had a change of heart!” She flicked a persistent fly away from her face.
“Razak doesn’t have a heart to change!” snorted the old woman. “He just has a big greasy wallet.”
“Parvati!” Obi let out a sigh of relief. “ She’s his mother now!”
I couldn’t think what he was on about. “Do you know her then?”
“How could I know her?” he said, genuinely surprised. “I never came here before.” He had the dazed expression of someone waking up from a v. complicated dream.
“You had been to some of the other places before though?”
He gave an uncertain nod. “I think so.”
The old man suddenly slumped down in the rubbish. His eyes rolled up into his head showing horribly inflamed whites.
“Mohit comes to my house every day to scrounge food,” Parvati tutted. “But he always finds enough money to buy nasha .” She bent down to make sure the old man was breathing properly. “He shouldn’t be out here in this state.”
“I’ll take care of him,” said the old woman. “Ravi and Asha will be coming out of school in a few minutes. You’ll need to get back.”
“Thanks, Laxmi,” said Parvati gratefully. “I’d do it, but I don’t like my kids coming home to an empty house.”
“You’re bound to worry, beti , bringing them up on your own. Being a widow in India is no joke, don’t I know it!”
Parvati shook her head. “I’ve been like this since the day Ravi was born. I’m so scared that I’ll lose my children it’s like an illness. I pray to Krishna every night to keep them safe.”
“Living here, so would I,” said Laxmi. “There are a million ways for a child to die in Deva Katchi. Go home. I’ll make sure Mohit is OK.”
I looked at Obi. “You want us to go with Parvati, don’t you?”
He nodded solemnly. “We have to, don’t we, Melanie?”
“I think we do,” I said slowly.
There’s a vibe you get when a human urgently needs your help. I wasn’t sure yet if the human was Parvati or just someone close to her.
Parvati carefully placed all the scavenged plastic into sacks before she and her little daughter set off, walking alongside some railroad tracks, balancing their booty gracefully on their heads.
In the distance dingy tenement blocks poked up above ramshackle houses roofed with corrugated tin or just blue tarpaulin.
As we got nearer I saw that these “houses” were just flimsy shacks, botched together from scrap wood and sheets of aluminium. Chatting to her daughter, Parvati ducked under live powerlines, dodging people’s washing, carefully steadying her load. Once she said, “Karisma, beti , look out for the poo!” and her small daughter expertly sidestepped the heap. Now and then Karisma broke into a wheezy cough, stopping to catch her breath.
In the past few days it must have rained heavily. There were small lakes of standing water in places and everywhere the ground was waterlogged. The shacks had sucked up so much rainwater they still seemed sodden despite the simmering afternoon heat.
A young man stood outside his home, smoking. His deep frown lines made him look like an old man, but I doubt he was more than twenty.
“How is he today?” Parvati asked. “How is little Hari?”
The young man shook his head. “Not so good.”
“Children get sick in Deva Katchi every year when the rains come,” Parvati said soothingly. “I will bring him some turmeric milk. That will help ease his chest.”
She unlocked a huge padlock on the shack next door, letting herself and Karisma into their home.
There was just enough light inside the cramped little shack to let me see that Parvati had worked miracles. The walls were painted a vivid peacock greenish blue, decorated with her kids’ drawings and pictures from magazines. Shelves suspended from ropes held pots, pans and spices. Bags of rice and lentils hung from the ceiling in nets, presumably to make it harder for the local rats.
There was an old-fashioned treadle sewing machine, also a
“Razak doesn’t have a heart to change!” snorted the old woman. “He just has a big greasy wallet.”
“Parvati!” Obi let out a sigh of relief. “ She’s his mother now!”
I couldn’t think what he was on about. “Do you know her then?”
“How could I know her?” he said, genuinely surprised. “I never came here before.” He had the dazed expression of someone waking up from a v. complicated dream.
“You had been to some of the other places before though?”
He gave an uncertain nod. “I think so.”
The old man suddenly slumped down in the rubbish. His eyes rolled up into his head showing horribly inflamed whites.
“Mohit comes to my house every day to scrounge food,” Parvati tutted. “But he always finds enough money to buy nasha .” She bent down to make sure the old man was breathing properly. “He shouldn’t be out here in this state.”
“I’ll take care of him,” said the old woman. “Ravi and Asha will be coming out of school in a few minutes. You’ll need to get back.”
“Thanks, Laxmi,” said Parvati gratefully. “I’d do it, but I don’t like my kids coming home to an empty house.”
“You’re bound to worry, beti , bringing them up on your own. Being a widow in India is no joke, don’t I know it!”
Parvati shook her head. “I’ve been like this since the day Ravi was born. I’m so scared that I’ll lose my children it’s like an illness. I pray to Krishna every night to keep them safe.”
“Living here, so would I,” said Laxmi. “There are a million ways for a child to die in Deva Katchi. Go home. I’ll make sure Mohit is OK.”
I looked at Obi. “You want us to go with Parvati, don’t you?”
He nodded solemnly. “We have to, don’t we, Melanie?”
“I think we do,” I said slowly.
There’s a vibe you get when a human urgently needs your help. I wasn’t sure yet if the human was Parvati or just someone close to her.
Parvati carefully placed all the scavenged plastic into sacks before she and her little daughter set off, walking alongside some railroad tracks, balancing their booty gracefully on their heads.
In the distance dingy tenement blocks poked up above ramshackle houses roofed with corrugated tin or just blue tarpaulin.
As we got nearer I saw that these “houses” were just flimsy shacks, botched together from scrap wood and sheets of aluminium. Chatting to her daughter, Parvati ducked under live powerlines, dodging people’s washing, carefully steadying her load. Once she said, “Karisma, beti , look out for the poo!” and her small daughter expertly sidestepped the heap. Now and then Karisma broke into a wheezy cough, stopping to catch her breath.
In the past few days it must have rained heavily. There were small lakes of standing water in places and everywhere the ground was waterlogged. The shacks had sucked up so much rainwater they still seemed sodden despite the simmering afternoon heat.
A young man stood outside his home, smoking. His deep frown lines made him look like an old man, but I doubt he was more than twenty.
“How is he today?” Parvati asked. “How is little Hari?”
The young man shook his head. “Not so good.”
“Children get sick in Deva Katchi every year when the rains come,” Parvati said soothingly. “I will bring him some turmeric milk. That will help ease his chest.”
She unlocked a huge padlock on the shack next door, letting herself and Karisma into their home.
There was just enough light inside the cramped little shack to let me see that Parvati had worked miracles. The walls were painted a vivid peacock greenish blue, decorated with her kids’ drawings and pictures from magazines. Shelves suspended from ropes held pots, pans and spices. Bags of rice and lentils hung from the ceiling in nets, presumably to make it harder for the local rats.
There was an old-fashioned treadle sewing machine, also a
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