A Suitable Boy(258)

7.45


THE morning that Mrs Rupa Mehra was about to leave for Delhi, the Mehra family was sitting at the breakfast table. Arun as usual was doing the crossword. After a while he looked at a few other pages.

‘You could at least talk to me,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘I am leaving today, and you are hiding behind your newspaper.’

Arun looked up. ‘Listen to this, Ma,’ he said. ‘Just the thing for you.’ And he read out an advertisement from the paper in a sarcastic voice:

‘Diabetes cured in Seven Days. No matter how severe or long-standing, Diabetes can be completely cured by VENUS CHARM, the very latest Scientific Discovery. Some of the main symptoms of this disease are Abnormal thirst and hunger, Excess sugar in urine and Itching etc. In its serious form it causes Carbuncles, Boils, Cataract and other complications. Thousands have escaped from the gallows of death by using VENUS CHARM. The very next day it eradicates sugar and normalises specific gravity. Within 2 or 3 days you will feel more than half cured. No dietary restrictions. Price per phial of 50 tablets 6 rupees 12 annas. Postage free. Available from Venus Research Laboratory (N.H.) Post Box 587. Calcutta.’



Mrs Rupa Mehra had begun weeping silently. ‘I hope you never get diabetes,’ she said to her elder son. ‘Make as much fun of me as you like now, but –’

‘But when you are dead and gone – the pyre – the empty chair – yes, yes, we know the rest,’ continued Arun rather brutally.

His back had been acting up the previous night, and Meenakshi had not been satisfied with his performance.

‘Shut up, Arun Bhai!’ said Varun, his face white and twitching with anger. He went to his mother and put his arm around her shoulder.

‘Don’t speak to me like that,’ said Arun, getting up and advancing menacingly towards Varun. ‘Shut up’? Did you say ‘Shut up’ to me? Get out at once. Get out!’ He was working himself into a fit of rage. ‘Get out!’ he bellowed once more.

It was unclear whether he wanted Varun out of the room, the house or his life.

‘Arun Bhai, really –’ protested Lata indignantly.

Varun flinched, and retreated to the other side of the table.

‘Oh do sit down, both of you,’ said Meenakshi. ‘Let’s have breakfast in peace.’

Both of them sat down. Arun glared at Varun, Varun glared at his egg.

‘And he won’t even provide me with a car to get to the station,’ continued Mrs Rupa Mehra, reaching into her black bag for a handkerchief. ‘I have to depend on the charity of strangers.’

‘Really, Ma,’ said Lata, putting her arm around her mother and kissing her. ‘Amit is hardly a stranger.’

Mrs Rupa Mehra’s shoulders became tense.

‘You also,’ she said to Lata. ‘You have no care for my feelings.’

‘Ma!’ said Lata.

‘You will be gallivanting around merrily. Only my darling Aparna will be sorry to see me go.’

‘Ma, do be reasonable. Varun and I will be going with you to the homoeopath’s and then to the station. And Amit will be here in fifteen minutes with the car. Do you want him to see you in tears?’

‘I don’t care what he sees or does not see,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra with a snappish edge to her voice.

Amit arrived on time. Mrs Rupa Mehra had washed her face, but her nose was still red with emotion. When she said goodbye to Aparna, both of them began to cry. Luckily Arun had already left for work, so he could not make unhelpful comments from the sidelines.

*

Dr Nuruddin, the homoeopath, was a middle-aged man with a long face, a jovial manner, and rather a drawl-like voice. He greeted Mrs Rupa Mehra warmly, obtained her general particulars and her medical history, looked at her blood sugar charts, talked for a minute or two about Kakoli Chatterji, stood up, sat down again, and then embarked upon a disconcerting line of questioning.

‘You have reached menopause?

‘Yes. But why –’

‘Yes?’ asked Dr Nuruddin, as of a fractious child.

‘Nothing,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra meekly.

‘Do you find yourself easily irritable, upset?’

‘Doesn’t everyone?

Dr Nuruddin smiled. ‘Many people do. Do you, Mrs Mehra?’

‘Yes. This morning at breakfast –’

‘Tears?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you sometimes feel extreme sadness? Abject despair, uncompromising melancholy?

He pronounced these as one would medical symptoms like itching or intestinal pain. Mrs Rupa Mehra looked at him in perplexity.

‘Extreme? How extreme? she faltered.

‘Any answer you can give me will be helpful.’

Mrs Rupa Mehra thought before replying: ‘Sometimes I feel very despairing. Whenever I think of my late husband.’