It had rained that evening and the parched earth had greedily got drunk on all the water. The headiness had transferred to the humans too and they were even looking human, no longer carrying on with their chores mechanically but pausing to dwell on memories and dreams. I didn’t want to tread on memories, they caused too much pain. I didn’t want to dream of the future either, for I didn’t want to ever again take refuge in hope. So I just used my moment of repose to smell the wet earth and look around me at the sea of humanity. It was the same sea that engulfed me every evening, as I took the 7.18 local to the suburban Jogeshwari station. The train was a fast train for most of the way, becoming a slow train only for the last lap from Andheri to Borivali, so it suited me fine.  The sea of humanity was different today. The sudden thundershower had left many drenched and clothes clung to all sorts of curves – some sensuous, some not. Many inhibitions had been thrown to the winds, and some couples dared to be amorous… it was quite funny actually, the mix of sensuality, muck and comical appearances. I got into a Ladies compartment and continued looking at people inside and out on the platform. A few times, I had to check myself from breaking into old Hindi movie songs that found their way to my lips. No, singing songs would not do; I had long decided that some memories were best shunned.  The train pulled out of the station and rainwater mixed with wind sprayed on my face as it pressed itself on the window mesh. Station to station, and past the rail tracks where people defecated, snorted coke, grew vegetables, and even lived… a continuous blur of lights and faces. Sometimes the smell of dinner being cooked in a slum kitchen would drift in… a meal cooked from perhaps the cheapest of ingredients and yet smelling so inviting. Perhaps hunger is an ingredient too?  I was finally at Jogeshwari station and I climbed the overhead passageway that would take me to the East, Down a narrow road where no vehicles plied, that seemed to belong to small-town India, on to the Western Express Highway, and perhaps an auto rickshaw? But no, the rains had liberated the men who drove these, and they merrily refused to cart me home. So I walked on, for home is where the tired body likes to head for every evening. As I walked past the crematorium that lies on the way, my eyes strayed towards the smoke that was drifting up. It made me stop in my tracks and stare, wondering about how fine the divide was between the dead and the alive… and yet how definite. It was then that I saw him, as he stepped out of the gates of the crematorium. He still looked the same, he still stood out in a crowd, but I could sense the loss from the way he moved about. Distracted, not quite there. I wondered who had died. His father had died a long time ago, perhaps it was his mother. It could be a close relative, an in-law perhaps… maybe even his wife. I didn’t particularly wish it was his wife; I no longer bore her any rancor.   He didn’t see me from where I stood, across the road. I could have crossed to the other side and uttered a polite greeting, a word of consolation, but I moved away. It wasn’t easy but I could force myself to walk away, and to not think of how much he had once meant to me. It wasn’t particularly difficult either, the way it had been when he had left me one December day, and when it had seemed that my world had crumbled into a million pieces. Of course nothing had crumbled; it is how we like to fancy things ourselves, bequeathing larger-than-life importance to our loves and betrayals. Life went on, after I learnt how to deal with the pain, bitterness, and the emptiness.   Leaving the highway, I entered a narrow road which would lead to the building where I owned a tiny one room apartment. It was so tiny that it was actually tough to feel that it was empty and it had been fun to do up the place just how I wanted it, throwing all kinds of common sense and caution to the winds. I was a little away from the main road now and could occasionally hear a frog croak. And then I heard a feeble whine. I was sure I was imagining things, but I couldn’t possibly walk away without checking. It was a baby all right, a newborn little thing, wrapped in a bundle that was wet. I don’t normally rush into things but I knew I had to pick up the baby. It was cold and shivering. I started walking fast, almost running. I took her home, threw off the wet things, rubbed her dry and then wrapped her in a dry sheet. And then I went cold myself. What was I doing? Did I have any idea about what to do with the baby? And what about the legal mess that I might find myself in? Damn it, how could the baby’s parents just dump her by the roadside? I picked up the baby and rushed to the neighbourhood doctor, hoping the clinic would still be open.  Dr.Anasuya Lahiri was not just my doctor, she had become a friend and a mentor over the years, ever since the afternoon when she had thrown aside professional etiquette and comforted me as I went through an abortion that I did not want.  She had discussed with me the pros and cons of bringing in that child into the world and ultimately the cons had won. A decision that I had often rued, but I had been afraid of the social stigma that my child would have to grow up with, and scared about coping with single parenthood. He had made it amply clear that there could be no baby, no marriage, and that I lived in a fool’s paradise. Of course he would come with me for the abortion. I had said I would cope and walked away, there being nothing left to say and there being no point in increasing my humiliation by crying in front of him.  Anasuya was winding up for the day when I barged into her chamber and put the baby into her hands. I don’t know if I made much sense through my explanations but she did take charge, examining the baby and asking a nurse to get some milk for her. The baby sucked greedily and Anasuya smiled.  She’ll be fine. I don’t think she had been dumped much earlier. I’m glad you found her, and not the dogs-  What do I do now?  You’ll have to inform the police and they’ll probably hand it over to an NGO. After a few months, she’ll be put up for adoption.  Couldn’t I just keep her?  Anansuya’s look befitted the absurd question but even as I uttered it, I liked the idea. Of making the little one mine.   Even if you could, do you have any idea how difficult it would be?   But Anasuya, I am 39 years old. I have always wanted a child, and I know I will not be having a biological one. This one just fell into my lap, like it was meant for me. Let me be her mother.  Your job?  I’ll take a break, keep a maid… what do other mothers do?  Anasuya thought for a while and then said,  Okay, I’ll see what I can do.  She spoke to a top cop whom she knew and it was decided that for now, I could take the baby home. Tomorrow, I would need to go to a police station, and also talk to an NGO; Anasuya promised to help as much as she could. She told me that things would probably work out but I should be prepared for a refusal, and also for the eventuality of the biological parents turning up to claim the baby. Anasuya left for home after telling me that I could keep the child in her nursing home’s nursery tomorrow when I went to meet the cops and the NGO. I could say nothing to thank her but I think she knew how I felt. The nurse looked after the baby as I went out armed with a list of things I’d need – the most important being the baby formula, diapers and wipes! I dumped the things home and went back to claim my baby. Did she give me a little smile as I took her in my arms, or did I imagine it? I held her as the nurse explained a few things about feeds, diaper changes and giving a bath to me. It all sounded so difficult and yet I knew I would manage fine.   I climbed the stairs to my tiny apartment and placed her on my bed.   She looks so tiny in my huge bed, so helpless, so lovable… it is no point thinking that tomorrow she might not be mine. After all I have taught myself not to think about the future. I call my editor and stump her with a request for maternity leave. Afterwards, I set about sterilizing the bottles for the little one’s feed. I must give her a name… how about Varsha? After all, she came to me one rainy evening… The End dc