When the pimp shouted my name, the Pom, who stayed tied to the open garage door, exploded with fury, which—her lunge being thwarted by the shortest of leashes—manifested itself in vigorous barking; and, then, as if the bell had gone off for the school assembly, the three children neatly arranged themselves, in descending order of height, at the garage door. The Pom continued to lunge, looking like a plane during takeoff, stuck perennially to the runway at a 45-degree angle.

Once the two were in my room, I got a chance to have a closer look. The girl was of medium height—a few inches shorter than me—and mildly cock-eyed. Her hair was parted sideways and a silver nose ring glistened in her right nostril. She wore cheap perfume, chipped red nail polish and flared trousers, punched with aluminium-rimmed zeroes. A tight, full-sleeved, acrylic blouse covered what seemed to be ample breasts. One of her front teeth was chipped vertically. She had an open, warm smile despite the offending tooth.

It so happened that, just at that moment, a friend of mine, Soumik, decided to drop by. To be honest I was a trifle embarrassed. And worried. This friend was not the trustworthy sort. Or let’s put it this way—while he would jump into swirling waters to save you if you were drowning, there was no guarantee that he would not clobber you to death once you were safe and dry on the shore. It must have taken him exactly three seconds to figure out what was going on. He turned to me with a bemused expression and asked: How much are you paying for her? Well, I replied, I haven’t really figured it out but I don’t particularly like the way she looks. At this he made a grand gesture with his right hand, a gesture that said: Just lie back and let me take care of all this.

I remember yielding rather reluctantly, and thinking: If he can save me a few hundred rupees, why not?

Did you get her through the health club listings?

No.

Should’ve asked me, man. Anyway . . . said Soumik, his hands rising and falling, cutting intricate patterns in the air, doing most of the talking again.

The girl was obviously hassled by the bargaining. She kept telling the pimp that there was no point, and that they should leave at once. Her voice, I noticed, was unassuming; her tone self-deprecating.

In five minutes, Soumik had bargained her price down by a thousand rupees. You really serious about this, are you? Expecting us to pay two grand for this piece of crap, he said, his tone incredulous, his gaze flickering from the pimp to the girl and back. She looked like she would burst into tears. But there are two of you, said the pimp in an uncertain voice. So what, said Soumik, we’re doing her a favour.