New book explores the lives of climate refugees in Kolkata

…the way the alley lives and breathes, with its own rules and rhythms. The laughter hasn’t subsided when Madhu madam turns up at Nur’s doorstep. Kajal scuttles away, leaving her with the starchy dhakai sari-clad lady. “ Sob-e-Barat Mubaraak. Tumar ektu time chai [Shabe-baraat mubarak. I need some of your time],” Madhu madam simpers. Few things spoiled the slum’s mornings as much as these visits by Madhu madam. You’d think with her neat hair bun and bindi she was a neat little…

…hungry and alone because their mother is at work, it’s Thakuma who notices first. She calls them in with a cluck of her tongue, presses a bowl of rice into their hands or breaks a piece of her own roti to feed them. “ Don’t run around barefoot, you’ll catch fever! ” she scolds one of them. “Utho [Get up]. Your pants will get dirty,” she tells another, as if it was not already dirty. Thakuma tugs the little boy to his feet but is promptly pulled off balance herself, pitching…

…machher moto dekhaichi [Do I look like a fish to you]?” she shrieks. Her voice is so high-pitched and absurd that Nur and Kajal can’t help but cover her mouth, sniggering too. Just when Nur has recovered, Kajal quips: “ Don’t you think Taj Mira has more hair on her chest than her husband? ” They start laughing again, raucously. An older boy struts past them, combing his hair with exaggerated care in the reflection of a parked scooter’s mirror, his shorts slipping dangerously low as he walks. Even that…