One Tuesday she took permission of her mistress to come with me. I showed her the government Secretariats and the Parliament House. She gasped with wonder as if she was a little girl. She asked me all sorts of questions; I made up all sorts of answers. She made me feel very important. She took my hand when she got nervous of buses and motor cars; she made me feel like a strong, grown-up man. I took her to the Birla temple. She prayed to Shiva and Parbati and Ganesh; to Vishnu and Lakshmi; to Krishna and Radha, and then to Rama and Sita and all the other gods and goddesses. She prayed for Lachmi. She waved a copper paisa round my head and gave it to the pandit. She asked him to smear my forehead with sacred ash and bless me so I could get a job.

From the Birla temple we went to the Hanuman temple. There was a large crowd and lots of stalls of sweetmeats, toys, balloons and bangles. Here too my mother gave a paisa to the pandit and prayed to Hanumanji to get me a job. We went round the stalls. She gave me some paise to buy her glass bangles and slip them on her arms.

By the time we left the temple, the sun had set and the sky was like a grey giant about to go to bed. The trees in Connaught Circus were full of chattering mynahs and parakeets. Once more my mother took my hand. We watched well-dressed ladies and gentlemen buying things and driving away in their beautiful motor cars. By the time we got home, it was dark. My father was out with his stave and lantern yelling ‘Khabardar ho.’ Although she was very tired, she warmed the food for me. When I lay down, she took my head in her lap and rubbed oil in my scalp. The last words she said before I fell asleep were: ‘Surely, one of the gods will hear my prayer and get you a job!’

The gods heard my mother’s prayer and the very next morning I got a job. Where do you think I found it? In a house just across the road. That is a story by itself.