Fiction: A middle-aged woman returns to her childhood home, and the people who changed her life

The day after we moved in was a Sunday. I had always been an early riser, possibly because of the ruckus that Suggi would make getting ready for basketball practice. I got out of bed at about six and put on my tracks and sweatshirt to go for a walk. It was finally time to meet this old friend. I closed the door quietly behind me and stepped out into the cool morning light. I walked right up to the main gate and then turned around, taking everything in through the light mist of the morning. Once upon a time, there had been guards in the sentry boxes at the gates, I was told, but not for many, many years. Everything had a run-down tint to it. I looked at the mogra shrubs, stopping to pick up the fallen flowers and taking in their heady fragrance.

I knew already that there was an ill-tempered female gardener who hobbled around the estate and hated anyone who was not a Rawat or a Luthra. I stopped to stare into the dark, dark litchi groves, inviting me in. Not a trace of sunlight could enter that thick leaf cover. There must have been thirty,...

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