Ashok and Govinda walked beyond the shade of the stands and out into the direct sun, which almost made Govinda step back. A dirty gloom filled the baking sky and the oppressive heat enveloped them, slowing their movements. Govinda’s feet felt so wet from the sweat in his shoes it was as if he had stepped in a puddle. He wiped the back of his neck as Ashok collected their belongings from the Ambassador before handing the car keys to one of Ali Khan’s servants. A few drivers sat in the shade of a huge bushy tree and watched. Although there was no real wind, clouds of dust kicked up.

A bus, filled to bursting point, appeared around the bend. Together Govinda and Ashok pushed their way onto the overcrowded steps and hung on tight as the bus bounced over pockmarked roads past the maidan. The bus, filled with quivering bodies, thundered along on the road, the roar of its engine filling the air. The ticket conductor seemed to be weighed down by his work and apparently found it difficult to collect fares and dispense tickets. For a brief moment, the engine coughed and the bus stopped. The ticket inspector jumped out, checked under the bus, kicked a tyre, and then hit the side of the bus. The engine groaned back to life.

Inside the bus Govinda saw a girl with jasmine in her hair competing for space, burqa-clad Muslims with their protective men, excited Marwari boys from La Martiniere School, college students from Jadavpur, and posh Anglo-Indian girls from Loreto House. Many passengers shouted in an attempt to restore order: ‘But why are you pushing?’ and in encouragement, ‘Make room.’ The city of Calcutta opened its arms in mockery. They passed knots of waiting people, but stopped for others, packing them in where there seemed no space left. People jostled with each other. It was sweaty and smelly, and this made Govinda angrier with Ashok. Neither spoke. It was easy to be irritated about everything. Ashok looked pale. As the bus pulled to the curb near Serpent Lane, Govinda began to cry. When they got off the bus, Ashok held his hand tightly as they made their way past the motorbikes, scooters and bicycles stacked in a row near the school gate. Ashok tried pulling his trousers up but they would not go any higher; his belly was too large. He looked embarrassed. Govinda stood beside him, he was hot and tired. All about them the neighbourhood houses seemed to rise up.

‘The car!’ exclaimed Ashok.

There was the Ambassador. It stood where it always was parked. Tenzing looked on as Ashok and Govinda gasped in disbelief.

‘Ali Khan came,’ Tenzing said, as he drew on his cigarette and then smiled through great smoke rings. ‘He dropped off the car and said children must not be taken to the racetrack.’