Boys without Names by Kashmira Sheth Read Free Book Online Page A

away.
    It takes me a while to fall back to sleep.
    Â 
    I usually wake to the sounds of water wheels going kichood-kichood , the chirping of the birds, and the soft footsteps of Aai and other women sweeping the yards. This morning, all I hear is honking horns, shouts of vendors, and hundreds of shoes hitting the pavement.
    We wash up at a faucet outside the station where other people are cleaning up. For breakfast Baba and I get three cups of tea for us all to share. We split two leftover rotis among us because they won’t keep for much longer, and we have little money, so it is wise to save it.
    â€œI am going to take the bus to Jama’s house now,”Baba says as soon as he finishes his tea.
    Aai pulls the loose end of her sari tightly around her. Ever since we arrived in the city, her forehead is pinched with worry, but now panic spreads over her face.
    â€œCan’t we all go together?” Naren asks.
    I know we don’t have enough money for all of us to travel.
    â€œNo. Sita and you stay here with Aai and Gopal. The buses are too crowded,” Baba says. “I will bring Jama and then maybe we can take a rickshaw back to his house. It will be fast.” His voice is full of forced excitement.
    The twins jump up and down. Yesterday they were worried, but as soon as they hear Jama’s name they are happy. They must think this city adventure is going to get better.
    I wonder about how Baba will cross the streets, get off at the right stop, and find Jama’s home.
    â€œAre you sure you will find your way to Jama’s and back to us?”
    â€œI’ll always find you,” he says. His lips crinkle a faint smile. He takes out Jama’s address.
    â€œThis paper is so crumpled it will be hard to read, Baba. Let me write it down again,” I say. I tear the page on which I have copied the address, hand it to Baba, and slip the crumpled paper in my notebook.

seven
    I t is hard to have a footpath as your home with nothing to do but wait. I want to walk around, but when I ask Aai, she grabs my wrist and says, “No. Stay right here by me.”
    So we all sit like pebbles on the footpath and watch people. A girl a little older than me sells combs, plastic toys, and decks of cards, and another one with long braids sells magazines. These two girls are friends, because they smile at each other when they find a customer. Sita and Naren are playing with the marble, and Aai is watching the street like me.
    Maybe I can sell magazines. That way I can read them, too. If I make some money I can stack up some boards and make a stall. I can sell some books, too. And after that I can have a store—a small one with more books andlater on a bigger one with magazines and books in many different languages. There are so many people in this city that a store like that will do well, and I will make sure to keep books for young children. Naren and Sita love stories, so once they learn to read they will enjoy the books. They can even help me run the business. Maybe I will name the store Three Readers.
    â€œWill you tell us a story?” Naren asks me, pulling my hand.
    I already miss my nimba branch by the pond, where no one could interrupt me. It was the best spot for what Aai calls “building air palaces.”
    â€œTell us a new story, not the marble one,” Sita says.
    â€œWhy not?” Naren asks.
    â€œBecause we’re not at Jama’s house.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œI haven’t even said yes, and you two are already fighting,” I tell them.
    â€œWe won’t,” Naren says.
    â€œPromise! Tell us a Mumbai story,” Sita begs.
    Aai’s lips are pressed together tightly as she scans the crowded street. I don’t think she has heard a word.
    It will take a long time for Baba to return, so if I tell a story, the twins will not bother Aai. “Here is a Mumbai story,” I begin. “Once there was a poor girl who came to the big city of Mumbai