Fifteen Lanes

by S. J. Laidlaw

  I recognized him the minute I saw him, though it had been well over a year since he’d come into Shami’s examining room. That was why he’d looked so familiar. It wasn’t because I’d already taken Shami to him before.

  I looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed me. The danger of my identity being discovered was far worse than just being caught in a lie. Ours was a fee-paying school, and a good one. I would be expelled if it was discovered that my mother was a sex worker. If he remembered that I had an HIV-infected baby brother he’d make the connection in an instant, especially considering we were only blocks from my red-light neighborhood. I said a fervent prayer that he wouldn’t recognize me in my school uniform. Then it occurred to me that I’d been in uniform the last time he’d seen me. I started to sweat.

  “Come on, Gaj. Let’s see if any of our teachers are in their classrooms so we can wish them a happy midyear break.” I took Gajra’s hand.

  “Okay, but we must say hello to Sapna’s father first,” she said.

  I reluctantly let her hold me back. It would have drawn more attention if I’d insisted on rushing off, now that she’d made the point that we must greet him.

  I toyed with the books I was holding and told myself I was being ridiculous. To the best of my knowledge I’d never spoken to Sapna’s father before, or since, the hospital visit. He must have seen hundreds, even thousands of kids like Shami and me. But how many of them went to his daughter’s school?

  I knew from Sapna that her parents’ expectations of her were high. They came from more modest backgrounds than many of the girls at our school. Ironically, her real-life story wasn’t so different from the fake life I’d created. Her father had raised her family’s status through his own determination and hard work, but it had taken them only so far. His greatest ambition was to see his children marry into the wealthy, more established families who were happy to call on him when their health was poor but would never welcome him at their dinner tables. Getting his children into the top universities was his only hope of further elevating their status.

  “Darling,” he shouted grandly when he was still several feet from the gate. “How did you do? How many firsts?”

  I feigned absorption in my Biology text. For once, I felt sorry for Sapna. She wasn’t the nicest girl, often bossy and opinionated, but it couldn’t have been easy living up to such high expectations. Being fatherless had its advantages. At least there was no one to embarrass me in front of my friends.

  Sapna didn’t answer. I snuck a peek at her and was horrified to see she was hanging her head, close to tears. Kiran had both arms around her now and Gajra had stepped closer, supporting her from the other side.

  I tried to think of something I could say that would take the spotlight off her, though the last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself. I felt a pang of guilt at my own role in her humiliation and scowled at the ground, willing her father to go away. He stood on his side of the gate, waiting for her reply.

  “I only took first in Geography,” Sapna mumbled, her voice so low I wouldn’t have been able to understand her if I hadn’t already known her results.

  “What was that? Speak up, Sapna.”

  I shot her a sympathetic look.

  “You didn’t get firsts in any of the sciences? After all the money we spent on tutors?” She didn’t answer. What could she say?

  “Aniket Bihar took the first in Physics,” I said, louder than I’d intended. “His father is Dilip Bihar. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?” I added the last comment knowing full well it was provocative. Aniket came from probably the richest family in our school, just the kind of connection Sapna’s father hoped to secure.

  “I see.” He scrutinized me as he might a perplexing rash. “I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Noor Benkatti.”

  “And how well did you do, Noor Benkatti?”

  Was it only my imagination that his tone held a subtle threat? My heart pounded, certain I’d been found out.

  “She took firsts in everything,” said Sapna. I understood that, though she was exaggerating, she wasn’t trying to make things worse. In the subjects that mattered to her father, I had taken firsts.

  “Ah,” said her father. He unhooked the gate and stepped through. There was now less than a foot separating us. My stomach roiled.

  “I believe we’ve met.” He let that sink in before he continued. “I believe your mother works in the neighborhood, isn’t that correct?”

  My skin went hot and cold in quick succession as bile gushed up my throat. It was as bad as I’d feared. The lady doctor had told him everything.

  “No, sir,” I said, “you’ve mistaken me for someone else. My mother is a housewife.”

  “You have a little brother,” he continued, ignoring my denial. “He’s very sick.”

  I turned away just in time to fall to my knees and vomit in a patch of grass. I was surrounded immediately by solicitous friends. I was fortunate that they liked nothing better than a bit of drama, and I was certainly giving it to them. Hands reached for me and practically lifted me off the ground. I was relieved to see Sapna’s father had stepped back. He watched through narrowed eyes as I was hustled away. We were almost at the school building before I realized it was not just Gajra but Sapna supporting me.

  “Thanks.” She smiled. “That was a tad dramatic. Still, if you’re ever in a jam, I promise I’ll do my best to fake an emergency to get you out of it.”

  I gave her a weak grin. “Anything for a friend.”

  The next hour was a blur. I was taken to the nurse’s office. She tried to make me lie down but I was more jittery than I’d ever been on exam day. I knew who he was and he knew me. The only question was what he would do about it. I tried to calm myself with the idea that he was a doctor. Surely, he wouldn’t be so unkind as to get me expelled. But Sapna had made no secret of her father’s ambitions. He’d clawed his way out of the muck and demanded only the best for his children and from them. The last thing he’d want was to have his daughter associating with the low-caste daughter of a sex worker. The fact that I also surpassed her academically only added to my peril.

  I walked home on shaky legs. As soon as I reached my street I went looking for Parvati. It never occurred to me to talk to Ma. I knew that somehow she’d blame me, and there was always the chance she’d pull me out of school. My fear that my school days were numbered had intensified since Parvati had fallen under Suresh’s control. So many of my neighborhood friends were already doing sex work; how could I be far behind?

  I didn’t even bother to change out of my uniform. I searched for close to an hour. Other than hearing multiple reports that she’d last been seen heading for Bhatti Road, no one had a clue where she was.

  Tired and grimy, I finally went home. I wasn’t looking forward to the fight I was bound to have. I was late for my chores and Ma would be furious I hadn’t at least come home to change out of my school clothes. Her pride in my uniform, visible proof of which school I attended, was almost as great as her pride in my medals. I reluctantly clambered up the ladder to our room, only to find Ma wasn’t there. Deepa-Auntie was sitting on her bed braiding Aamaal’s hair. Prita-Auntie was asleep on her own bed, an open movie magazine draped over her face. The small black-and-white TV, perched on a high shelf in one corner of the room, was on as usual, though no one was watching it. Shami played in the corner with Deepa-Auntie’s basket of hair clips.

  “Where’s Ma?” I whispered, after greeting Deepa-Auntie and giving my siblings a hug. Prita-Auntie could get riled up almost as fast as Ma if you disturbed her “beauty rest,” as she called it, though she was about as beautiful as a plucked chicken, even on her best day.

  “She got called to your school,” said Deepa-Auntie. A worried frown creased her unlined face. “Did something happen today? Weren’t you getting your exam results?”

  My heart plummeted as I sank down on Ma’s bed. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to tell her the whole story so she could reassu
re me there was nothing to worry about but I knew that wasn’t true. The coincidence was too great. What other possible reason could Ma have for going to the school if it wasn’t provoked by Sapna’s horrible father? Ma never went to my school, not when I won medals, not when there were parent meetings, not ever.

  “Did she say why she was going to school?” I asked.

  Deepa-Auntie shook her head. “Do you know why?”

  I nodded and told her the whole story.

  “We can’t be certain. Maybe your ma went to school for another reason,” said Deep-Auntie.

  Prita-Auntie rolled over. Her dupatta slid to the floor as she fastened me with a death stare.

  “Aamaal, go get Prita-Auntie some tea,” I ordered quickly, pulling some coins from my pocket.

  Deepa-Auntie had only finished one braid but Aamaal scrambled off the bed. She had no more desire to see Prita-Auntie’s temper than we did.

  “Wait,” growled Prita-Auntie before Aamaal could make it to the hatch. “Take some money out of my box and buy me some masala kheema. Make sure you get it from Basheer on the corner, the old Muslim. Don’t buy it from that young donkey that’s set up next to him. He’d cheat you as soon as look at you, and he drips his snotty nose right in his mix. You can tell him I said that.”

  She barked out a few more directives as Aamaal crawled under her bed to rummage in the tin box where Prita-Auntie kept all her worldly possessions, and at least one dead baby, if local gossip was to be believed. Finally Aamaal emerged, triumphantly clutching a hundred-rupee note.

  “Make sure you bring back the change” was Prita-Auntie’s parting shot.

  “Now, what’s this nonsense I’m hearing about Ashmita being called in to school?” Prita-Auntie moved to the head of her bed and heaved her bulk heavily into a sitting position, leaning back against the wall. She closed her eyes again. “I can feel you staring at me, mutton-breath. When you’ve done this work for as many years as I have, you’ll enjoy a drink or two as well, even if you do suffer for it the next day.”

  It wasn’t clear if she was talking to Deepa-Auntie or me. We exchanged nervous looks.

  “Noor-baby has run into some problems with a doctor she met on one of Shami’s hospital visits,” said Deepa-Auntie. “He may have told the school who she is. Ashmita’s been called in to speak with the principal. We don’t know for sure that was why they called her in though.”

  “Of course the doctor has told on her, turnip-brain. She’s a bright child, a good deal brighter than his own children, I’ll wager. He won’t be able to stand it. A prostitute’s daughter, and a dark one at that. It’s against the whole order of the universe.” She opened her eyes and fixed her glare on Deepa-Auntie. “Get me a drink, a real drink. I need to figure this out.”

  “But we don’t know yet what the school will do, Prita-ji,” said Deepa-Auntie.

  Prita-Auntie snorted in disgust. “How long have you lived in this country, Deepa? And you still haven’t figured out the first thing about it! A rich doctor exposes the school’s top student as the daughter of a sex worker. What do think the school is going to do? If Noor were a stupid child she might have some hope of being allowed to stay. All those rich parents would smile their pitying smiles and pat themselves on the back for being so broad-minded. But our Noor is the top student. They won’t be able to get rid of her fast enough.”

  Deepa-Auntie hung her head. I hopped off Ma’s bed and went over to sit with her on hers. Shami, catching the mood of the room, came over and crawled into my lap.

  “They’ll ask Noor to leave school,” predicted Prita-Auntie. “Just you wait.”

  “Isn’t there something we can do?” asked Deepa-Auntie.

  “There’s nothing you can do. You’re not even from this country,” said Prita-Auntie sternly. Though she didn’t mean to be unkind, Deepa-Auntie looked stricken. “I will take care of it. You can be sure our Noor isn’t going to get kicked out of school until her mother decides it’s time for her to leave.”

  With that, she resolutely stood up and reached for her kurta, pulling it over her head. “Get up, Noor, you’re coming with me.”

  “Should I could come too?” asked Deepa-Auntie hopefully.

  “Just because you’re allowed out of the house now, that doesn’t mean you’re of any use to us,” said Prita-Auntie. “Stay with the children.”

  “Good luck, Noor,” Deepa-Auntie said as I followed Prita-Auntie to the hatch.

  I waited while Prita-Auntie lowered herself through. If she’d been out of earshot, I would have reminded Deepa-Auntie that being Nepali hadn’t stopped her from helping Lali-didi escape. She was far from the useless creature everyone made her out to be. Then it occurred to me that being thought useless was probably the only thing that had stopped Pran from killing her.

  I ran back and gave her a quick hug before leaving.

  Grace

  I don’t know what we would have done without VJ. I tried to talk to the few girls who spoke English but the conversation remained stilted and limited. I wasn’t sure if it was the cultural difference or the language. I just knew they didn’t want to speak to me. With him they were voluble and uninhibited. It surprised me, given what Miss Chanda had said about their bad experiences with men. Clearly they could overcome that in the presence of a cute, not to mention famous, boy.

  Mr. Donleavy had just told us our time was almost up when we heard loud voices from the floor below. Someone sounded angry. Too late, it occurred to me that we were trapped in that tiny windowless room, in a neighborhood that most Mumbaikars would never dare venture into.

  Miss Chanda crouch-walked double time to the ladder. All of the other adults, including Mr. Donleavy, followed.

  “Do you think we should stay up here?” I asked VJ.

  “If there’s trouble, we’d be safer down there, where we can slip out the door.”

  He went first and I followed, though a couple of kids squeezed in ahead of me.

  The room at the bottom of the ladder was packed. I had to push myself between several unfamiliar women to get off the ladder.

  A fleshy woman with a fierce look about her was shouting loudly at one of the NGO staff. There was a palpable feeling of discontent among the audience she’d brought with her. The NGO staff were looking nervous. I almost didn’t notice the young girl standing next to her. She was making every effort to back away from the argument, but there was nowhere for her to go. Her obvious desire to melt into the background was such a familiar emotion that I felt immediate empathy. In fact, her look of embarrassment and distress was so painfully reminiscent of the way I’d been feeling almost constantly for the past few days that I wanted to go to her. Slowly I worked my way through the crowd.

  I couldn’t understand what the argument was about. They weren’t speaking English. The big woman was doing most of the talking. She seemed to be demanding something that Miss Chanda wouldn’t agree to.

  I reached the girl and tried to catch her eye. She was staring resolutely at her feet. I doubted she spoke English, but she was in a school uniform and looked a little older than most of the girls upstairs, so I figured it was worth a try.

  “Is that your mom?” I asked.

  She looked up in surprise.

  “No,” she said gruffly, and looked down again. Though it wasn’t a response that encouraged conversation, I’d just spent the past hour feeling expendable, and here was a girl who seemed as uncomfortable as I was.

  “What’s she shouting about?” I persisted.

  She glanced up again and away. I wasn’t sure if she was considering her answer or ignoring me. She was very thin, like most of the girls, with watchful, intelligent eyes.

  “Why are you here?” she finally asked.

  It was my turn to hesitate. The truth was, I wasn’t sure myself. The past hour had reinforced my skepticism that I could be helpful to these girls. While the little ones were friendly, the older ones, the girls I was supposed to connect with, had no interest in talking to me. I cou
ldn’t imagine mentoring any of them.

  “I have no idea,” I said honestly.

  She smiled sympathetically and nodded in the direction of the angry woman. “She is asking them to help me stay in school.”

  “Well, I guess we have that in common.” I smiled back.

  “Your school is saying you must leave? What did you do?” She sounded genuinely intrigued.

  Having started down this path of honesty, I found myself stuck. As much as I didn’t want to admit the truth, I didn’t want to lie to her.

  “I took a picture of myself without my shirt on and sent it to someone I thought was a boy I knew, and he, or someone, sent it to every kid in the school. They even printed up a few hard copies and posted them around the halls.”

  She giggled.

  “It really wasn’t funny.”

  She giggled again.

  “Still not funny.” I tried to sound stern but fell short, mainly because I was shocked to discover my own spirits had lifted at her reaction. Maybe someday even I would see the humor in what I’d done.

  “Okay,” I said, “fair is fair. I told you mine. Now you have to tell me what you did.”

  “I got first in all my subjects.”

  “Wow, your school is tough. In my school, the worst you’d get for good grades is a suspension.”

  She laughed outright. Her English was excellent and I’d made her laugh. My spirits rose higher.

  Together, we watched the adults for a few minutes. Their discussion wasn’t showing any signs of calming down. The angry woman was practically spitting she was so mad, and several of her friends were throwing in their own comments. I was worried for Miss Chanda.

  “What did you really do?” I asked.

  “My ma is a sex worker.”

  “I figured that.”

  She looked offended.

  “Only because you’re here,” I said quickly.

  She nodded. “The school found out about my ma.”

  “So?”

  “They do not want the daughter of a sex worker in their school.”

  “Too bad. Just refuse to leave.”