Mumbles was staring at Govinda’s mother’s breasts, as he took the oil. She wore a damp, low cut blouse. Gitanjali stood for a second, then noticed Govinda watching them and told him to change his clothes.

As Govinda and his mother walked out of the kitchen, Mumbles asked softly, ‘Is this for my hair?’

‘Yes, for your hair,’ Gitanjali said, smiling. ‘I want you to have it.’

‘C’mon mum,’ said Govinda.

Water had laid siege to the Seth’s house, filled every crevice, and clung to the window panes. The floor was sticky and damp. Brass hinges and door handles were wet to the touch. Light fittings leaked.

That night Govinda sat with his parents on the damp lounge chairs waiting expectantly as Mumbles prepared dinner. The large room was lined on one side by French doors that were now closed against the rain. There was a tea-table and a comfortable lounge. On the other side of the room, the dining room table, and six high-backed chairs. Beside the table was a doorway that led to the kitchen.

When Mumbles announced dinner was ready, Govinda and his mother and father wandered over to the dining table. Mumbles served them roti and eggplant and sweet tea. The family ate and sipped tea and talked. Govinda wanted to be interesting and worthy of his parents’ regard as they asked him questions and listened to his responses.

He asked his father about the people who lived on the street, ‘Where will they find shelter?’ His father struck a match, lit his pipe and said casually, ‘With so many people there is no room for such thoughts. In these circumstances it is impossible to consider every person and what they might and might not do. All we can do now is look after ourselves. Later we can see what we can try and do for others.’

Govinda looked uncertainly at his father. ‘I do know what you mean but that seems sad and unfair,’ he replied. Govinda felt so sheltered, living in a school compound, and in moments like this he was heavily aware of it. He saw through things too easily. He was protected from so much and even though he thought he had a good understanding of what life was about he wanted to see and know more. He was not sure if people were really the way he thought they were. How could anyone ever know what a person was really like? He nodded his head and pretended to understand what his father said. He felt unreliable and false.