My mother came to my rescue “ are mansi mausi hai”. Then I exclaimed “ Oh Mansi Mausi, kaisi hain aap??”She teased said “ mere bete , paun n...hi chuoge Mausi ka”. On which I smiled and bent and saw her skirt and the smooth claves and white and I touched her feets , but I sensed that what I was feeling was not respect but something entirely different.Mansi then vanished somewhere. Mansi was the only person who was of my age and hence we hanged together at all the places. And these preferential. Wheels on tile. Click, clack, click, dress shoes and stiletto hills cut through the din with a rhythm ignored. I followed at a short distance and saw that she was laughing at something — that same girl he'd sat next to on the train. Part of me wondered if she was trying too hard. It wasn't my business, but I kept wondering.A friend had been generous enough to offer me his spare bedroom for my little weekend holiday in Chocolate City. There had always been something about the air in Washington. More

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