When she neared the Iyengar Bakery, a place that smelled of bread, butter, and belly fat, there was no parking anywhere within a hundred yards. But in Bangalore food was sacred; to buy it, it was okay to stop the vehicle anywhere, even right on someone’s toes. Bearing with the horns blaring at her, Anu double-parked her car and honked. The owner, who looked like an oversized version of the buns he sold, was Anu’s classmate before he failed the seventh standard. Catching her eye, he waved at her with delight and sent his boy to take the order.

Soon equipped with two honey cakes and two aalu buns, Anu felt pleased. Her heart thudded in excitement thinking of the sweet combination of her bed, the cake, and the book. But Anu’s joy turned out to be very short-lived. Just as she got inside her car, there was a rap on the window. When Anu rolled down the window, staring right down at her was a traffic policeman.

‘What, madam? You look educated, and you obstruct traffic like this? Give me your license and registration.’

Anu prayed to every god she knew for the documents to be in the glove compartment; she had no idea what the car registration even looked like. Anu harboured an aversion to papers of any kind. Managing to find a folder, Anu handed it to the man who had decided to zero-in on her, ignoring a thousand other more worthy traffic offenders.

‘Are you joking, madam? These are receipts from hotels.’ The policeman growled but went through the papers intently. ‘You must be very rich.’

Oh, shoot. Sanju must have been saving them for reimbursement. Now this man was going to ask her for a hefty bribe. Usually, the traffic police looked at her battered Santro and let her go with only a fifty or hundred rupees. Anu now pretended to look for the documents in her handbag, though it never contained anything other than money and chapstick. Then a voice alerted her.

‘She is my niece, and she is a good driver. I say you let her off with a warning.’ Anu pinched herself. Padma aunty! Was the woman stalking her? More shockingly, was she defending Anu’s honour? While Anu struggled to recover from those multiple shocks, she heard Padma aunty continue sternly. ‘Look at the child in the backseat. You must have compassion.’

The policeman, who was twice the size of that frail woman, looked bewildered. Barely finding his voice, he managed to mumble. ‘I am letting her go for you, Ajji. Tell her—’

Padma aunty cut him off. ‘I am not your grandmother for you to call me Ajji. Now, go. Catch real thieves.’ It didn’t matter to her that traffic police didn’t catch thieves.