‘My father told me that’s bad karma,’ said Nitesh in a grim voice. ‘I tell you we are born alone and we die alone. No one will accompany us after our death. But don’t worry. I will follow you wherever you go.’ Nitesh was a bright gentle kid who wore thick glasses that made him look like he was always straining to keep up with the rest of the world.

Nearby, outside the school compound, on Serpent Lane, the gamblers sat cross-legged on a red sheet and were throwing down large sums of cash. This group of men, a regular feature, sipped tea and played cards on the pavement. Onlookers stood around. Nitesh’s father was playing, so the boys stopped and watched.

Nitesh and his father, Ashok, who wore equally thick glasses that looked like they belonged on the bottom of a Campa Cola bottle, lived in the school’s servants’ quarters – Ashok was the headmaster’s plump chauffeur. He wheezed and coughed and sneezed.

A man with oily, neatly combed hair took off his new, digital watch and said it was worth five hundred rupees. He put the watch down onto the heap of money.

‘I play,’ he said.

‘No, this can’t work,’ said one of the gamblers. The man with oily hair insisted he would pay back any money he owed if his watch did not cover the loss. The other gamblers mumbled that they were being hoodwinked, but then agreed to let him play. Cards were dealt. The players held onto their cards tightly. When it was time to show his hand, the man with the oily hair began to cry. He gave up his Casio. Ashok took all the money and the digital watch. Looking up, he noticed Govinda and Nitesh.

‘Here take this,’ said Ashok. He gave them two rupees each. The boys were thrilled. They took their money and walked away as the next round of cards was being dealt.

Even though it wasn’t school time Nitesh wore his school shirt. His blue trousers showed signs of dirt on the knees, but he wore a pair of new Reeboks, which were almost impossible to get in Calcutta.

‘Where did you get those?’ Govinda asked. Nitesh didn’t need to say anything. Govinda knew. He just wanted to give his friend a hard time.

‘My father won them in a game,’ Nitesh said.

Nitesh smirked and looked ahead. On the lane the boys greeted acquaintances. Nitesh nodded to an old rickshaw puller, as Govinda smiled at some college girls talking about boys. Govinda was aware of the changes his body had been undergoing. His height and weight were increasing.

‘So why did your father shoot that elephant?’ Nitesh asked. ‘My father told me that’s bad karma.’

‘Suck cow udders,’ said Govinda. ‘What do you know about karma? You are a driver’s son, know your place!’

‘You’re too clever,’ said Nitesh.

‘How can a person be too clever?’