Half-asleep, he staggered to the bathroom, urinated, and began brushing his teeth. “Are you waking up?” he asked Lata, who had bundled herself into a little ball under the covers. “Five minutes,” she replied, trying unsuccessfully to keep the new day at bay. “Make tea.” Gaikwad looked at the clock on Lata’s nightstand. He’d already missed his morning walk with Chitre. These days, it was the only exercise he was getting. He walked past the children’s room to the sparsely furnished living room. He could see his son, Sachin, draw the covers over his head, hoping against hope his parents would leave him in bed so he could miss school. His daughter, Kavita, was already making her way to the bathroom. Gaikwad thought of his relationship with his own father. He used to tremble at the man’s voice. His words were the law. When his father came home from work in the evenings, it was expected that Gaikwad and his brothers and sisters were quiet until the old man finished listening to the news on All India Radio, after which he inquired after their homework and their academic progress.
