From the shop doorway Deepal could see Aunt Sonia approaching. Her wide frame was perched precariously on the narrow seat of Amit’s rickshaw. He weaved his way slowly through the top-heavy handcarts and piles of cooking pots that spilled out onto the street. Sonia stepped down, encased in cerise and emerald green, clutching a be-ribboned box to her chest as she picked her way through a pile of rotting mangoes.
‘Namaste!’
Deepal pressed her hands together and bowed, then held aside the bead curtain to let her aunt into the two-roomed house tucked away behind the electrical shop.
‘Lassi, Aunty-ji? You must be very hot?’
Deepal flicked the switch on the wall-mounted fan, and took out the lassi jug from the small refrigerator.
‘Well, where is he then?’ asked Sonia, gesturing around the room with her hands as though she expected the baby to be hidden somewhere.
‘My mother has him today,’ answered Deepal, ‘She’s taken him to visit Aunt Noosh.’
Sonia placed herself firmly on the only comfortable chair and held out the box to Deepal with one hand as she accepted her lassi with the other.
‘Oh, such a shame! I wanted to see the child’s face when you opened his present for him. But you can look anyway.’
Deepal thanked her aunt and unfastened the box, her heart already heavy. The box was from an expensive store in New Delhi, and she knew it would be something totally unsuitable; something she’d be unable to trade for nappies or clothes.
Nestled in tissue paper were a pair of tiny blue baby shoes. They were the softest leather, hand-stitched, with suede soles and velvet ribbons.
‘Beautiful,’ she exclaimed. ‘Thank you so much, Aunty-ji!’
‘Oh it’s nothing! Only the best for my nephew.’
As soon as Sonia left, Deepal packed up the shoes and shouted for Vinod from the shop next door.
‘Vinod, will your brother take these? Look at the label - they’re from Italy. ’
Vinod sucked his breath between his teeth and shook his head slowly.
‘These are useless!’ he said. ‘Who would want such shoes? I’ll give you Rs200 for them now, or you can wait until they are sold and take your cut. Usual terms.’
Rs200 was tempting; Deepal needed the money now. But the shoes were worth so much more.
‘Ok, give me the Rs200. Take them before my husband knows I ever had them.’
The following morning the shoes were displayed in the window of Tanak’s Emporium, with a handwritten sign declaring their superior Italian quality.
Deepal’s husband saw them on his way home from work. He didn’t usually notice things like baby shoes, but these were something special. Sure, they couldn’t afford them, but they would make his wife so happy. And why not? Only the best for their baby.
He knew he was good for credit at Tanak’s, and without hesitation he went inside. He couldn’t wait to see Deepal’s face when she opened the box.
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