The Bridge Home

“It was beginning to get dark, but I could make out a boy marching up the bridge. He reminded me of a sunflower. Matted hair that looked like it had never met a comb stuck out like petals around a face that seemed much too large for his skinny body. He wore an oversize yellow T-shirt and a raggedy pair of shorts and held a bag and a wooden stick.”

After a tumultuous first day in the teeming city, Viji leads Rukku to a dilapidated bridge where some homeless individuals have set up a shelter. This passage records their first vision of Muthu, a younger boy whose demand that they leave is toothless. This introduction highlights the mentality Viji and Rukku will witness from their peers without homes as they learn to fend for themselves. Most are overly defensive, to ward off further traumatic interactions.

“I'd seen you laugh before, but never quite like this. This was the first time you'd broken into a laugh halfway through a tantrum. And the first time you laughed without hiding your mouth behind your hands, as if you were scared to be happy. Now you threw back your head the way Muthu was doing. And as the three of you howled away, like a pack of jackals, hungry and homeless though we were, I felt I'd done the right thing by leaving.”

Viji is describing her sister, Rukku, who has just been down to the river to bathe and swim with the boys she met the previous day. As they gather back on the bridge and Viji tells her there is no food for breakfast, she begins a temper tantrum. Muthu joins in with her loud protest and Kutti, the stray puppy who has adopted them, joins in as well. To Viji’s surprise, the tantrum is transformed into joyous laughter. This is the first of many positive changes Viji sees in Rukku as she begins to see her sister with an intellectual disability in new ways.

“When, at last, I placed a section in my mouth, I could hear it burst as my teeth met the flesh, squeezing the juice out onto my tongue, tart at first and then sweet. Everything else melted away except for the taste, the smell, the feel of the fruit on my tongue. I ate the fruit slowly. The way you liked to do things. Until then, I'd thought it was a sad thing that you were sometimes slower than the rest of us. But that day, I realized that slow can be better than fast. Like magic, you could stretch time out when we needed it, so that a moment felt endless. So the taste of half an orange could last and last.”

As they are leaving the house of a wealthy family having asked for work, the gardener throws an orange at Rukku and Viji. The two find a sheltered place to sit and share the orange, which becomes an odd feast of the senses for Viji. She recognizes a beauty in the slow appreciation of ordinary things she never realized. This realization highlights the disparities the siblings experience as they learn about the world around them after they leave their home.

“After dinner, Arul helped us build our shelter. We tied one edge of the new tarp to the rods poking out of the wall of the bridge, right alongside their tarp. You and Muthu helped us stretch the other end of our tarp from the wall to the ground and weight down the bottom edge with stones to make a sloped roof. We hung our towel between the two sloped tarp roofs, like a wall. I spread out our sheet and bunched up the raincoat for you to have as a pillow. ‘Sleep well in your new home,’ Arul said.”

This passage illustrates the creation of the sisters’ found family in Arul and Muthu, who serve as brothers to them. The creation of the tent provides them with a sense of security and belonging that wasn’t present before. Like the tent’s edges, new ties are made between the sisters and brothers as they live alongside each other and the brothers take the girls under their wings and help them to survive as best they can.

“‘Okay, okay.’ I raised my voice a little and saw Muthu's shadow as he crept next to the towel dividing our tents.

When I was done, you demanded, ‘Again!’

I was about to protest when Muthu's voice floated through the thin barrier between us. ‘Yes, Akka, please? One more time?’ His words made my throat squeeze up, and it was a few moments before I could speak again.

He'd called me akka, older sister. He'd made me family.”

The relationships grow even deeper as Muthu verbalizes his intent to become a family with Viji and Rukku. As Viji tells Rukku bedtime stories of two princesses, Muthu joins the intimate routine and calls Viji “big sister” as he requests to hear more. Muthu’s quiet desire reminds the reader that while the boys are hardscrabble and have learned how to survive, they are still children at heart who yearn to hear a bedtime story themselves. In addition, Muthu’s request for more underscores the loss of childhood routines as they fend for themselves.

“‘You really never pray?’ Arul looked horrified. ‘Even the wrong Gods are better than no God.’

‘My mother must've prayed a million times for our father to be better to us, but he only got worse. He always hit her, and then one night he beat us, so we ran away.’ I cast a glance at you, wondering if it would upset you to hear me talking about Appas but you and Muthu were busy combing Kutti's scanty fur with one of the pieces of comb. ‘What about you?’

‘My family died,’ Arul said.

‘I'm so sorry,’ I told him.

‘Don't worry, Christians go to heaven when they die.’

‘What do Christians do when they’re alive?’”

The children engage in many surprisingly grownup discussions about several topics. Religion is a subject of real debate, as here Arul and Viji talk about Arul’s Christian faith and specifically about his daily prayers. Once again, Viji expresses skepticism about a religion that is only useful after one is dead. She sees no value in any God who cannot positively impact their current situation. This reflects her lack in a higher power after experiencing the abuse from her father and her mother’s powerlessness.

“The rubbish heap seemed to come alive as I walked through it, sucking at my slippers like a hungry beast. My feet sank into the slimy mess, and I lost sight of my toes. Flies swarmed around my ankles.

‘Shuffle along, slowly, like you’re wading through a river,’ Arul advised.

He made it sound easy, but it wasn’t. I squelched along as best I could, making slow progress. I speared a damp rag and shook it into my sack. But when I spotted a bottle, half filled with sour milk, I had to reach for it with my bare hands.

I wanted to run away screaming.”

Venkatraman vividly describes the sight, smell, and feel of the garbage heap that is so massive the children call it the Himalayas. The garbage conveys the filth and stench the envelopes the children, tainting them with the smell. The Himalayas serve as a symbol for the unknown dangers the sisters face as they attempt to forge a path of their own.

“I was just as surprised as he sounded, but my surprise was mixed with happiness and relief. Ever since we’d left, you’d been behaving so differently from before. You hadn’t once lost your temper. You’d made friends. You even looked different, because you’d been holding your back straight all the time.

‘Why did you let it go, Rukku?’ Muthu said grumpily.

‘Balloon wants to fly.’ You waved as it drifted above the river.”

Rukku demonstrates an understanding of human emotion by letting the balloon go that even Viji struggles with. Rukku’s release of the balloon highlights her ability to move on from the past more quickly than her sister, while she maintains her childlike wonder and joy. Not only does this demonstrate Rukku’s ability for accepting her circumstances, but it is also a foreshadowing of the loss of Rukku herself, who will disappear like the balloon even as others try to keep from losing her.

“‘I don’t just worry about tomorrow’ I said. ‘I also imagine good things. But all sorts of bad stuff could happen, so we should plan in case—’

‘That’s right,’ Muthu interrupted. ‘All sorts of bad things can happen and that’s why we should spend the money, Akka.’

‘You should imagine good things, too.’ I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let the boys destroy my hope we’d find a better life, somehow. ‘I don’t know how you live without dreams.’

‘The only way I can get through each day,’ Arul said quietly, ‘is by not thinking of all those tomorrows. All those minutes and days and months and years of sorting through mountains of rubbish.’”

The sale of Rukku’s necklaces brought in a surprising amount of money. After buying their necessities, money was left over, causing the children to enter this debate about whether it was worth it to plan for the future. The conversation illuminates the different ways the children face their daily lives. Viji copes with what they are experiencing by imagining that better days are ahead. Arul can only endure by refusing to think about all the future days of digging through garbage.

“‘Don't know why I ran,’ Arul whispered. ‘Wouldn't have if I'd known they'd all be taken. But, soon enough, I'll meet them again in heaven.’

He spoke with complete conviction. And I realized that by holding on to his beliefs, he was holding on to his family. He was so sure he'd be reunited with them when he died that he didn't care how long he lived. But I cared. I cared about him as strongly as if we'd known each other all our lives. I couldn't imagine our future without him and Muthu in it.”

Sitting alone on the bridge at night, Arul describes his village, his happy childhood, and his Catholic upbringing. He describes the tsunami that drowned his family. This passage reveals Arul’s motivations and how he survives his current situation. It shows Viji a different stance than that of her own. Though she does not believe in Arul’s God, Viji realizes why his Christian faith in an afterlife is so important to him. It is his only possibility of every seeing his family again.

“‘Here comes our feast,’ Muthu said as a man came and stuffed some bags into the dumpster outside the back gate of the wedding hall.

When he was gone, Muthu skipped over to the dumpster and shooed away a couple of bedraggled crows that were hovering above it. He lifted out an untouched, unpeeled banana and waved it triumphantly in the air. Then another. And another.

He handed them all to you. Arul joined him, and the boys discovered even more: golden laddu balls, some half eaten, some barely touched. I couldn't imagine throwing away a sweet—just wasting the whole thing. Actually I couldn't even imagine wasting one bite of such a mouthwatering delicacy.

Ignoring the dirt caking my fingernails, trying to forget that these were a stranger's leftovers, I stuck a sweet in my mouth.”

The boys take the girls to a place where they can watch a large wedding feast taking place. As the feast is concluding, uneaten leftovers are thrown into a dumpster, where the children recover them and feast. Venkatraman draws attention to the extravagance and waste of the wedding feast considering the hunger that children without homes face in the city. The disparities between the wealthy class, throwing away uneaten food, and the unhoused children, digging the food out of dumpsters, illustrates the gaps between the classes.

“‘We can make a nice new home.’ Muthu patted the tarps. ’Maybe right here? That old tent was flimsy, and now we've got a chance to make a better one.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘What if the men come back?’

‘Yes. The graveyard is safer,’ Arul said. ‘No one will look for us there.’

‘But it'll never be home!’ Muthu said.

‘This wasn't either,’ Arul said.

‘Of course it was!’ Muthu said. ‘So what if it didn't have a fine roof or walls? It's the best place I ever lived in. Except for Rukku and Akka's palace.’

‘That palace is imaginary!’ Arul said. ‘You've never lived there, none of us has.’

‘Our palace is a home, inside my head,’ Muthu insisted.

‘And those men can't wreck it. Ever.’”

This discussion takes place among the children as they wrestle with where to rebuild their shelters once the kidnappers destroyed their old ones on the bridge home. Muthu’s strong grasp on his idealism is met with Arul’s realism as the two clash over their next steps. Arul takes on the voice of responsibility and pragmatism, while Muthu takes a more childlike, optimistic approach. By upholding the dream palace as his real home, Muthu refuses to bend to hopelessness, while Arul’s realism requires a straightforward approach to the events that have left them without a home. The passage further illustrates the way the children individually cope with the events that take place.

“‘Enough?’ I suggested, but you ignored me.

‘She's hearing the voice of God,’ Arul whispered.

‘Too bad she can't hear my voice, telling her to stop spending all our money on candles,’ I whispered to Muthu.

‘Soon we won't have any money left.’

But you were so in awe that I decided not to argue.

You seemed to melt right into that moment, kneeling before the candles, your eyes fixed on the moving flames. And they were so beautiful, those little flames, dancing in that still, silent church, dancing like they could hear music. Like they were alive. Alive the way you were alive, alive right there, right then, not worried about what might happen in a fever hours or days, not remembering what had happened before.”

This is the first time for Rukku to light a candle, which enthralls her as she lights candle after candle. The other children watch this mystical experience. Arul believes Rukku is hearing the voice of the divine. For Viji, her refusal to accept religion comes in contrast to the spiritual moment she feels alongside Rukku in this passage. The moment serves to strengthen the bond she feels to Rukku. Her love for her sister and the description of Rukku further foreshadows Rukku’s death.

"‘May I offer you some old clothes? And sweets?’

‘Yes, ma'am!’ Muthu exclaimed, before I had a chance to reply.

‘We don't need charity.’ I glared at him.

‘Please accept it as payment for your work,’ the mother said. ‘Without your help recycling waste, our environment would be much filthier.’

Stunned into silence, I stared at her. I'd never thought of our job as helpful, let alone worthy of payment from rich people. For the first time ever, I felt proud of the work we did.”

This is the first time it occurs to Viji that her menial work is not only helpful, but necessary. This moment is a turning point for Viji, who learns to view her role without shame or guilt, like she had before. This realization increases her agency within the novel and her confidence in leading Rukku. The woman’s simultaneous compliment and condescension highlights the dichotomy between the socioeconomic classes that she and the children represent.

“‘Maybe we're God's worms,’ Muthu said suddenly.

‘What?’ Arul glared at him.

‘I'm not being disrespectful, boss.’ Muthu stared at the thickening rain. ‘God must be so high up, we must look like worms to him. So when we're starving, he probably just feels like we feel when we see a worm die—a little sad, but not much. I guess God feels a little bit sad for us, but not enough to send us all food.’

‘I'd settle for God sending us a little less rain,’ I said.”

Throughout the narrative the children maintain a dialogue about the presence, intent, and benevolence of God. As the monsoon season begins, the heavy rain drowns some worm for whom Rukku expresses sympathy. For Muthu, this is a moment of revelation. It dawns on him that God’s interest in individual human beings can be equated with a human’s interest in individual worms: distant though not completely absent. Viji has no time for the discussion since she does not believe in divine intervention.

“The boys set off, and I began telling you your favorite story. Kutti lay close to us, the scent of his wet fur comforting me as much as his warmth.

When I got to the end, about us always being together, you stared off into the distance as though you could see a palace floating in the air. The look in your eyes scared me. I didn't want you traveling all alone to our palace.”

Viji attempts to comfort her sister who is suffering from Dengue Fever and growing worse by the day. In this passage she once again tells Rukku the familiar story of the two princesses who live in paradise and is frightened when it seems to her that her sister can see the haven she has long described. Ironically, Viji always perceived this as fantasy. For Rukku, however, the dream is getting close to being reality.

“Listening to the rain plinking against the gravestones, I stared at our tarp roof that was swaying in the strengthening wind. Muthu's tale had horrified me, but I wasn't sure he was right about Celina Aunty.

My back hadn't felt like a snake was crawling up it when I'd met Celina Aunty, like I'd felt with the creepy waste mart man and the nasty bus driver. If anything, she seemed unusually kind.”

Viji here wrestles with whether to seek adult help for the worsening Rukku and voices the possibility of going to Celina Aunty’s school. Muthu responds by sharing his own painful experience of being sold to a sweatshop and then a cruel orphanage from which he ran away. He counsels that no adult helping organization should be trusted. Viji trusts Muthu and has learned that some adults are untrustworthy and dangerous. Her intuition, however, is that Aunty Celina is different. This shows how Viji has begun to trust herself more and how she has started to listen to her own inner voice.

“‘I am so sorry." I looked down at the gray sludge into which my feet had sunk. ‘I am really, really sorry.’

‘Don't be." Kumar churned the filthy water with his stick.

‘Kids die every day. You start feeling sorry, you'll drown.’

From what I'd seen of him, Sridar was selfish and mean. Still, he didn't deserve to die so young. It shocked me that someone like us could be here one day—and dead the next.

Arul put an arm around Kumar's shoulder. For a long moment, they stood together, still as gravestones, any rivalry forgotten.”

Viji notices Sridar is missing, and Kumar tells her he died. Despite Kumar’s vow not to mourn, it is clear he feels loss and his compatriot Arul empathizes. Sridar’s death forces Viji to acknowledge the harrowing situation in which she and Rukku live, and how swiftly things could change. It further points to Rukku’s own decline and death to come.

“I was sure I'd done the right thing until you murmured, ‘Kutti left.’

The quiet acceptance in your tone jolted me, and I wondered if my lie about Kutti not loving us enough to stay had hurt you worse than if I'd pretended he'd died.

It sounded like you'd given up altogether. On him, on me, on everything.”

To buy food and medicine for the desperately ill Rukku, Viji decides to accept the wealthy mother’s offer to buy Rukku’s dog Kutti for an exorbitant amount of money. Viji pretends that Kutti simply wandered away, and her actions meant for helping, cause more harm to Rukku, who is already ill. The resignation in Rukku’s voice causes Viji to perceive this is a final loss and Rukku no longer feels any desire to live.

“When I think of it now, it seems so clear, so simple that I should have gone straight to Celina Aunty once your fever spiked. But I was so terribly confused, Rukku.

Only a few adults had ever really helped us. And this was more than just seeking help. This was trusting her—a stranger—completely.”

In this passage, Viji is explaining her thought processes to Rukku, explaining why it was so difficult for her to trust Celina Aunty when they and the children around them had been threatened and harmed by untrustworthy adults, including their own parents. Reaching out to Aunty is a huge step for Viji, whose personality is built on self-reliance, skepticism, and pride. Once she took that step, she realized it was the obvious one all along.

“In that room where you were lying, a cross hung on the wall above the sofa, like the one we'd seen in church. Looking at Yesu on the cross, I said the prayer Arul had taught me. I said every prayer Amma had sung that I could remember. I prayed silently, words echoing in my head louder than anything I'd ever spoken.

Wherever you are, I begged, whoever you are, please, let Rukku get better.”

This is the first and only time Viji spontaneously prays in the story. In retrospect, to Viji, her prayer is not answered in that Rukku dies of Dengue Fever. This sets the stage, however, for her later discussions with Celina Aunty and Arul about faith, God, and the inner determination to find goodness within oneself.

“‘Religion can be a solace, Viji. If you have faith in a higher power, if you trust that each life has a purpose whether we see it or not, if you could only believe your sister has a soul that's still alive—'

‘You want to convert me? You can't,’ I told her. ‘Ask Arul. He's been trying ever since we met."

‘I'm not trying and never will try to convert you, Viji. It's just that when we suffer a loss like you have, we lose a sense of purpose. […] Maybe your way is to search inside yourself and rediscover purpose.’

My life felt pointless now that you were gone. She got that right, but I didn't say so.

‘You also need to respect Priya Aunty's position,’ she said quietly. ‘We can't have children here being disrespectful to any religion."

‘I'm not mean about any one religion,’ I said. ‘They're all equally silly.’”

Celina Aunty and Viji have a complex and completely candid conversation about faith. Viji was taken out of class by her teacher, Priya Aunty, for yawning during prayers and provoking the other children to yawn as well. Celina Aunty perceives the grief and anger behind Viji’s rejection of religion. Aunty uses the term “higher power” to refer to God, a 12 Step concept that allows the adherent to rely upon the God of one’s choosing. This passage shows the growth Viji still needs and her grieving response to her sister’s death and absence.

“At last, I understood how Amma felt—why she gave in every time he said he was sorry. Understood her eagerness to piece together her shattered image of him. Her need to keep hoping things would get better somehow. She must have felt just as sorry for him as I felt when I saw him kneeling on the ground.

Because at that moment, he truly meant it. He really wanted to be a better man.

I almost did what Amma would have done. I almost gave up the freedom and the future I could have.

That's when I heard your voice, Rukku.

No, you said. Stay, Viji.

Your voice was like the beam of a lighthouse, cutting right through my fog of pity.”

Viji confronts Appa in strength, tells him she is staying at the school, and tells him that Rukku died. Appa melts into a pitiful sight, begging her to come home. Her empathetic sorrow for Appa almost sways her to leave when perceives the ever-present spirit of Rukku compelling her to stay at the school. Though she resists religion, she finds her own spirituality towards the end of the novel as she remembers her sister.