Foi had mentioned that Girishji was fond of bhajans, devotional songs, and sang beautifully. While growing up in the Sheth Tejpal Orphanage, he had led both the morning and evening prayers, but I’d never heard him sing. One afternoon Girishji sang for us. His voice was like mango juice—sweet, golden, and satisfying. When he finished, “Ek ja de chingari, Mahanal, Give me one light, the Great One,” none of us could utter a word.

Finally I stole the silence. “What are you going to name your baby?”

“It depends on Baby’s moon sign,” he replied.

“Can’t you figure that out now from the due date?”

“The moon sign changes every two to three days, so until the baby is born we won’t know for sure. Most likely it will be Vrushchik, Scorpio, so the name will have to begin with an N, Y, or U. Can you think of any names?”

Neel came to my mind right away, but I didn’t say so.

“There are so many names starting with N. How about Nimesh, Nainesh, Neelesh, Nayan, if it’s a boy? If it’s a girl, name her Nani Nimita, Little Nimita, to match her Mummy’s name,” I suggested.

“Anything but Nani Nimita. One of me is enough.”

“Just joking. I’ll make a list of both boys’ and girls’ names for you.”

“Just boys’ names, because they’re sure to have a son,” Mummy said.

Girishji was offended by Mummy’s words. I could see it in his eyes. Nimita just shook her head.

“Why not names of both boys and girls?” I asked aloud, trying not to let my anger show.

Mummy made a sweeping motion and said, “Daughters and sons are as far apart as the earth and the sky. You give birth to both of them, nurse them, feed them, educate them, and then what? For a daughter you worry until you find her a suitable husband and get her married. A daughter keeps taking from you, and you’re never done with your obligations. But a son is a different matter. Deekro, jivta pale ane muva bale, a son takes care of you while you’re alive and cremates you when you die. When he gets married, the wedding doesn’t sink you into debt, and his good wife takes care of all your needs. And when he performs the last rites, your soul rests in peace. A son is like having insurance for this life and the next, and who’d want to be without that?”

“That’s not always true,” I said.