‘Oh, no, no, Dipankar… you don’t understand – the fundamental construct of Indian civilization is the Square – the four stages of life, the four purposes of life – love, wealth, duty, and final liberation – even the four arms of our ancient symbol, the swastika, so sadly abused of late… yes, it is the square and the square alone that is the fundamental construct of our spirituality… you will only understand this when you are an old lady like me…’
‘She keeps two cooks, that is the reason, no other. Truly – but you must try the luchis. No, no, you must have everything in the right order… that is the secret of Bengali food…’
‘Such a good speaker at the Ramakrishna Mission the other day; quite a young man but so spiritual… Creativity in an Age of Crisis… you really must go next week: he will be talking about the Quest for Peace and Harmony…’
‘Everyone said that if I went down to the Sundarbans I’d see scores of tigers. I didn’t even see a mosquito. Water, water everywhere – and nothing else at all. People are such dreadful liars.’
‘They should be expelled – stiff exam or no stiff exam, is that a reason for snatching papers in the examination hall? These are commerce students of Calcutta University, mind you. What will happen to the economic order without discipline? If Sir Asutosh were alive today what would he say? Is this what Independence means?’
‘Montoo is looking so sweet. But Poltoo and Loltoo are looking a little under par. Ever since their father’s illness, of course. They say it is – that it is, you know… well, liver… from too much drink.’
‘Oh, no, no, no, Dipankar – the elemental paradigm – I would never have said construct – of our ancient civilization is of course the Trinity… I don’t mean the Christian trinity, of course; all that seems so crude somehow – but the Trinity as Process and Aspect – Creation and Preservation and Destruction – yes, the Trinity, that is the elemental paradigm of our civilization, and no other…’
‘Ridiculous nonsense, of course. So I called the union leaders in and I read them the riot act. Naturally it took a little straight talk for them to come into line again. Well, I won’t say there wasn’t a payment to one or two of the most recalcitrant of them, but all that is handled by Personnel.’
‘That’s not Je reviens – that’s Quelque-fleurs – all the difference in the world. Not that my husband would know the difference. He can’t even recognize Chanel!’
‘Then I said to Robi Babu: “You are like a God to us, please give me a name for my child,” and he consented. That is the reason why she is called Hemangini… Actually, the name was not to my liking, but what could I do?’
‘If the mullahs want war, they can have one. Our trade with East Pakistan has virtually come to a halt. Well, one happy side-effect is that the price of mangoes has come down! The Maldah growers had a huge crop this year, and they don’t know what to do with them… Of course it’s a transport problem too, just like the Bengal Famine.’
‘Oh, no, no, no, Dipankar, you haven’t got it at all … the primeval texture of Indian philosophy is that of Duality… yes, Duality… The warp and weft of our ancient garment, the sari itself – a single length of cloth which yet swathes our Indian womanhood – the warp and weft of the universe itself, the tension between Being and Non-being – yes, indubitably it is Duality alone that reigns over us here in our ancient land.’
‘I felt like crying when I read the poem. They must be so proud of him. So proud.’
‘Hello, Arun, where’s Meenakshi?’
Lata turned around and saw Arun’s rather displeased expression. It was his friend Billy Irani. This was the third time someone had spoken to him with the sole intention of finding out where his wife was. He looked around the room for her orange sari, and spied her near the Kakoli crowd.
‘There she is, Billy, near Kuku’s nest. If you want to meet her, I’ll walk over with you and detach her,’ he said.
Lata wondered for a second what her friend Malati would have made of all this. She attached herself to Arun as if to a life-raft, and floated across to where Kakoli was standing. Somehow or other Mrs Rupa Mehra, as well as an old Marwari gentleman clad in a dhoti, had infiltrated the crowd of bright young things.
The old gentleman, unconscious of the gilded youth surrounding him, was saying, rather fussily, to Hans: ‘Ever since the year 1933 I have been drinking the juice of bitter gourds. You know bitter gourd? It is our famous Indian vegetable, called karela. It looks like this’ – he gesticulated elongatedly – ‘and it is green, and ribbed.’