‘I’m getting it,’ I said, pulling out my wallet.
‘No—’
I handed the vendor?500. ‘Please keep the change.’
‘Thank you,’ Ananya murmured, then smiled and nodded at the boy.
Within seconds, two more kids appeared, tugging at her sleeves and asking for the same thing. Ananya’s smile broadened, and she placed more orders before crouching down to ask for their names and whether they liked extra lemon.
I knew hundreds of people who gave a fortune to charity organisations. Most wouldn’t even blink at the sight of a starving child, let alone chat and laugh with them.
Two minutes and three ears of corn later, they grinned up at us. ‘Thank you, Didi! Thank you, Bhaiyya!’ They skipped off to the beach, laughter trailing behind them.
Ananya finally received her own, flecked with black dots and glistening with red chilli, salt and lemon. She held it like it was a prize.
She looked happier than I’d felt hearing about Harrods. I wondered what her secret was. I’d spent the better part of the last decade chasing things that were supposed to bring me happiness: good grades, deals and titles. And yet, here she was, barefoot on a beach, eating bhutta like she had everything she wanted.
‘Want a bite?’ she asked, offering it to me.
What am I doing wrong?
I looked down at the half-eaten ear of corn.
Maybe this was the answer. Happiness wasn’t always at the end of a long race, but it was in the present. In roadside dosas. In walking barefoot on the beach. In giving. In a warm, spiced bhutta. Maybe happiness didn’t need to be earned. It needed to be allowed.
I leaned down and took a bite. ‘Delicious.’
She grinned, then inched closer to the water until she was close enough for the waves to wash over her feet.
‘You’re so lucky to have grown up near the beach,’ she said.
‘I don’t remember when I last came to Chowpatty,’ I said.
Probably with Dadaji and Dadiji, before Rekha Mom came along and decided Indian beaches weren’t ‘for people like us’.
‘No way.’ Ananya’s eyes widened, locking on mine. ‘If I grew up in Mumbai, I’d make my parents bring Bhaiyya and me here every weekend.’
That’s surprising. ‘Are you not from here?’
‘I’m from Banaras,’ she replied, a soft smile forming on her face. ‘Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. The Arabian Sea is no match for Ganga Maa.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked, jutting my chin towards the view behind her.
Ananya turned and paused.
The sea had nearly swallowed the sun, casting fiery hues on the water. Pink and tangerine painted the wispy clouds.
Her eyes squinted as she looked at the sea. Her skin caught the dying rays of the sun. Wind tugged strands of her hair away from her face and lifted them in waves around her shoulders.
‘Maybe it’s a close second.’
Ananya was beautiful. I knew that the moment I laid eyes on her. But there was something about her in this moment. Authentic, carefree, barefoot. I couldn’t look away.
‘I think it’s one of a kind.’
6
The Green-Eyed Monster
