Page 110 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

“They are well,” was all he offered me.

I hadn’t spoken or texted with Sneha aunty after he had warned me to stay away. I often wondered if I’d given up on a friendship that would have brought me joy.

Then curiosity got the better of me. He was here with a cryptic clue, asking for my help, and I decided to be nosy. “Did you find out what they were hiding from you?”

He looked straight ahead. “Yes.”

“Is this person related to that?”

“Yes,” he said softly.

Since he wasn’t forthcoming, I chatted with Sanjay. He was only a few years older and had been with us since I was in high school. I inquired about his family, his parents, and his children, until the car turned around a corner, and Sanjay said in Marathi, “It looks like this is the building.”

“We are here,” I said to Mihir and got out of the car. Mihir followed me while Sanjay maneuvered the vehicle into a tight parking spot on the street. Walking into the building compound, we saw a resident list near the elevators.

“These numbers look different,” I said. “Your address says A-312. There is no A-312 in the building, and there’s no Kamte on this list either.”

I remembered the tea stall I saw outside. “Come,” I said to Mihir and walked toward it.

“Is this the only Prashant Building around here?” I asked the stall owner in Marathi.

“Yes. Who are you looking for?”

“Kamte. Jayant Kamte. There’s no one listed by that name here. Do you know them?”

“That building was demolished and rebuilt about ten years ago. Many people moved away. Some moved back in.”

“Who are you looking for?” an elderly man sitting on a bench by the stall asked me.

I turned to him. “Jayant Kamte. Do you know him?”

He shifted on the rickety wood and nodded. “Yes, he lived here, but he died some years ago.”

I glanced at Mihir, who looked back with hopeful eyes. “Does he know him?”

“He says Kamte passed away some time ago.”

Mihir’s face deflated fast, and he slumped to the bench beside the elderly gentleman.

“But I think his daughter lives here,” the man said to me.

“Yes?”

“I don’t remember her married name. Let me ask.”

He yelled over to a small “provision” store across the narrow alley. “Hey, do you know Kamte’s daughter? She lives here, right?”

“Yes,” the shopkeeper yelled back. “Trying to recollect her name. Sonale? Sonavane?”

I nudged Mihir as he looked at me and sat upright. “We might have something,” I whispered. His body perked up, and he stood quickly.

“Yes, yes, Malati Sonavane,” the elderly man said. “Kamte was such a good soul. His daughter is very nice too, like her father.”

“Thank you very much! It really means a lot to us,” I said with a deferential smile.

We went back to the elevators and looked at the list again. This time, we found Sonavane on the fifth floor. We rode the elevator up and rang the bell. A busy-looking woman around my age answered the door and inspected us through an iron grill.

“Yes? Who do you want?” she said in Hindi.

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