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I woke up due to a baby’s shrill screaming. Weird, I thought, where is this coming from? I got out of her bed and made my way to the bathroom. When I emerged after brushing her teeth, I could still hear it. The crying got louder as I reached the kitchen. Monday was omelette day. Since I woke up early (all thanks to bad parenting) I can eat at leisure while watching TV in the dining room, and get leave for work in an hour. If only this screaming baby would shut up! Muttering how parents didn’t look after their kids well, I went to the dining room with my breakfast and gaped in surprise.

On my sofa was a tiny baby screeching, wailing her arms and crying her eyes out. I looked around to ascertain it was my home—yes, my TV was there; the walls had the paintings I had bought from CP for 300 bucks; and that sofa where the baby lay, I had bought that after moving in too. But that baby wasn’t mine!

Finally, the events from last night flashed in my mind. A young girl with a baby on her doorstep, my neighbour, Tara. She was carrying a duffle bag with her baby’s belongings—milk, water, diapers, clothes. I finally gave in and let them in. Even after interrogating her for an hour while I cooked dinner, “But what will you do now? You have no money, no job, no house.” I asked after we had dinner and were sitting in the dining room. Her guest’s little girl had been quiet most of the time and was sleeping on the sofa surrounded by a tower of pillows. The girl was sitting on that same sofa. She lovingly touched her baby’s forehead and said, “I am not fit to be a mother.”

That was all that she said on the matter. However, I was still curious. Why her? I could have been a rapist or a murderer.

“I saw you from the park outside. I was sitting there since morning, thinking what to do. You went to work in the morning, I watched you smiling at a boy that was probably your neighbour’s kid. It was a stroke of luck that I saw you. And God knows I’m due some now.”

She spoke in English. She was definitely from a well-to-do family but she had bruises over her arms and neck. Abusive husband? She could have 25 or she could have been 18—I couldn’t tell. Her worried face gave her an air of maturity but she was still so small and innocent. A child taking care of a baby.

By the time I bid them adieu, it was 2 am. It was a long day and from the looks of it, this morning wasn’t going to be any different.

Setting my plate on a table, in a quick, swift movement she went to the baby and picked her up. The tiny being was bloody red from all that crying. Her big black eyes opened in surprise as she saw me, not her mother. We both stared at each other in awe, not making any sound to break the hypnotic moment.

Last night, I hadn’t spared the little girl much of a glance; her mother had taken all of my attention. But now I finally noticed the baby draped in a pink romper. She was adorable with her big black eyes, black curly hair, and fair complexion. She wasn’t sickly, rather quite healthy for a nine-month old baby. No matter how much her mother said she was unfit to take care of her, the baby had no signs of ill-treatment. I held her as she had seen Shalya holding her son, with a palm under her neck and the other hand on her bum. Something was smelly and she was really afraid to find out what was inside that diaper.

Her bag was on the floor, along with everything else. Naina put her down on the makeshift bed, surrounding her with pillows like her mother had last night, and ran to her to get her phone, for the baby had started wailing again.

“Shayla, I need help.” She came back to the room and picked the baby up, who unfortunately didn’t stop crying this time. The phone lay on speaker on the sofa.

“Stop crying like a baby and tell me what’s wrong!” Shayla yelled to be heard over all the baby noise.

“I have a baby here who won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do,” she was on the verge of tears herself now.

“Okay, did you check the diaper? Has the mother fed her? How old is he?” Came her calm voice and I instantly felt grateful that Shayla could always prioritise. No questions about the baby, but getting straight to the point.

“It’s a she and she’s nine-month-old. Her mother’s gone.” She was swinging the baby from left to right and in between, I uttered shush, it’s okay, calm down.

“I’m sending you a YouTube link. Give her some water first, and then change her diaper watching the video.”

“Okay. She has her bottle here.” I could see it in the bag, along with the diaper and her milk bottles and formula. I bent down holding the baby and let her on the sofa. My arms were already sore, I couldn’t hold her anymore.

Adjusting the water bottle in her small mouth, worried that it might not be clean, I listened to Shayla as she explained how to make the formula. The baby pushed the bottle out of her mouth and started screaming again. By then, I was ready with the milk bottle and shoved that inside her pouty mouth next. Shayla would be there in 25 minutes, and then I will think about it. For now, I had to change her diaper.

By the time Shayla arrived, I had put the baby to sleep. In her mid-thirties, Shayla worked for the same PR company she did and they both became close friends, even though Shayla was her senior. I had interned under her and learned the tricks of the trade. Soon, she became a part of my life. Whenever I was in crisis, I called her. Like today. Shayla was always smartly dressed, no matter what the time of the day it was. Even when she was pregnant, she looked like a woman of business. Today she was wearing black trousers and a pink top, complemented perfectly by her favourite black heels. Although she was taller than most girls at five foot six inches, she loved to wear 5-inch heels. People were always in awe of Shayla, what with her heart-shaped face and sexy lips, but I always saw a kind-hearted, understanding woman—an opinion that her husband shared too.

“Start from the beginning. Where did the baby come from?” She entered the lobby and said as she dropped her car keys and purse on the table there. Her house was too small, too sparsely furnished, too poor but Naina was proud of her two-room apartment. She had bought every piece of furniture from her money, everything in this house was hers—from the 29-inch Sony TV in the dining room, to the two-seater sofa; to the cheap paintings on the wall; and her four-poster bed, the only piece she spent lavishly at. Fluffy pillows, cotton bedsheets, cosy blankets—all for her.  

“Her name was Tara. She rang my bell last night after I came home, around 9 pm, and asked me if she could stay here. Naturally, my first answer was no, but she literally begged me. She was wearing nice, expensive clothes, and talking in English. I let her stay the night against my better judgment, since she was one of my neighbours, and when I woke up this morning, I found this baby alone.” I explained while we took sat on the carpeted floor. I was angled towards the sofa to keep a hand on the sleeping girl, while Shayla had her back towards my TV. We had spent many hours on the floor like this, just the two us. Now we had another tiny presence.

“You let a stranger inside the house and she walked out on her baby,” Shayla made a statement, rather than asking.

“Yes. I didn’t know what else to do. She was not a woman, and not a child. She looked so young.”

“That young girl just abandoned her baby, do you realise that?”

“How could I not? Just look at me, I haven’t bathed, my omelette has gone cold, I’m sitting on the freaking floor on a Monday in my PJs. Fuck, I had to call work and tell them I’m ill or something!”

“Ha! I don’t have to.” After her second baby was born, Shayla had to quit her full-time job and worked from home. One was a handful; two were hell.

“I’ll just text them.” I did as said while Shayla got up and went to the kitchen—most definitely to heat up my discarded breakfast.

“You have to find her, Naina,” Shayla yelled from the kitchen as I texted. “You have to find her mother. Did she leave anything behind other than a tiny human being?”

“Just the bag of this tiny human being. It has a note, Shayla.” I answered.

“What note?”

“Just one line, ‘Please take care of Sam. Please.’”

“You have two options, Naina. Either you call the cops and hand her over. This will begin an endless cycle that will land her up in a poor orphanage already overflowing with kids. Or you can keep her,” she announced as she came back with my plate. I had taken care of the baby for two hours and I was exhausted. How do parents do it every single day of their lives? I can’t do it. She is not my responsibility. She is not mine. She is not.

But I can’t give her away to just about anyone. It’s not her fault that her mother is a selfish creature. She shouldn’t have to suffer. She hadn’t realised that she spoke this out loud.

“Do you really think you can keep her, at least until her mother returns?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look, you don’t know anything about kids. It’s a very tough job, especially when she’s this small and you haven’t been prepared. You will have to feed her, bathe her, clothe her. It will be very expensive. Do you have any idea how much a diaper costs? And all this while keeping your job. There is no way you are ready for all this, financially or emotionally.”

“I can’t give her up, Shy.” I looked at Shayla, keeping my plate on the floor, and continued, “I just can’t abandon her like her mother. Tell me where to start from.”