Chapter 15 — What Came Back

On the first day, the look had been assessment. Measuring what was there.Now it was something else."You look like yourself," Mrs. Rane said."Yes," Tanvi said. "I think I do.""You should come back sometime," Mrs. Rane said. "Not to the flat. To visit.""I will," Tanvi said.She meant it. She believed she would.Mrs. Rane hugged her — the specific firm hug of an older woman who was not generally given to physical demonstrations of feeling and was making an exception. It smelled like the sheera she had brought on the second day, like the oil from the puja lamp, like forty-four years of someone choosing to stay in a place and meaning it."The flat," Tanvi said. "After I go. Will Babulal—""I've already spoken to the building society," Mrs. Rane said. "The flat will not be re-let until it's properly assessed. I've put it in writing. The secretary has it." She paused. "And Babulal knows that if he lets it without proper review, I will go to the BMC and the housing board and anyone else who will listen.""And they'll listen?" Tanvi said."They won't listen to what actually happened," Mrs. Rane said. "But they'll listen to a woman who's been in this building for forty-four years complaining about building management practices. That they'll listen to." She paused. "It's not justice. But it's something."It was something.Tanvi picked up her bag.She took one more look at the door of 14/C. The new padlock, the painted number, the nothing-particular of a flat door.She thought: I was in there. And I came out.She thought: not all of me came out. Some of it is still in there — not held, not taken. Left, the way you left things in places that mattered. The first week, the jamun tree, the pink-orange morning sky.She thought: that's allowed. That's just what places do when they've held you.She went down the stairs.She crossed the courtyard.She went out onto the street.Mumbai in November, eight in the morning, the specific quality of the light at that hour — not the pink-orange of early morning, past that now, into the clearer light of a day that had decided to be ordinary. The auto she'd booked was waiting. The driver was looking at his phone. A child on the pavement was chasing a crow. The crow was not interested in being caught.She got into the auto.She looked at the building as it pulled away. The three floors of Noor Chawl, the laundry on the lines, the jamun tree in the courtyard that was visible over the gate.She held her breath.Then she let it out.She did not look back again.