I was haunted by what I'd seen in the orphanage - I imagined Sophie, or Tessa, sleeping in one of those austere dormitories, praying in the scary chapel -
We were drinking tea with the Queen of the village, inside her spacious house - we'd been invited back, to attend a festival later that evening - there was a shiny Maruti Suzuki Alto parked in the courtyard - a pooja cupboard contained images of divinities - oil lamps glimmered - soap opera beauties were weeping on the TV screen -
Our hostess said breezily I must help the poor - if you have something, you must give them something -
Her consort smiled - he was very tall, wearing a long white shirt - he'd greeted us gravely, placing his hands together, bowing his head - he spoke no English, but offered us bananas with a gesture worthy of Baldassare Castiglione -
I still felt ashamed, remembering how blithely I'd strolled around the orphanage, charmed by the willowy girls, a curious intruder on a serendipitous outing -
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