Page 129 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

There was a spark in her eyes when she looked at me again. “Tell me about them. Tell me about your life.”

“They’re the most wonderful parents one could have,” I said with a smile but quickly backtracked. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

She put up her palm. “It’s okay. I understand what you mean, and I’m happy. You are happy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Aai, I’m very happy,” I said, and we both shifted in our seats. “I’m sorry. That’s what Sona calls her mother, so I thought…”

“That’s alright. I don’t mind. I like how it sounds.”

“I like it too.”

From the corner of my eye, I caught Sona stalling, trying to give us more one-on-one time.

“Your father wrote to Kamte bhau. He shared the doctor’s letters and pictures with me. I knew you were loved.”

“Yes, but they didn’t tell me. I was very angry when I learned. I felt like they cheated me out of knowing you.”

She shook her head morosely. “They didn’t. I did. It was a very difficult time.”

“Yes, they told me.”

“Good. They’re good people. Did they tell you they used to send me chocolates?” She smiled.

I smiled back. “No.”

“I was barely seventeen, and I’d never tasted good chocolate. Those chocolates made me feel special, like someone cared about me.”

“Dad told me how brave you were.”

She gave a light shrug. “It wasn’t bravery so much as… I’m trying to find the word for it…” She looked around for Sona.

Sona caught her eye and walked up with two cups. Aai said something to her in Marathi while Sona placed the cups before us.

“Survival,” Sona said to me. “She says it was about survival. She had to be brave. She had no other option.”

Aai smiled. It felt good to say that word…Aai. I repeated it over and over in my head.

“I’ll get my coffee,” Sona said and walked to the register. She came back with her cup and settled beside me.

“Sona said you work with a…” I turned to Sona. “How do you say organization in Hindi?”

Sona translated it for me.

“Yes, I have been with the organization for fifteen years. Kamte bhau introduced me to it.”

“What do you do?” Sona asked.

“We advocate for sex workers’ rights—freedom from violence, freedom from harassment, a safe working environment. We have been demanding the decriminalization of consensual adult sex work while ensuring that underage girls are not trafficked.”

Of course, Sona had to translate all that for me.

“I moved out of the brothel to an apartment after I took up the job. It was easier to keep regular hours that way. But I’m still in the same neighborhood. Tell me what you do, Mihir.”

A wide smile came to rest on her face when I told her about my education and work.

“Very good,” she said. “Harvard is good, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

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