Thirst: Chapters 12–27

She likes ginger and it’s good for her stomach, so I grate some in.

Next, Ma teaches me how to add water slowly and incorporate the flour until a ball of dough is formed.

Then it’s time to drizzle oil and knead the ball.

“Minni,” she says, “when you cross the threshold and enter Anita Ma’am’s house, you are a servant.”

“And, Minni—this is crucial—you will need to remember that you cannot have an opinion in that house. You are there to follow orders. You will do as they ask.”

Is this what she goes through every day? She’s insulted and treated like a doormat, and then comes home to me and Sanjay quarreling. Why didn’t we know this? No wonder she comes home so weary.

One of our neighbors is a taxi driver, and he takes us to the bus depot. It’s busy and loud and smells of fried food and diesel fumes.

Ma’s basil plant is wilted, so I water it.

Then she counts on her fingers and names the five other lakes and reservoirs, and I repeat their names.

Over and over she chants it, like it’s a mantra. “You’re not alone. You’re very brave.”

Instead I say, “I’m here—but not if you call me Minni Meow!” He laughs, and it feels good to squabble over my silly name.

Faiza pays the small fare and clambers on.

We cross the street and head toward one of the high-rise buildings I’ve seen looming behind our neighborhood every day of my life.

Gingerly I press the doorbell.

Huge windows look out onto the city, and an ornate swing with brass chains hangs in front of one of them.

But it turns out the kitchen is full of stuff to gawk at too. There’s the biggest, cleanest sink I’ve ever seen, with its own sparkling tap.

For a moment, a pang of jealousy stabs me. Does Pinky realize how lucky she is?

Then Pinky turns on the tap, and to my astonishment, water gushes out. It flows freely in the middle of the day. Like it’s magic.

On my own, I stand at one end of the bathroom, and I walk across to the other end with deliberate steps. Like a girl on a tightrope.

When I thanked her, she told me, “Your ma has helped me stand when I faltered. In this neighborhood we are here for each other.”

Her chiffon sari looks like a pink cloud, and she has on pretty dangling earrings.

Baba lifts the kettle and pours tea into the small cups from a height with a flourish. He says the pouring is important to how it tastes and it makes the liquid foam.

She found the fabric in a sale bin, and the purple curlicue pattern on it looks like a henna design.

I still feel giddy with excitement when I get home, so I take out my notebook, and inspiration strikes.

I still feel giddy with excitement when I get home, so I take out my notebook, and inspiration strikes.

This brand-new language
has fascinating words.
Apps and algorithms,
bits and bytes,
cookies and clips,
data and disks,
windows, rooms, and firewalls,
home pages, mirrors,
monitors, and mouse.
Where will it take me?
To college? To a computer job?

On days that Anita Ma’am doesn’t have her yoga class, she often follows me around from room to room, making sure that I’ve not missed a speck of dust and pointing out barely visible blemishes on her shining white marble floors.

I can feel my tense, rigid shoulders fall back into place. My brow relaxes.

The other day she told Pinky I might carry diseases, being so low caste and all.

I guess I assumed that because her life isn’t upside down like mine, she wouldn’t have things to share.

I slump down.

Miss Shah opens her bag and hands me a sandwich. “It’s cheese and chutney,” she says.

She’s wearing a white sari so starched that it barely moves.

“Ma’am, there are circumstances you should know about,” Miss Shah explains. “Minni’s mother is ill and had to go stay with her family. So now Minni is not only doing all the household chores, she’s filling in at her mother’s job as a maid. All while studying and attending school.”

The marigold garland draped around the tap is withered.