Babloo throws his head back and laughs. “We don’t need people like Alex coming from outside to try to fix India. What’s broken here is broken everywhere.”

  “That’s because you don’t care about fixing anything. All you know how to do is take. You should be ashamed.”

  “Ashamed! About what? Stealing from the people who treated me like a bastard in my own country? I don’t owe anyone anything.”

  “It’s not just about stealing. My friend died in the fire. And it’s because of you.”

  “This is what it feels like to lose someone,” he snarls, staring straight ahead at the wall. “Now you know.” He pours himself a whiskey, then sits back down on the couch.

  “I already know. I lost my parents. And I lost you, too. This whole time I thought you were dead or in the gutter somewhere, but still I searched for you every day. You didn’t even bother to look for me.”

  Babloo snorts into his glass and tips his head back, draining his drink. “Lost me and walked straight into your nice little school in Aurangabad, is it? Reading books, singing songs, eating three times a day. You know what I was doing? Getting beat by bigger boys. Getting beat by the guards. Being forced to skip meals for fighting back. Getting sick. I got TB, did you know that? Coughed up blood for weeks. Almost fucking died.”

  “I never asked you to lie at the JJB.”

  He leans back in his seat, rubbing his top lip over his teeth. “You think I told that magistrate I set fire to the paanwala because I loved you, na? Because I thought you were something special.”

  “Didn’t you? You made me your girlfriend. You said you wanted to protect me.”

  “I was thirteen. I wanted to fuck a girl. You were right there. It was so easy.”

  I wanted to fuck a girl. My face burns like I’ve been slapped across the face. It was so easy. For once, I have no comeback. No snide remark will undo what he just said.

  He sets his empty glass down on the coffee table and looks up at me, calmly. “You want to know why I took the blame at the JJB?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I met some other boys at Dongri. They worked for the guy who’s my boss now. They were impressed by our whole paanwala scheme. Wanted someone who wasn’t afraid to take risks. Said if I stayed behind with them in the remand home, proved myself to them, I could join them when I got out. So that’s what I did. I had to look out for my future. And just see,” he says, gesturing at his flat. “It paid off.”

  I gaze into Babloo’s hardened face, searching for the boy I used to know. Who has he become? Or was he always like this and I just couldn’t see it? Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them back.

  “Listen,” he says. “The two of us, we’ve been through enough together. We were meant to find each other again. Stay here. I can take care of you.”

  Up until today, I would have said yes. But now that I know what happened, how could I ever trust him again? So, I rise to my feet. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

  “You don’t have anywhere to live, remember?”

  “I’d go back to the streets before I’d stay with you,” I fire back.

  He cracks his knuckles. “Now that you know about the fire, I can’t let you leave. I can’t risk someone tricking you into squealing about Arora or my boss.”

  I glare down at him, defiantly. “Who says I need to be tricked?”

  In one swift movement Babloo twists my arm behind my back so I can’t move. “You’re not going anywhere, in that case.”

  “Babloo, let go.” I squirm, trying to break free, but he’s so much stronger.

  “I call the shots,” he says firmly. “Not you.”

  I don’t say a word.

  “Understand?” He tightens his grip, pulling me so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my ear. His mobile buzzes. He stares at the name and answers it with a rapid “Yes, boss,” before pressing a finger to his mouth, motioning for me to sit on the couch, and slipping into the bedroom.

  That’s when I grab my bag and fly out the door and down the stairs to the lobby.

  I hear Babloo shouting my name, his footsteps not far behind me. For once, though, I’m faster than him, jumping into the lone autorickshaw parked outside the building.

  “Drive, drive, drive,” I command the autowala, a young guy who can’t be more than seventeen. “Don’t stop until we get to Bandra. Pali Hill.”

  The autowala cranks the engine alive, turns the handle into first gear, and we take off. I crane my neck out to make sure Babloo is far behind. He stands in the middle of the road behind us, his arms outstretched, palms up to the sky, growing smaller and smaller as we speed away.

  29

  I send Alex a message, and he is sitting on the curb outside of Blossoming Heights under the glow of a streetlamp when I get out of the autorickshaw. He looks at me quizzically. “Are you wearing the same clothes you had on Friday?”

  “My home. It is burned. All gone.”

  He stands up, asking me if I’m serious, but I cut him off, talking at a rapid pace. “It was Arora. Rubina Mansoor’s husband. He is wanting to build flats over Behrampada. He hired Babloo’s gang, they are burning it down.” I stare at Alex, breathless, as he narrows his eyes.

  “Slow down. You’re trying to tell me your slum burned down and Jeet Arora is responsible? My aunt and uncle’s friend?” He tilts his head and stares at my sooty arms. “Are you feeling okay? Did someone give you drugs?”

  “I swear. Babloo himself is telling me.”

  Alex frowns. “This doesn’t make any sense. Arora’s reputation is far too clean for that. He’s not some shady developer. And he’s given so much to Justice For All. I think he knows it’s wrong to burn a slum down.”

  “Babloo told me. He is not lying.”

  “You probably heard wrong.”

  “I am not wrong.” I wring my hands. “Alex, please.”

  He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “Even if you were right, which you’re probably not, those people are connected to my family. Do you think I would ever associate with people like that?”

  Is anyone who they say they are? Is Babloo the same boy who was my best friend? Is Gauri Ma’am the Champion of the Exploited?

  “My home is gone. Please. You have to help me.”

  “Well, you can’t crash here. My aunt and uncle are returning in an hour or so.”

  “Arre, not to stay. I need help. We have to tell Gauri Ma’am, police, anyone. They have to know that this is what happened to Behrampada.”

  Alex shifts his weight from foot to foot, kicking at a fallen leaf on the footpath. Then his eyes widen, like he has an idea. “Wait—I owe you money, don’t I?” He digs into his pocket, pulls out his wallet and hands me every bill in it. “I haven’t paid you for showing me around.”

  I take the money and count it. “Fifteen thousand, two hundred,” I say, my voice flat. He said he’d pay me forty thousand rupees.

  “I’d give you the full amount but I haven’t got paid for August. That should cover it to date, right? So at least you can find a place to stay for the next little while.”

  “Still,” I say, stuffing the cash into my bag, “I am needing more than money from you. We have to tell to Gauri Ma’am.”

  He scratches the side of his head and looks both ways on the road. “It’s dangerous to spread unfounded accusations against people with good reputations. Think of how many lives you could ruin with a rumour like that.”

  “My friend, Tazim, she is dead. Tazim.” I say her name slowly for him, to let it sink in, but he only looks confused.

  “Do I know this person?”

  “Tazim, yaar, Tazim. Your bai. Maid. She is cleaning your flat every day.”

  “Her? She didn’t come today. Wait,” he sputters, “she’s your friend?”

  Tazim cleaned his clothes, made his bed, boiled his tea, swabbed his floors, and he doesn’t even know her by name? I am losing whatever patience I had with Alex.

  He blinks a few times and digs his hands into his pockets. “I’m out of my element here. Can we wait for my aunt and uncle to return? They know people. They’ll know what to do.”

  “Arre, not them. They are friends with Arora. I need your help. I can’t do all this alone. Come, we will go to the police together. They will be listening to you, not me.”

  He wraps his hands around the back of his neck. “Wait. Aren’t the police here corrupt or whatever?”

  “Arre, this whole thing is corrupt. Arora burns down Behrampada, he is bribing the ambulance and police so they take too long, and then is bribing government people so that he can buy the land at a lower rate and build towers for rich people.”

  “If the police are in on it, why would we even go to them?”

  Exasperated, I throw my hands up. “Then first we go tell Gauri Ma’am. You must help me.”

  “We can’t go to Gauri until we’re sure what you’re claiming is true. She’ll hit the roof if she finds out we’re just spreading hearsay. I’m not exposing myself to that kind of drama. Let’s get ourselves sorted, let’s—”

  “Arre, Alex.”

  “Trust me, we have to be careful about this. Reputations are on the line.”

  People have died, I want to scream. Instead, I nod. “Fine. You take one day. But then you must help.”

  He swallows. “Okay.”

  Leaving out the fact that Gauri Ma’am fired me, I tell Alex I won’t be at the office tomorrow, and we agree to meet up again tomorrow evening at Bandra Station. I take off down the road. When I glance back at Alex, he’s sitting on the curb again, dragging his fingers through his hair, staring back at me.

  “This is it,” I call out to him. “This is the real India.”

  30

  That night, I sleep on a bench in Bandra Station for a few hours until the Railway Police kick me and everyone else who had the same idea out of the station. The others return to the east side of the station, where the displaced residents of Behrampada are fighting for space on the crammed footpath. I wander out the west side instead, up the wide, empty road, in search of quiet. I only have to make it until evening before I meet Alex again. What was it that those Dutch girls said? You can’t find an inch of peace in Bombay.

  I sink down on the road, and stretch out between two motorbikes parked outside a stationery shop. I wish I was back in my hut, in Behrampada, listening to the muezzin’s call to prayer at dawn.

  At five in the morning, my phone buzzes. It’s an unknown number.

  “Come to my flat right now.” It’s Gauri Ma’am, whispering. “I’ll explain why when you get here.”

  She then proceeds to give me directions to her flat, as if I don’t already know where she lives. Not to mention where she banks, what she eats for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, who her tailor is, and how much he charges to stitch her blouses.

  “And make sure nobody sees you. Don’t call back on this number, or on my mobile.”

  Alex must have called her and told her everything. I feel a great weight has lifted off my shoulders knowing that Ma’am knows the truth about that bhenchodh Arora. Maybe this is a turning point for Gauri Ma’am and me. She’ll realize she actually needs me, that I have something to offer her. Perhaps she’ll even take me back.

  Gauri Ma’am answers the door of her flat by opening it just a crack and peering nervously out into the hallway. Then she pulls me in swiftly by the elbow and slams the door shut.

  “Did anyone see you come here?” Her voice is fierce and low. “Did you see any police downstairs? What about on the road? How did you get here?”

  “Ma’am, I saw some traffic police when I was on the bus…”

  Gauri Ma’am nods and chews on her lip. “Sit,” she commands, pointing to one of the chairs at her big wooden dining table.

  It’s a few years since I’ve been to Ma’am’s flat. It’s large and open. Two bedrooms, with one for Neha, who never visits. The walls are covered with paintings and carved wooden masks and heavy woven tapestries. And photographs of Neha. On stage graduating from college, on stage receiving school awards, smiling on the beach, studying at the dining table. No wedding day pictures, though.

  On the wall beside me, there’s a framed photo of Ma’am’s orange cat, Zoey, who died last year. Diabetes. Ma’am spent ten thousand rupees on Zoey’s injections and medicines. For fifty rupees and a vada pav, I’d have found her a new cat.

  Ma’am takes a seat opposite me and crosses her arms across her puffed-out chest. “I got a call from the police. That crystal figurine you stole in January. The one Vivek had to help you out with. You took that from Alex’s family?”

  “Ji, Ma’am. That was the Motiani family.” Why is she asking me about that? We have more important things to deal with.

  “Well, the family are saying you turned up at their house again a few days ago and that you stole more things.”

  “Stole what? What did I steal?”

  “A laptop, some cash, some gold necklace.”

  “That’s—that’s a lie! You know I wouldn’t do that.”

  “We both know what you’re capable of,” she says, sternly. “What’s more, you no longer work for me, yet here I am spending the early hours of a Monday morning dealing with your petty theft issues. Tell me why I am doing this.”

  “I didn’t steal anything from anyone, Ma’am. But there are way bigger things going on right now, if you’d just—”

  “What bigger things?”

  “Ma’am, Behrampada burned down Saturday night. Tazim died in the fire.”

  “Your downstairs neighbour Tazim?” She sighs and presses two fingers into the space between her eyebrows. “If I’d had a way to contact you, I would have called as soon as I heard about the fire. But then Vivek told me he reached you and you said you were fine. You broke into the office to take your phone back, did you?”

  I don’t work for her anymore. I don’t have to answer her questions. I stay silent.

  “Look, I don’t want you to get in trouble. I called you to tell you the police are searching for you. The Motiani family filed a theft complaint against you.”

  As if the police would care about a false theft complaint over a developer scheming to burn down an entire slum. “Bas, that’s it?”

  Gauri Ma’am stares at me like I’ve just insulted her intelligence. “Don’t you think that’s quite significant?”

  I blink. So Alex hasn’t told her yet. “Gauri Ma’am, do you not know? About the fire?”

  “What about it?”

  “Behrampada was set on fire deliberately. Arora ordered it.” I scan her eyes, which don’t register the horror I thought they would. “Rubina Mansoor’s husband,” I add.

  “You’re trying to tell me that Jeetendra Arora is responsible for Behrampada being burned down?” Gauri Ma’am’s lip twitches. “And you would know this how? Have you become an investigative journalist overnight or what?”

  “Babloo told me.”

  She jerks her head back. “Who the hell is Babloo?”

  “My old friend. From the streets. You know, the one from the JJB?”

  “Arre, that fellow you keep searching for? What else have you kept from me?”

  “Yes, that Babloo. He’s back. He works for a goonda who took the job from Arora. Babloo didn’t set the fire. But a guy in his gang did. Orders from their boss. I don’t know the boss’s name, but I can lead you to him. I know where they eat, what beer bars they go to. I have Babloo’s address.”

  I wait for her to thank me for telling her the truth, but she only rubs her forehead again. “What else did this Babloo chap tell you?”

  “That Arora wants to build luxury flats on top of Behrampada, but first he had to set it on fire and make sure it all burned down.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  I watch deep lines form on her glistening forehead. She stares at me, and for a second, it’s as though her eyes are filled with sorrow. “Jeetendra Arora did this?”

  “Ji, Ma’am,” I say, desperate for her to believe me.

  “Who else knows?”

  “Alex. Call him up, he will tell you everything I told you. He’s going to help us.”

  She waves me off. “Alex is leaving India today. He emailed me late last night.”

  My mouth falls open. “I just…I just saw him last night. He didn’t say…We were supposed to meet today…”

  “These firanghis, you just can’t count on them. I should stop the internship program. More trouble than it’s worth.”

  I ball my hands into fists to keep them from trembling. How could he just leave like that? What happened to wanting to help me? Wanting to do the right thing? He said I would go places and I believed him. Just ate it all up. How could I have been so stupid?

  “Don’t look so worried, Rakhi. Alex is the least of your troubles right now, believe me.”

  I release my fists. “So you’ll help me? We’ll tell the police about Arora burning down the slum?”

  “The sun will be up soon. You should leave now. I won’t say anything to the police about you being here. But you can’t stay.”

  “Why, because the police think I stole a laptop from the Motianis? Who cares about that? This Arora thing is much more important.”

  She pulls her shoulders back. “Breaking the law is no small matter. And I cannot keep bailing you out. Especially when you have proven to be so untrustworthy.”

  “And if the police find me? You’ll defend me, na? And you can prove the Motianis are lying to cover this up.”

  Gauri Ma’am purses her lips.

  “Ma’am?”

  She swallows and hesitates, as if she is picking her words carefully. “If what you’re saying about Jeetendra Arora burning down Behrampada is true, I can’t do much for you.”