When Ali Khan arrived with his wife, son, and daughter, Govinda tried to fake a smile but all he could manage was a feeble upturn of the corners of his mouth. Ali Khan’s daughter immediately irritated him. Her clothes were of pure silk and her nails were lacquered red. She had overdone the rouge, powder and lipstick. His father said she was the prettiest girl in Calcutta. She said ‘no’ and declared that there were many far prettier girls in the city.

‘Want to play soccer?’ the boy asked Govinda.

‘That sounds like fun,’ Sunil Seth chuckled, beaming.

‘I don’t really like soccer,’ Govinda said quietly. He saw the gleam disappear from his father’s eyes and an uncomfortable silence followed.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sunil Seth said. ‘My family is still recovering from the riots.’

‘No harm done,’ Ali Khan replied. He extended a wrapped gift to Gitanjali and whispered, ‘Happy Birthday.’

She did not notice the gift.

‘Gitanjali, you have a present,’ Sunil Seth said testily. ‘Aren’t you going to thank Ali Khan?’

‘Oh, thank you, thank you very much,’ muttered Gitanjali. Her eyes were red and she looked pale.

The party was in full swing. A musician with long hair tied in a ponytail played a Cole Porter song. Women in gowns and sarees and men in suits or kurtas danced. Barefoot servants in white tunics with gold velvet cummerbunds offered the guests trays laden with glasses of whisky, Thums Up, Limca and mango juice. Others presented silver platters overflowing with samosas, pakoras, fish kebabs and lady fingers with tamarind and coriander. At the far end of the lawn was a shamiana erected to provide cover for a buffet table loaded with tasty Bengali cuisine.

Sunil Seth flagged a waiter, grabbed a scotch off the tray and excused himself. He puffed at his cigarette furiously and took a long gulp of his drink. Children played beside the yellowish green and muddy river. Pieces of refuse and plastic debris floated on its eddying currents. When dusk came it made the river look golden brown at high tide. Far away over the water, the moon emerged in the sky and a dog’s evil howl rose to meet it. The night wind brought with it all the odours of the city: diesel oil, decaying vegetation and cement.