A Suitable Boy(311)

‘Did you hear me?’ Mrs Rupa Mehra’s high voice held an edge of anger.

‘Yes.’

‘Yes what?’

‘Yes, Ma, I heard you. I heard you. I heard you.’

Lata got up and went to her room. Mrs Rupa Mehra could hardly believe her eyes.

Pushkar began singing to himself and stuffing the small squares of toast that his sister had cut and buttered for him into his mouth. Mrs Sahgal looked distressed.

‘I wish Sahgal Sahib was here. He knows how to deal with the children.’

Mrs Rupa Mehra said: ‘Lata is a thoughtless girl sometimes. I am going to have a word with her.’ Then she thought that perhaps she was being too harsh. ‘Of course, Kanpur was a strain on her. It was on me, too, of course. She does not appreciate the efforts I have made for her. Only He appreciated me.’

‘Finish your tea, first, Rupa mine,’ said Mrs Sahgal.

A few minutes later, when Mrs Rupa Mehra entered Lata’s room, she found her asleep. So soundly was she sleeping that she had to be woken for lunch a few hours later.

At lunch, Mr Sahgal smiled at Lata and said, ‘See what I have got for you.’ It was a small, flat, square packet wrapped in red paper. The wrapping paper was decorated with holly, bells and other Christmas paraphernalia.

‘How lovely!’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra, without knowing what it was.

Lata’s ears burned with embarrassment and anger.

‘I don’t want it.’

Mrs Rupa Mehra was too shocked to speak.

‘And then we can go to the cinema. There will be time before your train leaves.’

Lata stared at him. Mrs Rupa Mehra, who had been brought up never to open gifts when they were given but to wait till she was alone, quite forgot herself.

‘Open it,’ she ordered Lata.

‘I don’t want it,’ said Lata. ‘You open it.’ She pushed the packet across. Something jangled inside.

‘Savita would never behave like this,’ began her mother. ‘And Mausaji has taken the afternoon off just for you – just so that Maya and I can have the time to talk. You don’t know how much of an interest he takes in you. He is always saying you are so intelligent, but I am beginning to doubt it. Say thank you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Lata, feeling dirtied and humiliated.

‘And you must tell me all about the film when you come back.’

‘I will not go to the film.’

‘What?’

‘I will not go to the film.’

‘Mausaji will be with you, Lata – what are you worried about?’ said her mother uncomprehendingly.

Kiran looked at Lata with a bitter glance of jealousy. Mr Sahgal said, ‘She is like my own daughter. I will see that she doesn’t eat too many ice-creams and other unhealthy things.’

‘I will not go!’ Lata’s voice rose in defiance and panic.

Mrs Rupa Mehra was struggling with the packet. At this cry of rank rebellion, her fingers lost control of themselves. Normally she unpacked every gift with infinite care in order to be able to re-use the paper later. But now the paper ripped open.

‘See what you’ve made me do,’ she said to Lata. But then, looking at the contents, she turned to Mr Sahgal, perplexed.

The present was a puzzle, a pink plastic maze with a transparent top. Seven little silver balls were to be jiggled around the square maze so that, with luck, they would eventually come to rest in the central cell.

‘She is such a clever girl, I thought I would give her a puzzle. Normally she would be able to do it in five minutes. But on the train everything shakes so much that it will take her an hour,’ Mr Sahgal explained in a gentle voice. ‘Time passes so slowly sometimes.’

‘How thoughtful,’ murmured Mrs Rupa Mehra, frowning a little.

Lata lied that she had a headache, and returned to her room. But she did, indeed, feel ill – sick to the pit of her stomach.





9.18


MR SAHGAL’s car took them to the station late in the afternoon. He was working, and did not come. Kiran stayed behind with Pushkar. Mrs Sahgal came with them and chartered sweetly and vacuously throughout.

Lata did not say a word.

They were immersed in the crowds on the platform. Suddenly Haresh appeared.

‘Hello, Mrs Mehra. Hello, Lata.’

‘Haresh? I said you were not to come,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘And I told you to call me Ma,’ she added mechanically.

Haresh smiled, pleased to have surprised them.

‘My own train back to Cawnpore leaves in fifteen minutes so I thought I would give you a hand. Now where is your coolie?’

He installed them in their compartment cheerfully and efficiently, and made sure that Mrs Rupa Mehra’s black handbag was placed where it was both within reach and theft-proof.