldn’t want that for her, would you?”

  After dismissing Gemma and Giles, Gauri Ma’am called out to me. “I know you’re standing outside my door, Rakhi.”

  I inched my way back into her office and sat down in front of her desk, staring at my fingernails.

  “When you were at the Asha Home, I told you that once you left you could do whatever you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  “Ji, Ma’am.”

  “Then you must trust that I am working very hard to get you there. Going on holiday with Giles and Gemma seems harmless, na? But a trip like this could disrupt the routine you’ve established for yourself. Perhaps it could muddle the expectations you have of people. Or complicate the emotions you feel when you’re back. A number of unsettling behavioural changes could follow. And if that happened, I would have to reconsider whether I could keep you at Justice For All.”

  I searched her face for some clue as to how a holiday could make me do something bad enough to get fired. “I don’t understand, Ma’am.”

  “Exactly,” she said, sitting back and folding her hands on her desk. “That is exactly my point.”

  She told me that even though the choice was mine to make, she was asking me to trust her. There was no choice, though. I knew I would lose my job if I didn’t follow her orders.

  Later that day, I thanked Giles and Gemma for the invitation, but I was too busy to spare the time to go to Kerala with them. They gave me pitying looks and told me to let them know if I changed my mind. Gemma then asked if I was going out to Sai Krishna anytime soon, and if I was, could I pick her up a cold Bisleri?

  I said yes, pocketing her thirteen rupees exact change. On my way out, I slammed the office door with more force than was necessary.

  10

  The brown grass at the Oval Maidan is soggy in some spots. By the time Alex and I find a dry patch at the edge of the field, I have two missed calls from Dr. Pereira’s office. I slip the phone back into my purse.