The spell is broken only by incessant knocking on the door. 'Time is up, Sir. We need the room back,' I hear the manager's voice.

Glancing at the clock, it is a shock to discover that we have been in the room for over an hour. I get up quickly from the bed and unlock the door. The manager seems apologetic but it is the sight of a maid, armed with a fresh sheet, which brings me up short. I hear the sound of the lift opening and a middle-aged couple steps into the corridor, probably the next hourly tenants of the room. The man, dressed like an office clerk, sniggers at me; the woman, heavy set, but fashionably dressed in trousers and shirt, giggles like an adolescent schoolgirl as Ritu and I pass her, her face shining with unrestrained longing.

The encounter with this lusty-eyed couple shames me. But it makes Ritu clutch my hand with a fierce new possessiveness.

When we step back into the street dusk is falling, draping the surroundings in a misty grey light. The quiet murmur of the afternoon has given way to the din of evening traffic, the cacophony of car horns and the revving of bus engines on the main road.

'I am late,' Ritu frets. 'I must return immediately or Ram Singh will come looking for me.'

'When will I see you again?'

'I don't know. I am going back to Lucknow tonight.'

'But how will I live without seeing you?' I cry.

'Love doesn't end just because we don't see each other,' she replies.

'At least give me some idea of when you will return to Delhi.'

'In three weeks. Just in time for my birthday.'

'Your birthday? When is it?'

'On the tenth of March.'

'Then I must get you a present.'

'But you have already given me a present.'

'What are you saying?' I ask, mystified. 'I have not given you anything.'

She smiles. 'You have given me the best possible gift. You have given me respect. See you soon, Vijay.' She gently squeezes my hand in a goodbye gesture and gets into an auto-rickshaw.

As the auto-rickshaw departs, trailing a plume of smoke, a pang of sadness squeezes my heart with such force that I almost cry out. And a new realization dawns on me. I had come to Paharganj a boy, looking for a tawdry thrill. I was leaving it a man, madly in love.

Lying in bed that night I am tormented with dreams of Ritu. She began as an object of desire for me, a seemingly unattainable fantasy, and then somewhere along the way she became real. I am all too painfully aware of the wide gap between us. She is the daughter of an upper-caste, upper-class business tycoon and I am the uncouth son of a temple sweeper. The chasm between us is so wide that it can only be bridged in dreams. But I pinch myself and regain confidence with the knowledge that Ritu returns my love. And, as they say in Hindi film songs, pyaar respects no boundaries. Our love will bridge the chasm. With a little bit of help from a black VIP briefcase.

I decide to use the three weeks until Ritu comes back to Delhi to make myself worthy of her. I start going to a private tutor for English lessons. I meet a property agent to discuss renting a fourbedroom flat on Ramoji Road. I visit the box factory on MG Road to familiarize myself with its operation. And then I decide to buy a birthday gift for her. A diamond engagement ring. It seems like the best way to convince her family of my richie-rich credentials and seal our relationship.

I go to a swanky jewellery showroom on Janpath and sit in air-conditioned comfort as a sales girl in a pink top shows me one magnificent ring after another. The glittering diamonds are all shapes and sizes, some as small as a grain of salt and some as big as a thumbtack, but all of them carry indecently large price tags. The cheapest diamond ring in the store costs fifty thousand rupees. What disturbs me is that similar rings, shining just as brilliantly, are available in plenty of roadside shops in Janpath for as little as five hundred rupees. 'Those are not diamonds, Sir,' the sales girl titters. 'They are cubic zirconium pieces, totally fake. Under a microscope you can spot the difference immediately.' For a moment I am tempted to buy a fake diamond ring. It feels silly to be blowing all this money on a piece of rock. And Ritu is not going to examine it under a microscope. But the very next moment I chide myself for thinking like a slum-dweller and select a shiny, one-carat ring costing a whopping 120,000 rupees. I pay cash, have it nicely gift-wrapped, and then call Ritu on her mobile. 'I have a surprise present for you. Can we meet on 10 March?'

'That is the day I arrive in Delhi. My family will not allow me to go out on my birthday.'

'But it is absolutely critical that we meet. How about the Nehru Park at three o'clock?'

'It's going to be very difficult, but I'll do my best to come,' she promises.

On 10 March, I proceed to Nehru Park with the costliest gift of my life in my pocket, my palms clammy with sweat. Ritu arrives on time and alone. We sit down on a secluded bench underneath a shady tree.

I take out the gift-wrapped packet from my breast pocket and place it gently in her palm. 'Open it,' I say. She begins unwrapping the golden paper till the red velvet box is revealed. She slowly raises the lid. I expect her eyes to be dazzled by the glittering diamond and a look of shocked delight to appear on her face, but what I get instead is a pained and pensive expression. 'This looks like an engagement ring,' she says in a shocked voice.

'It is,' I reply. 'Ritu, will you marry me?'

'But I am already engaged,' she whispers.

'What?'

'Yes. My father has got me engaged to Kunwar Inder Singh, the crown prince of Pratapgarh princely State. I have managed to put off the wedding till after my graduation, but I could not prevent the engagement.'

'So you don't really want to marry this fellow?'

'I detest Inder. He troubled me so much in Lucknow that I came away to stay in Delhi with my brother. I love you, Vijay, but I cannot marry you. If I defy my father he will not only kill me, he will also kill you. That is why I cannot accept this ring.' She closes the lid and passes the velvet box back to me.

I purse my lips. 'I think it is time you told me about your family.'

'Yes. I think it is time, too.' She takes a deep breath. 'I am Jagannath Rai's daughter.'

I feel an electric current dart up my backside. 'Arrey baap re! The Home Minister of Uttar Pradesh? That dreaded mafia don?'

'The same,' she replies in a low voice.

'Then where are you staying? In some government guesthouse?'

'No. I am staying with my brother in Mehrauli. At Number Six.'

'You mean you are Vicky Rai's sister?'

'Do you know him?'

'Who doesn't know him? He is all over the news for getting away with the murder of Ruby Gill.'

'I can tolerate the verdict,' she says bitterly. 'What I cannot stand is the gloating that is going on in our house. It sickens me. I feel ashamed to belong to such a family.'

'It looks like you don't get along with your father and brother.'

'I never have. There are two camps in our house. My mother and I are on one side and my father and brother are on the other, and there is perpetual wrestling going on between the two camps. Of course, it is the men who always prevail over the women.' Her head hangs down and a tear trickles out of her eye.

I kiss away her tear. 'Now you can add one more person to your camp. I will be there for you, always.'

'So you still want to be friends with me, Vijay?'

It is my turn now to take a deep breath. In the face of her confession I feel the time has come for full disclosure on my side as well. 'I need to tell you the truth about me, Ritu. Then I will ask whether you want to be friends with me.'

'Do not speak in riddles.'

'I won't. Not any longer. So here's the truth. I am not Vijay Singh. My real name is Munna. I am not a Thakur. I don't own a four-bedroom flat. I live in a one-room shack inside the Bhole Nath Temple, where my mother works as a sweeper. Everything I told you before was a lie. But only because I am madly in love with you and didn't want to lose you.'