Only once did I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of the woman’s sobs. I went out to the balcony. I saw the woman rolling on the ground and the man who was her husband raining kicks on her back. The woman’s brother, short, squat and well built, was not exactly stopping him. He was only pleading, ‘Let her go, she won’t do it again.’

‘Ask the bitch why she won’t let me do it,’ said the husband.

‘You can see she’s pregnant,’ said the brother. ‘Don’t hit her. What’ll you do with the baby if she dies?’

The woman, who had been passively allowing the man to hit her all this while, flared up. ‘Let him kick me, let the bastard kill me!’

I looked on in astonishment. Why wasn’t she trying to defend herself?

‘There, her water’s broken, leave her alone, leave her alone,’ screamed the brother.

Flinging the piece of wood in his hand at the woman’s head, the husband disappeared into the darkness. And, to my surprise, the brother ran off in the same direction. After some time, he succeeded in coaxing the husband back to the pavement. The woman was still groaning. I clearly heard the brother say, ‘Why did you lose your head all of a sudden? Just look at the state she’s in. Have a little patience. And then you’ll have a lovely family. You already have a daughter, now if you have a son you can announce it with pride, I have one son and one daughter. What more can you ask for? Show me a person here who’s happier than you are.’ He began to point at all the air-conditioned high-rises in this plush neighbourhood, with their dim lights and closed windows. I darted back into the room before he could point at me.

That same night I had a dream. In this dream, nothing else existed from one end of the city to the other but the taut lines of pavements. No houses, no buildings, no shops, no Victoria Memorial, no metro or other transportation – only miles of concrete pavements, coiled like a gigantic reptile. Earth’s climate had also changed. The air had acquired colour, a shade of red. Like a transparent red scarf floating over everything. And the sun was red too. How peaceful the pavements looked in this red hue.

This is how it has been all these days – but suddenly I feel a burst of affection. When …

When the woman has another child. She begins to nurse the baby in her arms. And I see the one-year-old child lying face down on the ground, heaving with tears. Only heaving. That’s it, no other form of protest. Because every time she has approached her mother’s breast, her mother has pushed her away. Slapped her. So the girl is weeping. Her lips are puffy, wet with saliva. The weight of unhappiness in her tiny breast is evident.

I didn’t know that I would want to go beyond my role as a bystander. I don’t hold the state or the government responsible. I don’t even consider the family’s situation to be particularly dismal. Because I know they sleep all day. Because I know that those who eat and those who don’t will both die. But I didn’t know how lovely the older child would look when, bent over her rice, she raised her head and glanced up at me, lovely enough for me to feel jealous.