I was lying down on the bed, smelling Ana’s hair, while she cuddled with me. My alarm beeped, giving us a signal that it was about time for Ana to get back home. It was the 13th Sunday since Ana had been sneaking out of her home and coming to mine, while her mother would be at the Church attending the Sunday mass.
A Hindu Rajput, I am one of the few non-Christians residing in the Christian dominated area of Orlem, in a northern suburb of Bombay. Ana and I weren’t officially allowed to date, nor could we be seen together, as people in our conservative neighborhood would create an outrage. I feared that if they ever came to know, they would shame Ana publicly. Ours was an old colony, and the oldies still clutched their age old beliefs of casteism tightly.
Every Sunday morning, while Ana’s mom would leave for Church, she would excuse herself under the pretext of visiting a friend who stayed next to my apartment, and would end up in mine. It was perfectly coordinated – I would leave my door slightly open, and at the appropriate moment, she would sneak in and close the door behind her.