‘Could you be careful not to touch the walls?’ Gehna said to the electrician. He simply stared down at her from his perch on the ladder.

Like an echo from the kind of girl she hoped to one day become—The Ghost of Gehna Future—the Yam said, in rough Mumbai patois, ‘If you want to work, you’ll work properly or not at all. Wash your hands and clean up that mess right this second.’

The guy hopped to it.

Gehna looked at her friend. The Yam shrugged. ‘Hey, sometimes you got to be a shit to get shit done.’

She’s changed, thought Gehna. The Yam, never especially sentimental to begin with, had become even more hardcore after her time at the London law firm. She had come back captivated by all the lawyers in their power suits playing power games over power lunches. We use words like practical and pragmatic and no-nonsense as praise, but where have all the dreamers gone? I like a little whimsy in people. Seeing things not as they are but as they could be. She sighed. Pretty soon all the poetry in the world will have been replaced by Edison lamps and no one will give a rat’s ass.

Thinking of rats reminded her that she had a Skype date with Eram. He was travelling again, this time to Macao, for some kind of high-roller tournament. They spoke most nights, but today Gehna wanted to test-drive the state-of-the-art soundproof room she had had put in on the upper floor in case any of BeHive’s members needed to videoconference.

Negotiating the two flights of stairs proved to be a bit of a challenge. When you couldn’t see where you were stepping because your own stomach was in the way, you had to take it on faith that the ground would be there to meet your feet. The Yam, who had never fallen and didn’t fear it, jabbered on at Gehna’s side.

‘—so he says “why do we have to end it, I could come to Mum-bye” and I was like, “Dude, you’re from East Sussex or some fucking place, you wouldn’t last five minutes in Mumbai”. I mean, what is it about nice guys? It’s like they feel compelled to differentiate themselves from the bastard guys by constantly making ridiculous offers like that when we both know—Holy shit, G. Are you a’ight? Gehna?’

‘Yep, yep. I’m here. Don’t fuss.’

Gehna had fainted. It wasn’t a big faint though. The world had turned dark for a moment and she had stumbled between steps. No paramedics or smelling salts would be required for this scene, thanks very much. When she came around, Gehna remembered Nina Rai going on endlessly about blood pressure. Gehna had been putting off visits to her ob-gyn by claiming she was too busy at work, but the real unspoken reason was a growing mistrust of doctors, fuelled by her conversations with Eram’s dad.

‘Make no mistake, young lady,’ Faizl would say, ‘the medical profession in India is a mafia. An industry that has monetized fear. Hospitals scare people into getting tests and surgeries they don’t need, insurance companies scare people into buying health insurance they shouldn’t need.’