Chapter 3
The Half Love Rule

Amit went to his room and changed his clothes. Dai Ma went to the kitchen and poured milk for him. “Dai Ma, I’m going,” he said rushing out. “Wait Amit—your milk—” The door bolted behind him; the words remained inside. She went and sat in the balcony. As she stepped in, she left her present behind. She sat by the banister, and looked down at the street. She sang a melancholy song, only loud enough for her ears. The blaring horns, the mooing cow resting by the gutter, the tensed doggies, the withered man calmly sipping tea – with its tapestry of noises and colours, it looked like a fairyland, enticing her even today.

*

When Dai was ten years old, while sweeping, she would often lean by the banister and look down with awe at the hustling-bustling street; the noise galore, the liveliness of the never stopping cars, the calm demeanour of tea-drinkers – how different it was from her village. Rukmani Devi would chide her when she saw it. Then Savitri was born. Rukmani Devi would often leave the cradle in the balcony. Dai now preferred to peep in the cradle and look at the excited and wriggling baby. To make her comfortable, Dai once loosened the cloth around her, but she still kept wriggling. She once asked Rukmani Devi about it; at first Rukmani Devi looked perplexed, but then she replied that Munni did so because she was a baby. Dai didn’t find the answer satisfactory. Every day, looking at Munni posed a new puzzle before Dai. Then a khawasan was appointed. She would come early morning, wake up the Munni, bathe her, massage her with olive oil, rim kohl around her eyes and then wrap her in a cloth and keep her in the cradle. Dai felt that Munni looked miserable because she wasn’t able to kick now; but she still made saliva bubbles. Dai didn’t understand why bai would never clean the black spot from Munni’s forehead. It didn’t look good on her fair skin. One day Dai wiped it with her finger.
Rukmani Devi was seeing. “What happened, Dai, what are you doing?”
“That—that bai forgot to clean that—spot on Munni’s head. I was cleaning it.”
Rukmani Devi laughed. “Oh … you silly girl, that spot is to prevent Munni from evil eyes.”
Dai watched in amazement as Rukmani Devi brought the kohl and put a spot on Munni’s forehead. Her wonder and puzzlement increased with each day. She came to know that one talks to babies in a different language: by making funny sounds, sticking one’s tongue out, or mimicking its actions. Water was called mum-mum, cow was called gow mata, dog was called doggie, urine was called sussu and market was called bajji. She once tried to talk to Munni in this strange language. Munni looked at her, perplexed, and then started crying. However, on next try Dai succeeded to make her laugh. In two years, Dai was skilled enough to make her laugh, play with her, feed her and massage her. Dai’s puzzles were solved – some by answers others by time. And after a few days Rukmani Devi told Dai to hold Munni in her hands. Dai introduced Munni to the alluring, enticing, awe-inspiring world that existed down the banister. Dai made Munni stand behind the grating, held Munni with her hands and pointed with her finger the various things and named them, “That, Munni, is a big gow mata, and that, small one next to it is a doggie.” Munni looked at Dai and then at the street, her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide open, her hands clutching the grate, her feet shaking; quiet, attentive, like a student learning about a new planet. Sometimes a loud horn would make her fall back and she would tightly clutch Dai’s leg and shiver, and laugh. And then Munni grew up, and became Savitri. She was no more interested in the balcony. Dai went back to sweeping, and looked at the world alone. Twenty years later, Savitri gave birth to a boy, Rajeev. No khawasan was appointed. Dai massaged and bathed him. When he was a year old, he was introduced to the world below the banister. He looked at it, enraptured. Then one day he cried to go down and touch the world. When Dai took him downstairs, to the street, he started crying. From then, Rajeev preferred to look at the world from a distance; he understood that touching it would break the magic spell. Dai did the same when Ragini, Rajeev’s sister was born. As they both grew up, for them the magic lost its lure. It became a part of their life, something which was around them, always, and hence not magical. Dai retreated back to her chores.
Dai had become Dai Ma by the time Rajeev married. He stayed here with his wife, Neetu, while his sister Ragini flew to Canada after marriage. A month before Neetu’s baby was due Dai Ma became equipped with kohl, olive oil bottles, clothes and nappies. With Amit’s birth the house the house bloomed up, with a transient joy.

*

Dai Ma saw Amit standing at the door. He was panting. “What happened, Amit baba?” she said standing up.
He just stood there.
“You ran away without drinking your milk. Sit on the dining table I’ll heat it again.”
Dai Ma walked out of the balcony, again becoming a part of the present, picking up time from where she had left it. While Dai Ma was heating the milk in the kitchen, she saw Amit come in and stand next to her.
“Amit baba, still on the chair, I’ll get the milk.”
He just stood there.
Dai Ma said, “Here, Amit baba, it’s done. It is very hot, come, I’ll keep it on the table for you.”
Amit followed her and sat on the chair. Dai Ma said, “Drink it slowly, it is very hot.”
She was going back in the kitchen when Amit said, “Dai Ma, where are you going?”
“Nowhere. I’m in the kitchen only, making tea for myself.”
When she would turn back from the stove, she would see Amit leaning back from his chair, staring at her. Moments later, she found him standing next to her, holding the glass in his hands.
“Amit baba, sit there and drink, it’s very hot.”
He heard it. But he just stood there.
He said, “No Dai Ma, it’s not very hot.”
“Amit baba, I will come there as soon my tea is ready. It will take just a minute.”
He just stood there.
Amit kept the milk on the platform. Dai Ma asked, “What happened?”
“Nothing,” he said before picking it up again. She saw his palms were red. She turned off the stove, took the glass from him and went out. Amit sat on the chair and drank the milk, with no hurry, because he knew it was very hot. He hasn’t changed, Dai Ma said to herself.
Neetu and Rajeev came half an hour later, at 7 O’clock. The dinner came and went, without disturbing the silence much.
It was one 12 O’clock and Dai Ma could see Amit strolling about the drawing room. When she turned about on her cot she saw Amit sleeping next to her. Neetu was asleep by now but Dai Ma knew she often came out to get water. She woke him up and told him to go back to his room. When he complained about mosquitoes in his room, she could sense the plea in his words. She sent him back forcefully, and shifted her cot next to the door of his room. But she couldn’t sleep. She sat up and looked at the ebony sky. She often turned her head towards the room; she knew Amit would check every hour if she was there. He always does. He always did.

*

Neetu had once dabbed Dettol over his knee when he fell down. The next day he came running with his elbow pointed out and said to Neetu, “Mummy, mummy, I got hurt. It is paining badly. Please put Dettol.” Neetu brushed him off, saying, “I don’t see any hurt.” Later the same day, he came back and told her the same thing; but this there was some dirt stuck on his elbow. Neetu knew it was forged. She slapped him. After Neetu went, Dai Ma went to his room and said, “Amit baba, where did you get hurt? Show me.” She looked at his finger and raised her brows in shock.
She said, “Oh Amit baba! How—how did this happen?”
“I was—” (he wiped his tear) “I was just playing when I fell down and hit a stone.”
“Oh! Amit baba, does it hurt badly?”
He nodded.
She brought cotton, soaked it in Dettol and dabbed it over his fake wound. When he said Ouch, she gave him a sympathetic look and said:
“Don’t worry, Amit baba, it will be all right, it will be just fine.”
She said, “Amit baba, you should be very careful while playing,” and bandaged his finger. He nodded and went away to play. His wounds now surfaced every four or five days. Dai Ma wiped them all with her Dettol.
Neetu’s friends would bring their children along and—to prevent them from jumping in their laps and drown their guffaws in their cries of Mummy mummy mummy—would leave them in the porch where they would play with Amit. Their customary game was of enacting roles. Amit was made the watchman; but he often mixed up his lines or forgot to salute. When he was made the sweeper, someone would always tumble down because of his absentminded brooming. Annoyed, the other children gave him a toy and told him to enact like an audience member. He did this job well. He sat in a corner, didn’t say a word, like an abandoned doll. When asked, he fetched water for the busy players. He breathed a sigh of relief when they decided to change the game. The new game was ghar-ghar, where a group had to enact like a family. The children were divided in two teams. No one was ready to take Amit. They decided that the family which was not managed properly by the end of the week would have to take him. A souvenir soon to be thrust upon the loser team, he stood leaning by the door, smiling when the father of a family said, The food is delicious, sulking when a mother complaint of rising prices. Dai Ma called him one day and showed him a board with incoherent lines drawn on it. She said, “Amit baba, do you know how to play changey-ashtey?”
“No.” he said.
“O! Amit baba, you are so big and you don’t even know how to play changey-ashtey! Don’t tell anyone that. They will laugh at you. Let me teach you.” The board was dusted, wood chips taken as counters, rules explained and the game played. They played for two hours. The next morning, Dai Ma was woken up by a muffed voice. She opened her eyes and saw two zealous eyes peering at her. “Dai Ma, wake up, Dai Ma—let us play changey-ashtey. The board is ready.” Amit sat on the chair and took five-minutes for each turn, while Dai Ma, sweeping the floor, came and finished her turn in five seconds. Some days Amit would take the board in the kitchen and keep it on the LPG cylinder. Dai Ma would take out snatches of seconds from her cooking and play her turns. Those days when she couldn’t play because she was already late for cooking, Amit would sit on an inverted tumbler in the kitchen and wait. With the advent of this new time-pass, he stopped following Neetu around. He trailed after Dai Ma; and she allowed him. Dai Ma saw Amit curled up on the sofa, crying. He told her through the tearful face that Neetu had not taken him with her and had even slapped him. Dai Ma said, “Amit baba, don’t cry. I am going to the temple. You want to come with me?” At the temple, she told him to join hands and wish for something (and not to tell that wish to anybody). After this, Dai Ma asked him to take sweets from the fat half-naked man who was standing near the idol. Amit shrunk back in fear. Dai Ma took the sweets for him. From the shop outside, she brought him a small marble idol of Lord Krishna. She said, “Lord Krishna was also very nut-khut like you. If you want anything, kept it between your palms and wish for it.”
“Will I get everything?” he asked.
“Yes, if you ask with a clear heart.”
As the days passed, he regularly went to the temple with Dai Ma. His fear of the fat half-naked man subsided; partially because he realised that he was harmful, and partially because he now donned more garments because of winter. One day, the fat half-naked man suddenly placed a rose string around Amit’s neck. Amit was surprised and delighted. For a second Amit thought he had now become bhaganwanji, but Dai Ma broke his oblivion.
Amit now went with Dai Ma to the market also, where sometimes she would buy him puffed rice (after making sure the stall was hygienic). On a few days, she would take out money from her savings and buy Amit mangoes. Amit would eat them sitting the balcony while she stood out guarding the balcony from Neetu (Mangoes were strictly prohibited in the household. Seeing someone eat it gave Neetu creeps.) After having finished them, Dai Ma would rigorously wash Amit’s hands and mouth.
Dai Ma once threatened him, “Amit baba, stay away from me! I won’t talk to you because you never drink milk on time.”
“Dai Ma, I drink milk on time.”
“I am not talking to you?”
“But why?”
She didn’t speak.
Amit looked at her and shouted, pointing out his finger, “If you won’t talk to me, I will tell my friend Raman to come and beat you.” She replied, “You will get your Dai Ma beaten? Your Dai Ma? Your own Dai Ma? Good. Very good. Go, tell him to beat me. You are doing a very good thing.” She looked away from him.
He said, “Dai Ma.”
“Arre, you haven’t gone yet? Go. Tell your Raman to beat your Dai Ma. Go now.”
He looked at her with tearful eyes, and said, holding his earlobes, “Sorry. I won’t tell him.” From the next day on, Dai Ma would make Bournvita milk for him (now in a larger cup) and tea for herself and they would drink it sitting in the warm sunlit balcony. Dai Ma had to keep telling him to finish it fast. He would stand leaning by the banister and then rush towards the glass, take a sip and then go back. He drank it all in one gulp if she reminded him of her threat.
Dai Ma said to Amit one day, “There is so much noise and dust down there. In my village there are no such things—no motor-cars, no motor-bikes, no traffic signals.”
Amit rushed over and sat besides her on the cot. “Really Dai Ma? Then how do people go about?”
“On foot.”
“And for long distances?”
“On cycles.”
“But it would take lots of time, won’t it?”
“Yes, lots of time.”
“Dai Ma you also had a cycle?”
“Yes,” she continued, “I had one. It was pink and white with roses made on it—very beautiful.”
“Wow, Dai Ma. And where did you go with that cycle?”
“Where? Oh, lots of places—my school, my old nanny’s house, to the grocer, and yes—sometimes to the lake also.”
“Wow, Dai Ma, you had a lake also?”
“Yes, we had a lake—a very very big lake. I would go there with my friends and sit on a stone and we all would chew sugarcanes.”
“Dai Ma, were there fishes in the lake?”
“Oh, yes, lots of them. Big fishes, small fishes, and some frogs also. Bust mostly there were lotuses—”
“Lotuses? Were there really lotuses Dai Ma?”
“Yes, hundreds and hundreds of them. They covered the whole lake. If you look from a distance you will feel as if it is a pink blanket over the lake.”
Arun tried to visualise it in his mind. “Wow,” he said. “Was there anything else also in the lake?”
“Oh yes, there is one jalpari also. My father used to say there used to many of them in olden times.”
“What is a jalpari, Dai Ma?”
“A jalpari is a woman which has a fish-like tail instead of legs.”
She told him about the friendly cow which she and her friends would feed everyday and the dog they had adopted and hid under an inverted basket. The excitement on his face waxed with every new detail. She continued to invent more details. She had rarely seen him so happy. She wished there really was such a lake, such a village.
He said, “Raman also has a dog at home—a very big dog.”
“Who is Raman?”
“Dai Ma, you don’t know Raman? He is in my class. He is my best friend. He brings cakes and pastries everyday and we share tiffin. He even gets the highest marks in Maths.”
She listened with interest as he spoke of his friend. She was glad there was someone to look after him in the school.
“—and that is not all,” he said. “Sometimes he brings so many toffees that his pocket looks like a balloon.” He stood up and stretched his pocket. “It looks this big. See.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Dai Ma, really. All types of toffees. Chocolate and strawberry also.”
He continued, “Dai Ma, I have one toffee right now. You want it?”
“No Amit baba, you eat.”
“No, Dai Ma, no. Please you eat.”
He took it out of his pocket and gave it to her.
“Amit baba,” she remarked, “why don’t you tuck in your shirt.”
“Dai Ma eat it right now, otherwise I know if I go away you won’t eat it.”
“OK.” She ate it.
She said, “Amit baba, tuck in your shirt, it will look better.”
He stood up and reluctantly tucked it in. Dai Ma noticed his pant was unbuttoned.
She said, “Amit baba, why is your button open?”
“Dai Ma it is very tight.”
“Oh. Then why don’t you tell Mummy to get you new pant?”
“I told her. She said she has got no time.”
“Amit baba, come with me.”
Dai Ma took him to the store room, brought down her sewing machine from the cupboard, dusted it, and sewed a new pant for him over the following days; he sat on a low stool next to her, giving his inputs for the design and colour. Her hands were out of practice so the pant turned out to be ill-fitting. Amit went away wearing his tight-fitting pant, without complaining. The next day she called him back in the store room. Kept on the table, next to the sewing machine, inside a polythene bag, was folded cloth.
“Today we will try our best,” she said.
The pant fitted him like a T. Over the next few days, she brought more cloth and sew him two shirts and two pants. Dai Ma tried to embroider a Spiderman on his shirt. The end result was something that looked like a red bald doll. On the second shirt, they settled for writing “I Am Spiderman” below the collar. With the leftover red cloth, she made him an eye mask. Donning his new attire, he dashed in the balcony, and said, “Dai Ma, get aside, I am throwing my web! Here it goes - shu!”
“Oi!” she said and jumped aside.
After fifteen minutes of webbing, Amit retired on chair and said, “Dai Ma, I am tired. I need water.”
“Ok, Amit baba, I will get it.”
She went to the kitchen and poured water in a glass. “Here Amit baba,” she said turning back. She knew he had followed her. They walked back. Dai Ma had crossed the drawing room when she turned back and saw Amit jumping over the stools, dashing across the carpet, his hand held out. His eyes brimming with fear of being left behind. His fear didn’t turn into words; it remained inside. She picked him up and walked back to the balcony.

*

Dai Ma smiled. She cherished memories. Even in the hardest of days, gloomiest of nights, they come like an angel from nowhere and give you a pinch of happiness. But that happens only with the happy memories. Sometimes a sad memory also crops up, like a maggot while peeling peas:

*

While Amit and Dai Ma were sitting in the balcony one day, she said to him, pointing to the tear on his Spiderman shirt, “Amit baba, how did this happen?”
Amit spoke reluctantly, “Mummy—mummy—hit yesterday.”
Dai Ma noticed how Neetu’s behaviour towards Amit had suddenly changed since Nandini’s visit. Dai Ma brought some cloth the next day and sewed him a new shirt. Looking at Dai Ma straining her eyes and labouring away for hours, Amit tried to pursue her that there was no need. But she still sewed it.
Dai Ma would stand by the door, muttering Ram Ram Ram and telling her rosary, while Neetu would beat Amit. She could never forget how he would wail and look at her through the thick blob of tears, as if begging for help. Dai Ma knew her intervention would only fuel Neetu’s anger. After Neetu went away, Dai Ma would enter the room carrying his food; Amit would be lying on the bed, still crying.
“Dai Ma, Dai Ma, here—just here she hit me with her hand—” (pointing towards his elbow) “and—and see—here—” (wiping a tear, raising his pant leg, pointing to his knee) “see, I fell down on the floor and got hurt here, see, on the knee. See.”
She saw all his wounds, examined them, showed her surprise and condolence, and fed him in midst of all this. The spoon was often refused entry inside his mouth until proper condolence was expressed. After that she would dab Dettol over the pointed areas. Amit traced the origins of the wounds once more now, to squeeze out whatever more condolence was possible.

Neetu was sitting in the drawing room when she said, “Dai Ma, have you taken out the new tea set from the storeroom?”
“Yes. And I have washed it and arranged it in the kitchen.”
“Fine. And is the cake ready?”
“I have kept it in the refrigerator. It will be done before Nandini comes in the morning.”
“OK, fine. Now you can go to sleep Dai Ma.”
Amit came out of his room, carrying his blanket and pillow. He was about to enter Neetu’s room when Neetu said, “Amit, wait, wait. Today you will sleep in your room.”
He stood at the door, motionless.
“Go to your room,” Neetu said.
Amit opened the door of Neetu’s room.
Neetu stood up and went towards Amit. He stepped back.
Neetu stood towering before him and said, “Amit go to your room! Or you want me to hit you like yesterday?”
He sat down on the doorway and started crying.
“Amit—Amit—stop crying! You will wake up the whole neighbourhood. Listen to me—you are grown up, you understand? You have to learn to sleep alone. Amit—listen—stop crying, and try to understand—”
But he didn’t understand and kept crying.
“Fine, I’m locking the door—cry as much as you want.”
She drove him out and shut the door. He banged on it, screaming, “Mummy, open the door. Mummy!” He was screaming at the top of his voice. Strain abated his loudness, but he kept shouting. It seemed his throat was puffing out the last of voice it had. Stripped of the garments of loudness, she could see the pain in his voice: naked, shivering, ghoulish. He rubbed his eyes, harshly, as if it would make his Mummy come out. Dai Ma tried to calm him, but he turned a deaf ear towards her words. He went to his room, coughing and crying. She followed him. He threw himself on the bed. She said, “Amit baba, don’t cry.” But he cried. She picked him up, brought him out and laid him on her cot. “Don’t worry Amit baba,” she said, “don’t worry—you can sleep next to me. No need to be afraid. Now stop crying.”
Slaps and cries woke Dai Ma early morning. Neetu was hitting Amit.
“Amit, Amit—I told you to sleep alone, didn’t I? Then why did you sleep here—why? You will make me feel ashamed in front of the whole world. You animal.”
Dai Ma said, “No, no, don’t hit him, Neetu. It was me—it was me. I told him to sleep here.”
Neetu glared at her.
“Dai Ma—why are you always teaching him to disobey me, huh? Be in your limits, you just work here. Amit sleeps on the bed, not on the floor with a servant, you understand?”

Few days later, Dai Ma was sitting in the balcony when Neetu came to her and said, “Dai Ma, I want to talk to you.”
She looked at her.
Neetu said, “Dai Ma—please go away from here.”
Neetu continued, “You can work at my friend, Rita’s house. She is ready to give you one thousand rupees more.”
“Neetu, but what happened?”
“Dai Ma, I don’t want to give any explanations. Just go away. I will come back in the evening, and I want you to be ready by then. Someone will come from Rita’s house and take you.”
When Neetu came back in the evening, Dai Ma was still looking down the banister. Neetu asked her why she hadn’t packed till now. Dai Ma turned her face and looked at Amit. He was sitting in the garden. Neetu told her she would explain things to Rajeev. Amit was playing with a ball and grass and plants, his only friends. Neetu told her Rita would give her a better room to live. Amit looked up and smiled, and showed her his new red plastic ball. Neetu told her she can bargain for more money. Dai Ma wondered what would happen to Amit if she went away.

Amit was going with Dai Ma to the temple enjoy the sumptuous feat of chhapan bhog, when Neetu called out, “Amit, where are you going?”
“We are going to the temple,” Dai Ma said.
“Amit,” Neetu said, “you shameless, you’ve got three marks in Science. Don’t you think you should be studying? Go to your room and bring your Science copy to me. Right Now.”
“Mummy, but before this I was studying only—”
She slapped him and said, “So you’ve learnt to answer back also, huh? Get your copy right now!”
Dai Ma said, “Neetu, Neetu, don’t hit him. He’s not lying—he was studying. I saw it.”
Neetu shouted, “Amit get your copy right now!”
He just stood there.
Neetu showered slaps on him.
Dai Ma tried to guard him with her hand, “Neetu, don’t—don’t hit. Please. Stop. He’s going. He’s going. Amit baba, go, get your copy. Good boy. Go now.”
Neetu glared at Dai Ma and said, “Amit, fast.”
Dai Ma understood the signal in her eyes.
She understood that from now on, she was allowed to love Amit only half.
Neetu walked away without telling where the other half was to come from.
She went back to her cot. Amit came back an hour later, carrying his milk glass. Dai Ma said, “Amit baba, go drink on the table.”
“No Dai Ma, it is OK. Mummy has gone to market and I have learnt the Science answers.”
“Amit baba, go.”
He looked at her and sipped from the milk.
“Didn’t you hear? I said go!”
He sipped it again.
“Are you going or not?”
He went out carrying his glass. He came back a minute later and said, “I have finished it.” He was about to sit down when Dai Ma said, “Now go to your room.”
“No.”
“Go or I’ll slap you.”
He looked at her with eyes filled with puzzled tears.
“Amit baba, this is the last time I am telling you—either you go away or I’ll slap you.”
He went away, crying.
The next day, he came in the balcony and stood near Dai Ma. She noticed he was holding a box. A long interval passed, after which Dai Ma said, “What do you want?”
He said, “Dai Ma, let us play changey-ashtey.”
Before he could open the box, she said, “No. I don’t want to.”
“No Dai Ma, you have to play.”
“I said I don’t want to! Are you deaf?”
He threw the box on the ground and ran away.

Rajeev was reclining on the sofa. He said, “Dai Ma, I told you many times before, why don’t you use the vacuum cleaner we have? I am sure your back would be aching terribly.”
“No beta, it’s fine. I am used to the broom. And as it is I don’t know how to use that machine.”
“Dai Ma, what is that—that tear in your saree.”
“Oh, nothing, nothing, just rats in the storeroom.”
“And yes, I forgot to ask you—why have you shifted your things in the storeroom? Any—any problem?”
“Beta, I am getting old, and it’s difficult for me to climb those big big stairs every time I want something. Here it is easy.”
“OK fine. I am going to Haridwar in a few days, I’ll get you a new saree.”
“No, beta, I don’t need it. No use wasting money—I’ll get this fixed.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Rajeev went to his room, saying, “I think I’ll take a bath.”
“Amit baba, lift your feet,” she said to Amit, who was looking at her all the while, inertly. He lifted his feet, slowly. “Dai Ma, will you play changey-ashtey today?” Amit asked. What crossed the membrane of fear in his throat was only an inaudible murmur. She hadn’t heard. He asked again. A small, silent tear was anxiously sitting on his eyelid.
She said, “How many times do I tell you I am not free! All the time changey-ashtey changey-ashtey. Do I have no other work?”
The tear now finally got redemption. It glided down the contours of his cheek, happily, like a couple going for vacation.
“Dai Ma, why do you talk to me like this nowadays? It hurts.” he asked, wiping it in mid-path.
“Again you started crying! Are you trying to torture me?”
He forcefully wiped the last tear. He threw the toast on her and ran towards the kitchen. He looked at her from behind the gate. She picked it up and placed it back on the table. He said, “You talk to me like this and I will tell Raman and he will beat you.” She continued sweeping. He crept towards her and said, “Will you play if I don’t beat you?”
She struck on his leg with her broom.
He walked away, saying, “Kat-ti.”

Amit was sitting in the drawing room, next to a potted neem plant, holding a toy mouse in his hand. “Mr Mousey, say hello to Mr Plant.” He held the mouse close to the plant. “Good boy Mr Mousey!” Amit kept the mouse down and gently wiped the dew on the leaf with his finger, and said, “Aw, don’t cry Mr Plant, don’t cry. Mummy does not love those who cry. Look at Mr Mousey—he doesn’t cry.” Amit saw Dai Ma enter carrying a mug of water. He said, “No, Mr Mousey, no. Don’t say hello to Dai Ma, because she will not say hello back to you.” Amit looked at her, but she didn’t look at him. He said in a stern voice, “Don’t forget to water that plant over there—behind the bonsai. Nowadays you are not working carefully.” She didn’t look up at him. He went out, saying, “Mr Mousey, bad people have come here. We will go in the garden.”
Half an hour later, Dai Ma saw Neetu enter from the front door, dragging Amit by his wrist. She pushed him in the bathroom, closed the door and switched off the light from outside, saying, “I think this is the only way I can teach you to behave like humans. I will open the door when I come back one hour later.” Dai Ma went back in the balcony.
Amit screamed.
She looked at the motor-cars.
Amit banged his fist on the gate.
She looked at the dogs.
Amit shouted – “Mummy!”
She looked at the cows. She cried.
Amit called her name – “Dai Ma!”
Dai Ma opened the door and hugged him.
This time she loved him more than she was supposed to.
Amit also hugged her.
For he always loved more than he was supposed to.
When Neetu came back and saw the door open, Dai Ma saw the ghastly look in her eyes, as if they were saying, So you won’t understand like this. Neetu took Amit in the room and closed the gate. The ghoulish shrieks made Dai Ma shiver; the rosary fell from her hands. Neetu flung out Amit’s Spiderman shirts and pants from his cupboard and tore them all. Amit looked at the remains in the dustbin, searching for his fault. Dai Ma sat in the balcony, telling her rosary beads she won’t break the rule again.