His mother pulled her head back, stared at his father and said nothing. Then the phone rang. Sunil Seth held her wrists up on either side of his face, her body was pulled against his. They stayed eye to eye for a few seconds, both breathing heavily. The phone stopped ringing.

‘Let go,’ said Gitanjali. ‘You’re hurting me.’ But his father kept holding her.

She tried breaking his grip and Govinda thought she would scream but instead she smiled. She held herself straight, shaking her hair combatively; her eyes flashed lightning. To Govinda’s relief Gitanjali broke free and went into the bathroom. A minute later he heard a groan of pain. A low, resigned groan.

The bathroom door was half open and when Govinda opened it he saw his mother looking at herself in the mirror, naked. There were tears running down her face. She stood with her arms hanging limply, by her side, staring at the mirror with abstracted curiosity.

Afterwards, lying on his bed, Govinda dozed off and dreamed he was falling from the clouds into the ocean. While he fell from the sky he saw his father struggling in the water. His hair was floating about. One arm was in the air. There was a boat nearby and there were oarsmen. His father was calling out to the oarsmen for help but they were looking the other way.

Near dawn, Govinda woke up to a strange sound coming muffled through the walls. He picked out sobs followed by his mother’s voice, softer and lower than he had ever heard it. The sobbing got worse and trailed into whimpers. Govinda put the pillow over his head and forced himself back to sleep.

Early in the morning, he stood on the verandah drinking his milk. He wondered if the emptiness inside him could ever be filled. He saw pigeons fluttering in the smog. The riot in the streets had cooled, leaving the sky hung with soot and the lane littered with broken glass and charred vehicles. Overflowing rubbish, scrap and rubble littered the alley behind their house: worn clothes, burnt bicycles, a television with a gaping hole, bricks and a stove. Govinda stretched to look over when he heard noises coming from below. In a deep black shadow, against a pile of rotting refuse was a tall woman, lifting her saree and urinating. Govinda couldn’t stop looking at her. He was excited and scared at the same time. Three young boys were laughing happily, running in and out of the darkness yelling at her.

‘Lick it up!’

‘Go and piss somewhere else.’

‘You are not even a woman.’