"I'm taking you home," I decided.
"We couldn't possibly impose on you," the older replied.
"But bhaiya..." the younger began, only to be silenced by a glare from the older.
I drove into a service lane, stopped the car and switched on the hazard lights.
The older boy – young man, really – shot me an enquiring look.
I held out my hand. "Jagadhaatreyi Malik Mehta. Most people call me Jags."
The older shook my hand. His grip was firm and steady. "Veerbhadra Rana Thakur. You may call me Veer."
I shook hands with the younger as well. "Dharmaditya Rana Thakur." He grinned shyly. "Adi."
The names rang a bell, but I couldn't remember details. "Veer, Adi, very pleased to meet you. I am sure you would be more comfortable in my guest room than in a park."
"Please, bhaiya," Adi pleaded. "We have been sleeping rough for a week and they took our bags."
Veer bit his lip and nodded.
