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even when they were handing out rupees. They had no time for long stories.
    During the day the computer store was a good place, but on this night it wasn’t.
    I wrapped my blanket around my shoulders, stayed close to the shadowy place along the wall of shops and moved quickly away from the sounds of the sirens. I hitched the blanket up so it wouldn’t drag along the ground and gather dirt. I wanted it to be in good condition when I passed it along to someone else.
    More police came into the street. They zoomed by me, lights flashing. Behind me I could hear the tourists yelling at the police and the police yelling back.
    I hated the sound of yelling. Everybody should just be quiet.
    I wanted to be off the street, in a place that was soft and dark and didn’t smell too bad.
    The Park Street Cemetery was the perfect spot, if I could get in. It was always guarded. Lots of dead Englishmen were buried there. They didn’t let just anybody sleep on their graves.
    But it was close. If I couldn’t get in there, the Lower Circular Road Cemetery was just across the way. And if for some reason that was no good, there was always the Sealdah Railway Station.
    By now I knew all the good spots in Kolkata. I had survived the rainy season, when the streets filled with water, and I would survive the winter. Jharia was a long time ago and very far away.
    The cemetery guard was asleep.
    He was sitting in his chair, inside his little booth just outside the closed gate. I couldn’t understand how he could sleep through all the police and all the yelling. Then I got closer and smelled desi-daru, the home-brewed booze that was sold illegally in back alleys. I stayed away from it. The man who was not my uncle had taught me all I needed to know about that stuff.
    The guard would have a headache in the morning, I thought. My uncle always had headaches the morning after he drank. He would lie on his mat and hold his head and hit out at anyone who made a noise.
    After a quick look around to be sure no one was watching, I flung my Metropole Hotel blanket over the gate. Then I climbed over after it.
    The graveyard was calm and dark. The high stone walls blotted out the sounds of the police and the men they were arresting.
    I looked for a soft place to sleep.
    I stepped around the other sleepers and went farther along the pathway. I found a good spot behind a big tomb. I was hot now from moving around, so I took off my jacket and rolled it into a ball to make a soft place for my head. Then I wrapped myself up in the blanket and stretched out on the grass. And I spent the rest of the night sleeping among the dead Englishmen.

    The guard was in a bad mood when he came through the graveyard in the morning to wake us all up. It was almost funny. I knew he had a headache. I remembered my uncle’s face, and the guard was feeling the same pain. His morning was made worse because his boss was also in a bad mood. His boss yelled at him and he yelled at us.
    Lucky for me, I was deep in the cemetery. I heard him yelling before he caught me sleeping. I was able to get to my feet, run to the wall, snag my Metropole Hotel blanket on the barbed wire and use it to pull myself up to the top of the wall before the angry guard got to me.
    But I forgot my red jacket and left it behind on the grave. From the top of the wall it looked like a flower I had dropped in the green grass.
    I liked to start each day with a bit of fun. It put me in a good mood. I straddled the top of the wall and waited for him. I could see the rusty barbs from the wire sticking into my feet, but I didn’t feel anything.
    I sat on the wall, my good blanket safely out of the way, and I watched the guard go from sleeper to sleeper. These were all men who were trying to get one more moment of sleep before they had to face the day.
    Not like me. I always liked to face the day. That’s why I was up and high and out of the way. That’s why they were still on the ground,