Ashesh has switched on the television to stabilize his nerves before the wedding. He goes into extreme shock. His attention wanders idiotically to Janaki’s tanpura standing in the corner of the room. It is safe.

He switches off the television but cannot switch off the pictures of waste in his head. He sits with hands pressed tight to his forehead. Fear pounds in his chest for friends living along the coast. How are they? Are they . . . ? Or are they not? The clock says it is time to leave. He stands up on numb legs. It is weird to be getting married when half the world has disappeared. His legs carry him mechanically to the door. Downstairs Padmini is where she ought to be. That is strange. His hands unlock her door. His eyes see the road running dizzily under the tyres. His forehead breaks into a sweat. The road to the registrar’s office in Bandra seems never-ending. But it ends. The others are there already. Janaki, Anima, Feroze, Haridas, Shekhar’s mother. Sharada and Shekhar will join them later. Their faces are alight with joy. None of them has heard the news.

Janaki is wearing a gold-bordered sari the colour of pomegranate seeds, a delicate gold necklace and small gold earrings of traditional design. Her hair is combed off her face giving her the look of a neatly groomed girl off to school early in the morning. Ashesh’s insides do a somersault. Her future is in his hands. Can he handle the responsibility? She is so young. His palms grow damp.

‘Come along, Mr Groom,’ Haridas booms and slaps his back. ‘Take your place in line.’

The registrar’s room is bursting with humanity. An elderly fan stirs the air sluggishly. Not half a puff of breeze reaches the sweaty armpits of the silk-bloused brides. Some cast nervous looks over their shoulders. They must have eloped. Their prospective husbands stand with possessive arms thrown around their fearful shoulders. Ashesh wonders what he is doing in such a place. Perhaps they should have called the registrar home and done this private thing privately.

The registrar is tetchy. Why such a crowd? Why so many marriages? What a dreadful job this is. How many of these couples will one day move to the other side of the building, for the judge to part them forever? The registrar has no faith in the marriages he registers. It’s frivolous to get married like this. Marriages must be solemnized before the sacred fire with the gods as witnesses.

Ashesh and Janaki’s number comes up. Ashesh allows fear to grip him for the last time. His hand trembles as he signs the register. Janaki signs after him with a confident flourish. Ashesh looks at her in wonder. Isn’t she nervous? Is this real? Are they now that thing called husband and wife? What does it mean to be that?