After lunch, Sushmita suggested a jaunt into Camp to tour some of the city that I hadn’t seen. Willy pronounced it an excellent idea. He shooed us out to the car, claiming he had pressing work to do.

“Take him to see your old school,” he said from the door as she shifted into gear.

“That sounds nice,” she said, and we were off.

“Why do they call it Camp?” I asked as Sushmita turned onto Koregaon Park Road at the petrol bunk.

“It’s the cantonment,” she said, and she honked the horn at the car in front of us.

“That accomplished nothing.”

“It made me feel better. You know nothing about driving in India, Danny, so please withhold your comments.”

I watched the Blue Diamond Hotel pass by and wondered if Birgit was staying there. Harlan had said she was already in Poona.

“Now, about Camp,” continued Sushmita, relishing the role of tour guide. “It’s the military zone of Poona, and dates back to the early 1800s. The British Indian Army was quartered there. Today it’s home to the Indian Army’s Southern Command, so if there’s war with Pakistan, we’ll be in the thick of it. And, of course, there’s St. Mary’s School, too.”

“On an army base?”

“No, not an army base. Camp is home to lots of the city’s businesses as well as the army barracks and facilities. There’s lots of shopping and restaurants. When I was at school, my absolute favorite place for a special treat was Marz-o-rin on MG Road. Snacks and sandwiches. I loved the chicken rolls and cold coffee.”

“What’s MG stand for?”

“Mahatma Gandhi.”

“You don’t say Mahatma Gandhi Road?”

“No one says that. It’s MG Road.”

“I’d forgotten your national mania for abbreviations.”

“And then there was Kayani Bakery on East Street,” she continued, ignoring my remark. “The best Shrewsbury biscuits anywhere. Yum. We must stop and get some. I haven’t had any in an age.”

I watched her as she navigated the roads with ease and familiarity. She was so beautiful like that. And so happy telling me about her memories. While Americans might have recalled their school days like something out of a Beach Boys song, or an Archie comic book, Sushmita’s joys seemed simpler, more genuine. An occasional trip to a sandwich shop or cookies from a favorite bakery. I smiled until she caught me.

“Are you mocking me?” she asked. “Because if you are, I’ll drop you right here and you can manage for yourself.”

“Just wondering if you wore a school uniform back then.”

“Of course. And long braids, too. Until eighth, when I cut my hair short. Mrs. Mathias was furious. Our vice-principal. What a force of nature. You didn’t want to be called to her office. I made my share of visits.”

“You must have been a troublemaker. Were you popular with the boys?”