Part 3: Connecting with Kasturi

Moving into a new neighborhood wasn’t easy, especially for Meena. She missed her school friends, the familiar rhythm of Kolkata’s streets, and even the annoying sound of the fish vendor yelling under their old window every morning. Khurda Road felt quieter, slower, and, most of all, unfamiliar.

Her first day exploring the neighborhood was more out of boredom than curiosity. After unpacking boxes and arranging furniture under her mother’s strict supervision, Meena decided she needed some air.

With her hair tied in a loose ponytail and wearing her favorite, slightly faded frock, she stepped out into the narrow, winding lane that stretched behind their house.

“Don’t wander too far!” her mother called out, waving a spatula like a warning flag.

“Yes, Ma! I’m not a baby!” Meena shouted back, rolling her eyes. She stuffed a piece of leftover cake into her mouth and wandered down the lane.

It was mid-afternoon, and most of the houses seemed quiet, their doors shut against the heat. The occasional creak of a handpump or the bark of a dog broke the stillness. Meena was about to turn back when she heard it—a soft humming.

Curiosity piqued, she followed the sound and peeked into a small courtyard. There, under the shade of a large neem tree, sat a girl about her age, holding a book in one hand and fiddling with her frock’s frill with the other. She was humming a tune that Meena didn’t recognize. The melody was light and sweet, unfamiliar yet oddly soothing.

“Hello,” Meena said hesitantly, stepping into the courtyard.

The girl looked up, startled at first, but then smiled. “Hi,” she replied, closing her book and getting to her feet. Meena’s eyes lit up. She was the same confident girl she saw on the field. She had bright eyes and a dimple that deepened when she smiled. “Are you new here?”

“Yes,” Meena nodded. “We just moved into the red-roofed house down the lane.”

“Oh! I’m Kasturi, Kasturi Tripathi,” the girl said, extending a hand.

Meena hesitated for a second—shaking hands wasn’t something her friends back home usually did—but then smiled and took it. “I’m Meena.”

“What’s that on your face?” Kasturi asked suddenly, pointing.

Meena touched her cheek, confused. “What? Is it a mosquito bite?”

“No,” Kasturi laughed. “You’ve got crumbs! Were you eating cake?”

Meena grinned sheepishly after being caught red-handed. She immediately wiped her face. “Yeah. A neighbor brought some over yesterday.”

“Must’ve been the D’Souzas,” Kasturi said knowingly. “They’re famous for their cakes.”

As they talked, the initial awkwardness melted away. Kasturi asked a flurry of questions about Kolkata—what it was like, the food, the festivals. Meena, in turn, was fascinated by Kasturi’s life in Khurda Road.

“You’ll love it here,” Kasturi said. “It takes time, but this place grows on you.”

Meena found herself believing her.

“We have a big mela every winter, and there’s this really old temple where the fairs happen. Oh, and the mangoes from that tree—” Kasturi pointed to a tree looming over the wall—“are the best in the world.”

Meena listened, captivated. “Do you go to the government school nearby?” she asked.

“Yes, all the children from the neighborhood go there”, Kasturi informed her.

“I’ll be joining Class 4 after the Christmas holidays,” Meena admitted.

“Oh, that’s great! I’m in Class 5. So, technically, I’m your senior,” Kasturi said with mock seriousness. “Don’t worry, that just means I’ll help you with everything.”

The two laughed, and Meena felt something she hadn’t expected to feel so soon—a connection. Despite their differences, something about Kasturi’s warmth and enthusiasm made her feel at ease.

Just then, a voice called from the house. “Kasturi, it’s too hot outside. Come in, beta.”

“Two more minutes, Ma!” Kasturi called back. Turning to Meena, she said, “You should come over again. I’ll show you around properly.”

“I’d like that,” Meena said, genuinely meaning it.

Walking back home later, Meena realized she was smiling. Maybe Khurda Road wouldn’t be so bad after all.

But as she turned the corner to her street, she caught sight of two men arguing near the tea stall. Their voices were low, but their gestures were sharp and angry. It was nothing too alarming, but it left a faint unease in her chest.

Something was stirring beneath the friendly lanes of Khurda Road. But what? Meena was too naive to see it.

She shook it off quickly—after all, she’d made a new friend today, and that was something to celebrate.

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