Paulami Roychowdhury loved the view. Richard was lying on the unmade bed, his smooth, tanned chest rising and falling in silence. Beyond the prone figure of the boy, she could see the Oberoi Hotel’s swimming pool, surrounded by polished tropical foliage, reflecting the late morning Calcutta sun. Waiters in white, starched livery moved silently between bathers, dispensing cocktails, mocktails, and other refreshments best added up in dollars. Life. Somewhere far away she could hear the roar of the city. For a moment Paulami wished the image would freeze, suspended in time and space, her eyes forever fixed on the inert, perfect shape on the bed, afloat in one of the city’s most salubrious private hotel suites.
She caught her reflection in the oversized mirror. Getting older was a drag. Abir,
