Fifteen Lanes (7 page)

Dragging one foot, as if she were lame, Parvati hobbled out to the center of the street. She didn’t even try to shelter Eka from the rain. He woke up and screamed his annoyance. Parvati ignored him as she focused intently on the approaching group. Cupping her hand and putting the tips of her fingers together, she gestured toward her mouth, making the motions of eating. She really did look pitiful.

There were six foreigners, three men and three women, with a local guide. A couple of them gave Parvati sidelong looks. The ones nearest shied away, almost tripping over each other in their determination to avoid her. Parvati limped after them.

“Just one rupee,” she called out in her heavily accented English. I almost laughed. She would certainly not be satisfied if that was all they gave her.

The foreigners looked at their guide, who glared at Parvati. “Get away. Stop bothering them.”

“Please, just one rupee. My brother is hungry.” She singled out one of the women, catching up to her and grabbing her shirt. The woman gasped and pulled away, dragging Parvati and Eka with her. The guide raised his hand to Parvati threateningly but she stared him down. The guides were guests in our neighborhood as much as the foreigners. He wouldn’t dare hit us. Snorting in disgust, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small handful of coins and tossed them on the ground. They rolled into the muck at the side of the road. Parvati let go of the woman to dive for the change, leaving the group to hustle away.

Aamaal and I helped Parvati collect the scattered coins. Slime from rotting food, mixed with human and animal waste, coated our fingers by the time we’d collected every coin. There was barely enough for a couple of panipuri, but the vendor knew us. He added a third for free. We got spicy, but I reminded him to hold back on the onions as they gave Aamaal gas. Parvati divided the three small stuffed pastries equally, ripping a little piece off her own for Eka, though he had no teeth. He stopped whimpering as he sucked greedily on the fried dough, and we all settled back on the stoop to enjoy our treat.

We were just finishing when we heard loud voices from our own house next door. I heard my name called. My alarm was reflected on Aamaal’s face as we leaped up and tore home. We slowed down as we entered, wary of coming upon Pran, who would surely beat us for coming inside so early.

Lali-didi, a recent addition to our house, practically plowed into us in the narrow hall. “Noor, thank goodness you came. I’ve been shouting for you. You must go down the street and fetch Sunita-Auntie. Your ma is having the baby right now.” I didn’t ask why Lali-didi hadn’t gone herself. It would be years yet before she was allowed street privileges. She might have secured her freedom sooner if she’d had a baby of her own, but she was still a child herself.

I was happy to go back outside as I could hear Binti-Ma’am just around the corner in a loud argument with a customer. It sounded like the young boy who had gone with Ma.

I left Aamaal with Lali-didi, as she’d only slow me down, and ran as fast as I could to the house where Sunita-Auntie worked. Though she did the same work as Ma, she was no longer a live-in but had a room of her own in a building nearby.
She rented her bed only when she had a customer, and split her profits with her madam. She supplemented her income with her other skill, delivering babies. It was a dwindling business. Even in our community, women preferred to have their babies in a hospital.

I wove through the crowded streets, finally reaching Sunita’s Auntie’s brothel. Her madam snorted in disgust when I asked for her.

“If you find her, tell her not to bother coming here again. I’ve plenty of whores who can make better use of my beds.”

“Please, Auntie,” I said politely. “My ma’s in a desperate way.”

“Try the Elephant Café,” she said, naming a gambling den that was as notorious for murders as for the large amounts of cash that changed hands each night.

I had strict instructions from Ma to stay away, but I was desperate so I continued on.

Half a block farther, I entered a long, narrow corridor not unlike the one at our house and followed the voices up a narrow staircase to the second floor. I didn’t get farther than the top of the stairs when I was stopped by a large, muscular man.

“What’s your business here, girl?” he said roughly.

“Please help me, Uncle. My ma is having a baby and needs the services of Sunita.” I didn’t give her last name. If he was from our community he wouldn’t need it.

He examined my face, for what trickery I could only imagine. I looked at my feet to show him I understood his power and did not wish to offend.

“She’s in there,” he said finally, stepping back and gesturing to an open doorway farther down the hall. “But I’d think twice about having her deliver your ma’s baby.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” I slipped past him and ran to the open door.

I heard Sunita-Auntie before I saw her. She was standing at one of the many round tables, arguing with another woman. They were fighting over a man who had a large pile of cash in front of him. The problem was as clear to me as any in my school Math book. In the next few moments they would come to blows if I didn’t intervene. I rushed forward and grabbed Sunita-Auntie’s arm. She was so absorbed in her dispute that she barely acknowledged me. I pulled at her with a desperation that finally got her attention. She was quick to follow when I explained the situation. Perhaps even she realized that the other woman, many years her junior, would inevitably win the wealthy customer, and give her a sound thrashing as well.

As soon as we got outside I could smell the liquor on her. Still, I was grateful that she followed me, however unsteadily. We tried to creep past Binti-Ma’am, who was now outside our door arguing with the same young man. He was demanding his money back, as I’d earlier suspected. It was impossible to hide from her.

“Tell your ma she owes me for this one,” said Binti-Ma’am.

“You should be ashamed making Ashmita work in her condition, you greedy donkey!” snarled Sunita-Auntie.

Binti-Ma’am’s chest puffed up as she prepared to explode. I shoved Sunita-Auntie through the open doorway. Sunita-Auntie’s blood was still up from before. She was itching to let loose on someone. It wouldn’t take much to ignite her longstanding feud with Binti-Ma’am. Many years ago they’d been friends, working alongside each other in the same house, but
while Sunita-Auntie’s unwillingness to train new girls had kept her forever at the bottom of the trade, Binti-Ma’am’s innate viciousness had fueled her rise to the top.

Several aunties and their children waited anxiously in the hallway and directed us to where Ma was giving birth. We were too late to help. Shami was already squalling on Ma’s chest when we arrived. It may have been fortunate he hadn’t awaited Sunita-Auntie’s arrival. In her current state, she may have cut more than his cord, though the scene we came upon was no less horrific.

Binti-Ma’am had sent Ma to the lockup to have her baby. The room itself made my heart race. Everyone who lived in our house had heard the screams from that room when new girls were broken in. Lali-didi had emerged from a prolonged confinement only three weeks ago and still bore the marks of her suffering.

It was more a wooden box than an actual room, standing four feet off the floor and accessed by a rickety stool. It was barely large enough for the single soiled mattress it contained, and the roof was so low it wasn’t possible to stand upright, even for me, and I was small for my ten years. A bucket overflowing with filthy rags and watery blood stood underneath the open door. Prita-Auntie, who shared our small four-bed room, stood sentry outside, giving orders to the other aunties to bring fresh water and clean clothes. A bucket arrived just as we did. Whatever rivalries might have existed between the aunties on a daily basis, they were family and would always help each other in a crisis.

“She’s going to be fine,” said Prita-Auntie. Her eyes told a different story.

I steeled myself to climb into the box. Sunita-Auntie made no move to follow. I didn’t blame her. I glanced nervously at the bolt and huge padlock on the door. Binti-Ma’am would have no reason to lock us in, but I’d seen Pran’s cruelty extend beyond reason, many times.

The room was stifling. Deepa-Auntie sat on the far side of the mattress, mopping Ma’s face with a rag that looked little cleaner than the ones outside. Aamaal crouched beside her, rigid with fear. I tried to smile reassuringly at her. I’m sure it came out more like a grimace. Old Shushila, who’d long ago retired from the trade but stayed on at our house to help, was between Ma’s legs trying her best to wash her. Light flickered from a single kerosene lantern that hung barely two feet above Shushila’s hunched body. It cast ghastly shadows, making the scene look like a massacre and old Shushila a demon crone. I thought they must have cut the baby out and was surprised to see that Ma’s exposed belly, covered in a film of sweat, was unmarked.

Ma looked relieved to see me. “Greet your brother, Shami.”

I reached across her and took him in my arms.

“You need to get a box for him to sleep in. There should be some discarded fruit cartons at the garbage dump. Get the cleanest one you can find.” Her voice was weak.

“I’ll take care of it, Ma. Don’t worry.”

I was surprised by his lightness. He was much smaller than Aamaal had been. Even at birth she’d had round cheeks and a robust glow. Our brother was frail and wizened like an old man. His eyes fixed on me and his wails, which had reverberated off the walls since my arrival, subsided into a quiet snuffling. It was foolish to think anything of it. Babies
couldn’t see properly when they were this young. I kissed his forehead and held him close.

Ma fell asleep almost immediately. I took her hand. It felt as cold as death. I quickly dropped it. Shushila, who was continuing to gently bathe her, met my eyes and nodded toward the door. There was nothing more I could do. Aamaal lay down and rested her head in Deepa-Auntie’s lap, closing her eyes as Deepa-Auntie stroked her hair. She would soon be asleep as well.

The quietness in the room, rank with the smell of blood, was oppressive. I scooted backwards toward the door and swung my legs out, carefully stepping down onto the footstool and then the floor. I knew Ma’s bed would be empty for at least the next few hours. I wasn’t ready yet to introduce Shami to our life. I wanted some time alone to get to know him, and privacy was scarce. The curtain around Ma’s bed afforded our only hope. One of the aunties made a move to take him from me but I refused to give him up and the aunties seemed to understand. They returned their attention to guarding Ma and passing clean rags in to Shushila.

I was halfway up the ladder to our room, awkwardly holding Shami in one arm, when Sunita-Auntie stopped me with a hand on my thigh. I started and almost fell backwards. I didn’t realize she’d followed me.

“Your ma’s sick,” said Sunita-Auntie.

“Just tired,” I said.

“No,” said Sunita-Auntie, with the certainty of one who had seen much sickness. “She has the virus, and so does the babe. You’d be doing everyone a favor by smothering him now.” She turned away, placing a hand on the wall to steady herself before trudging off down the hall.

I waited until she’d rounded the corner and then looked into the milky, opaque eyes of my brother. “She’s an old fool and a drunkard,” I told him.

Shami didn’t blink.

One thing I liked about the principal’s office was that all his chairs were lined up in a straight row facing him, like he was about to deliver a speech and you were just there to listen. Most of the time I expect that’s the way things went. He didn’t count on my mom. I don’t think she’d stopped talking in the fifteen minutes since she’d sat down. I felt sorry for him. Every so often he’d start to say something like
If I could interject here
, but she would barrel on. Sooner or later he’d realize she wasn’t going to let him interject here, there or anywhere. I was grateful to be facing him and not her.

I was already in his office when my parents arrived, farthest seat from the door, closest to the open window. Are you having the same thought I was? In fact, I’d been sitting in that same chair for over an hour. I gathered that Mr. Smiley—that’s his name; you can’t make that stuff up—had called my parents even before I showed up. He was surprisingly calm about the
whole thing. Maybe I wasn’t his first student to “disseminate pornographic images to the student body.” Yes, that is what he said. Technically, he didn’t accuse me of disseminating to everyone, only those with a cellphone. Although apparently there were several images posted around the school, in addition to the one on my locker, so presumably the 1.2 percent of kids at Mumbai International without a cellphone were still exposed to my corrupting influence.

As luck would have it, disseminating pornographic images is an expellable offence. Personally, I think accusing a fifteen-year-old of being the likely culprit of her nude photo going viral should be an expellable offence, but that’s just my opinion. Mr. Smiley did let me tell my side of the story, and he took copious notes. Then he had me write everything down and sign it.