‘We were living in Chaubal Chawl when you were born. Your father and Bachchu Kaka were sitting on the common veranda in front of our rooms. Anna stroked his nose and said, “We must give her a name that will not be a burden to her. A small, quick name. Nothing that labels her with as yet unknown attributes. Call her Suhas and she might turn out to be a whiny. That kind of thing.” So I said, “Why not call her by attributes we can already see? Kurupa?” He was wild. You were the most beautiful thing on earth! Bachchu Kaka said, “Call her Annu. No name can be smaller and quicker than an atom.” Four vertical lines creased Anna's forehead. “Annu? Whose fission will one day destroy our planet?” Bachchu Kaka said, “No. Annu whose fusion will create stupendous amounts of constructive energy.” I wanted to run to a dictionary to look up fission and fusion, but stayed. You couldn’t put it past those two to give you some Warli name while I was gone. I only murmured, “Not Annu, please. The ‘nn’ is too hard for a girl's name.” But who cared what I said? Those two had forgotten all about naming you. They were engaged in a face-to-face over some book on the making of atom bombs. Anna sat like this, Bachchu Kaka like this and their faces looked like this. You were in your cradle, crying and still nameless while Bachchu Kaka was saying, “The man's research is totally dishonest. Why should we take him seriously at all?” Anna said, “Honest or dishonest, he has put his finger on a question that must be decided. NOW. Fission or fusion?” They continued like this till Bachchu Kaka remembered you and said, “All right. Forget Annu. Call her Anu.” Anna said, “And what's that supposed to mean? We want a short name but not a meaningless name.” Then he muttered, “But I like names that begin with ‘a’.” After stroking his nose some more, he leapt out of his chair shouting, “Anima!” I objected. The name reminded me of enema. Bachchu Kaka clamoured, “Meaning, meaning?” Anna smiled smugly. “Go look in the dictionary. Not the Marathi. The Oxford.” The Oxford added to our knowledge: “Anima: the part of the psyche which is directed inwards, in touch with the subconscious.” “Maybe,” I said. “But it's still too close to enema. I’ll call her Nima.”’

How did that lively, storytelling, laughing woman change into what she is today, Anima wonders painfully, but knows that the answer lies in Anna's going away.