Govinda’s friends were wild and impish. Brilliant blues, popcorn whites, crazy yellows, peppermint greens and pomegranate reds, all sorts of colours were flying through the air.

‘I am ready, c’mon boys. He is getting close,’ Govinda said in a shrill whistle of a voice. He was jumping up and down. His breath grew louder and his heart beat quickly. The man on the cycle looked sick but he kept coming. In fact, everything about the man was magnified. As the children’s excitement grew and as the fat man began to look fatter, making every effort to face them with dignity, the wind blew forcefully. The gatekeeper looked on as he cleaned his teeth with a neem twig.

Clenching his jaw, the cyclist faced the mocking children. Had he forgotten what day it was? The lane had no streets crossing it, and he was too close to turn back so it was only a matter of seconds before he heaved forwards, his chubby legs pumping, his bottom swaying like the rump of a bullock.

The lane was unusually calm as the children lined up their water-filled balloons. They each threw a balloon at about the same time and hit him, but only Govinda looked back as they scampered away. He was the only one who saw how well they had hit their target. The cyclist shook his fist and screamed, ‘Little rascals,’ as he rode off looking like a rainbow and shouting, ‘Where are your parents? Are they having bhang or what? Don’t they know better than to leave you children wild without supervision?’

‘Govinda! What are you doing?’ another voice cried out angrily. ‘Govinda! Come here.’

Govinda turned slowly. It was the gatekeeper, Tenzing Tenzing may have been the laziest man in the whole of Calcutta. He always sat beside the large green gate, which protected the school from the chaos, dirt and poverty that lurked outside. His goat, Billy, stood nearby. Tenzing fed Billy regularly to get him fat for a festive celebration. Later he would use his wickedly sharp kukri knife to kill Billy and chop him into pieces to provide meat for his family. He would then get another goat named Billy for the next year. He was a messy, sick-looking fellow with spiky black hair that stood up straight.

Occasionally Govinda heard Tenzing threaten his wife and their children, and then he would plead with his wife to forgive him. He cared little for what others thought of him. His presence made Govinda question why people did things. Why did his father work so hard while Tenzing seemed to do so little?

Tenzing never called out like this. He rarely made such a spectacle. ‘What are you doing, you reckless fool?’ Tenzing asked in disbelief. He was standing so close to Govinda that Govinda could smell his foul paan-laden breath. ‘Do you know who that was?’

‘What do you mean?’ Govinda asked.