The story was a thinly-veiled secret in the Apte family; one that Meera had battled with all her life. Out of all of Mariamma’s descendents, Meera resembled her the most – she had inherited her voice, and the complexion of a higher-born from the man who had fathered Mariamma’s child. The Aptes never knew who he was, but their collective past cast a shadow on the women in the family. When she was a little girl, the children in her neighbourhood would tease Meera for her alabaster skin. ‘Did your mama sleep with Vasco da Gama,’ they would chant when they’d see her on the street, and she would rush to her mother with tears in her eyes. ‘The Aptes have good genes,’ her mother would console her in vain. Meera’s father had a more practical approach. ‘How does it matter, Meera? You are more than the colour of your skin,’ he’d say kindly but impatiently.

But it did matter to her. Every decision she took was to maintain her family’s honour – the honour Pandit Jayashankar had bestowed on her family by marrying her mother. He had trained her in the classical tradition, and all her life she had wanted to follow in his footsteps. His death had plunged them so close to poverty that she had had to reevaluate her plans. Meera now felt torn. She knew that singing for Sahil Malik was a highly lucrative opportunity, but the composer had a reputation of treating his singers like they were his property. How different would that be from how Mariamma had been treated? She didn’t know, but she followed her heart and chose Abhimanyu.

*

When Meera told Abhimanyu about rejecting Sahil’s offer, she had expected him to be supportive and reassure her that she’d taken the right decision. But instead his face grew more solemn.