By Manav Kaul: A young boy’s life changes in inexplicable ways after his grandmother dies

Choti’s father’s eyes were very small, like cashew nuts. He was short, fair complexioned, and a full-grown beard still eluded him. White hair peeked out of his face with great shyness. I worried he could not see anything when he laughed loudly. He had a tailoring shop in the market and could turn a piece of cloth into a pair of pants or a shirt in the blink of an eye. There was an inch-tape around his neck and a blue piece of chalk in his hands at all times. His mouth was never without a betel leaf, his lips were always red, and the fragrance of snuff was about him at all times.

The terrace of his shop was our meeting ground. That was where Radhe, Choti and I would get together. There were many advantages of this terrace, we could see the entire market from here, but the tree in front of the shop shielded us from the eyes of the marketgoers. On the days when Choti’s father was especially happy, he would have tea sent to us upstairs. Choti had one responsibility in the shop – besides attending school, he had to stitch two shirts every day. While...

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