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recrimination.
    ‘So what were you saying about school?’ he asked, passing his hand down her back, gently pressing the dividing line between her haunches.
    Astha sidled closer to him, and the pressure became a little firmer. ‘I kept thinking of you‚’ she whispered. ‘I missed you every minute.’
    ‘Baby‚’ he murmured, accepting this as his due. ‘And school, how was that?’
    ‘Well, they have asked me to help with the school magazine, as I am the teacher for the senior elective English classes. And I thought, why not?’
    ‘Do they know you write?’
    ‘Of course not. Anybody with reasonable English is enough for this job. My class XI girls got really excited, they want to organise a creative writing competition. We can publish the best poems and stories, maybe even send them to the children’s page in the newspaper.’
    Hemant wasn’t really listening. Astha stopped talking about creative writing as he got up to lock the door.
    ‘They are waiting‚’ objected Astha.
    ‘Just a quick one‚’ said Hemant.
    ‘They will know what we are doing‚’ said Astha, already imagining what was to come, even if it was a quick one.
    ‘Let them know. We are married.’
    Astha lay back, aware of every inch of her skin, aware of every thread she wore, now about to be dislodged. The day, with its petty vexations flowed away from her. This, what was going to happen, was the central thing in her life.

    The last year of Astha’s father’s service drew to a close. They would have to leave their house soon. Hemant threw himself into their plans, politely suppressing his surprise at their unworldliness.
    ‘Az‚’ he said frequently to his wife, after visiting his in-laws, ‘how come Papa didn’t plan more for his retirement?’
    ‘He was planning‚’ said Astha hopelessly, ‘in fact they were always planning.’
    ‘Then, what happened?’
    ‘They kept trying to buy, but it was always too expensive. Then this housing society thing came up and they were allotted land trans Jamuna. They thought once the bridge was built and prices went up, they could sell the plot and buy a small flat this side.’
    To Astha now, this seemed like not very much planning.
    ‘As an investment, Az, this is not good strategy‚’ said Hemant, banker. ‘The bridge is nowhere in sight, you can’t depend on government promises.’
    ‘Well, I don’t know, that is what they did‚’ said Astha pettishly.
    ‘They can still live on it, though. People are building, after all. Then when prices rise, their property will be worth even more.’
    ‘How can they? It’s still so undeveloped it’s not safe. No infrastructure, no nothing. You should see it, it’s just a patch of mud. In one of the nearby colonies, the owner was alone in the house when dacoits broke in, stole everything, and beat him till he almost died. You want this to happen to them?’ Astha’s voice rose slightly.
    ‘Now, now, baby, don’t get upset, of course they shouldn’t go if it is not safe. We’ll help them all we can.’
    ‘OK‚’ said the wife, feeling momentarily soothed, pushing away the knowledge that it is one thing to offer help, another to give it, still another to take it, and that her father was a very proud man.
    *
    Astha’s father retired, and in six months they had to vacate the house in Lodhi colony. It had been central and inexpensive, the rent 10 per cent of the father’s salary. Now they were thrown to the outside world. While the mother was at school, the father trudged around various colonies with property dealers. The private colonies near Lodhi Colony were all too posh, there was no question of trying Sundar Nagar, Golf Links, or even Defence Colony, where army officials hadbought plots for a song not so many years before. Finally he found a small two-room apartment in Jangpura. Its advantage was a large terrace, its disadvantage that it was on the first floor.
    ‘You will have to go up and down everyday‚’ said Astha,