When the lights went out . . .
“Let’s play Dark Room, “ the cousin I’ve never met until today suggests with a wink. He’s fifteen, going on fifty—his greasy hair falling in untidy spirals over his glistening forehead, the sweat stains under his armpits visible under his cream polyester shirt, his fingernails colored yellow from the chicken curry he consumed at lunch.
I shudder delicately, turning away so that no one notices how I clench my palms together. How long are these relatives from Kanpur going to stay?