| As the bus passes by the bridge near the Shankaracharya Hill
I must decide on the way to cross the Vitasta to be at our new home. Up Lambert Lane past my uncle's old apartment the Bund is full of tourists on a summer evening the brides, looking picture perfect in their finery with hennaed hands, wearing low saris husbands walking stiffly by and college girls in groups rushing in and out of stores hoping to catch the eyes of young men. Past the houseboats and the handicraft and carpet shops where tourists are still buying souvenirs one last time before they leave next morning. we sip tea in the courtyard at Ahdoo's. As the shadows lengthen on the river we hurry to the landing and cross the river in darkness. The doongas on the other side are dimly lit
The children are doing their homework
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