Babli, sixth in the line of nine siblings, is carrying dried cowpats – fuel she has to deliver to her father, who runs a wayside dhaba. On her way she is overtaken by a well-dressed college teacher who asks: “Is my bindi properly centred?” “Yes,” gasps the child, aghast at being noticed by such a grand lady. The encounter seems inconsequential, but it lodges deep in Babli’s mind. When the novel ends, many years later, Babli understands how much this image – of a labouring child bewildered at being addressed by an educated woman – has driven the twists and turns of her life.