Moti Nagar, New Delhi.
It is an old city within a city. Nothing has changed in twenty years. I walk by a construction site near my aunt's home. Women, barefoot, carry piles of material -bricks, wood, rocks, twigs- in large containers atop their heads. Their children skuttle around, the youngest ones naked. They run around, playing games, laughing, oblivious to the world around them. Their innocence touches me. I look at one child in particular, not more than two or three years old. He is wearing nothing but a tattered rag, the remnants of an old undershirt. His bare feet are covered with dust from the site. He doesn't play with the other children, but lingers to the side. I watch as he picks up pieces of rubble from the ground and looks at them curiously. At one point, I watch him lick a rock and want to run up to him to take it away from him. But I stay where I am, watching. An older girl, perhaps seven or eight years old, goes to him. She lifts him with one arm and carries him over to the other children. He giggles as they walk away. He looks over her shoulder and sees me. He smiles. I can't help but smile back, but my heart aches. I want to take him home with me.
Panjabi Bhagh, New Delhi.
I stay at my cousin's place for a week. They have more space than my aunt, and one of her sons graciously gives up his room for me. They have a servant named Rupa, a girl not more than fourteen, with a beautiful face and the demeanor of a child much younger. I ask her how old she is. I don't know why I think she will tell me the truth, they never do. I watch her do her daily chores with ease but she lacks the grace of a woman. How could she not? She is still but a child. She does as she is told by the members of the household, including the boy who is her own age. She makes the tea, cleans the dishes, cleans the floor on her hands and knees, hangs the laundry to dry. There is always something to do.
Each morning she brings me my tea, just as I like it. One morning in particular, she giggles when I thank her. Didi? (Sister?), what is this "thank you" every time you say? I smile. I am unsure how to explain it to someone who doesn't have the phrase in her vocabulary. "It is what you say when you are happy that someone did something for you." She just giggles some more, as though I have just said the most foolish thing, and goes on to continue her day's work. I worry for her. She bears an innocence that will make her weaker than the rest. For a crazy second, I wonder if there is a chance I can adopt her. There are rumors she will be married off to the dhobi's son in a year, and they will go back to her village. She knows of the rumors and tells me she will run away before that happens. I want to take her home with me.
