A Suitable Boy(463)

‘Why doesn’t she have a name-tag?’ she asked. ‘Dr Evans always insisted on name-tags, in case babies got lost or exchanged by mistake.’ Meenakshi’s little earrings glinted as she shook her head at the frightful thought.

Mrs Rupa Mehra got irritated. ‘I am here to ensure that nothing happens. Mothers should stay with their children. Who can steal the baby when her cot is in this room?’

‘Of course, things are much better arranged in Calcutta,’ continued Meenakshi. ‘In the Irwin Nursing Home, where Aparna was delivered, there’s a separate nursery where the babies are kept, and you can only view them through glass – to prevent infection, of course. Here everyone breathes and talks above the baby, and the air is full of germs. She could easily fall ill.’

‘Savita is trying to rest,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra severely. ‘These are not very restful thoughts, Meenakshi.’

‘I agree,’ said Kakoli. ‘I think things are run splendidly here. In fact, I think it would be rather fun if babies got exchanged. Like in The Prince and the Gipsy.’ This was a romantic pot-boiler that Kuku had recently read. ‘In fact,’ she continued, ‘this particular baby looks rather too red and crinkled for my liking. I’d ask for a replacement.’ She giggled.

‘Kuku,’ said Lata. ‘How’s your singing and piano going? And how is Hans?’

‘I think I want to go to the bathroom, Ma – could you help me?’ asked Savita.

‘Let me help,’ said Meenakshi and Kakoli simultaneously.

‘Thanks, but Ma and I are used to things,’ said Savita with calm authority. It was difficult for her to walk to the bathroom; the stitches made everything more painful. Once she closed the door, she told Mrs Rupa Mehra that she was rather tired, and that Meenakshi and Kakoli should be told to return in the evening at visiting time.

Meenakshi and Kakoli, meanwhile, had been talking to Lata, and had decided that they would come and see that afternoon’s rehearsal of Twelfth Night.

‘I wonder what it must have been like to be married to Shakespeare,’ breathed Meenakshi, ‘and have him say such wonderful poetic things to one all the time – about love and life –’

‘He didn’t say much to Anne Hathaway,’ said Lata. ‘He wasn’t there most of the time. And according to Professor Mishra, his sonnets imply that he was interested in other people too – more than one.’

‘But who isn’t?’ said Meenakshi, then suddenly stopped, recalling that Lata was, after all, Arun’s sister. ‘In any case, I’d forgive Shakespeare anything. It must be so wonderful to be married to a poet. To be his muse, to make him happy. I was just saying so to Amit the other day, but he’s so modest, he only said: “I think my wife would have a hell of a time.” ’

‘Which is nonsense, of course,’ said Kakoli. ‘Amit has a lovely nature. Why, Cuddles bites him less often than anyone else.’

Lata said nothing. Meenakshi and Kuku were being remarkably unsubtle, and their talk about Amit irritated her. She felt fairly sure that Amit could not have acquiesced in this mission. She looked at her watch, and realized that she was almost late for a class.

‘See you at three o’clock at the auditorium,’ she said. ‘Don’t you want to see Pran as well?’

‘Pran? Oh, yes.’

‘He’s in room 56. On the ground floor. Where are you staying?’

‘With Mr Maitra in Civil Lines. He’s a sweet old man, but completely senile. Dipankar stayed with him as well. It’s become the Chatterji hostel in Brahmpur.’

‘I wish you were staying with us,’ said Lata. ‘But you see how difficult things are at present.’

‘Now, don’t worry about us, Lata,’ said Kuku kindly. ‘Just tell us how to occupy ourselves between now and three o’clock. I think we’ve had our fill of the baby for the moment.’

‘Well, you could go to the Barsaat Mahal,’ said Lata. ‘I know it’s hot at this time of day, but it’s as beautiful as they say it is, and much more so than any of the photographs.’

‘Oh, monuments!’ said Meenakshi, yawning.

‘Isn’t there something livelier in Brahmpur?’ asked Kakoli.

‘Well, there’s the Blue Danube café on Nabiganj. And the Red Fox. And the movies, though the English ones are a couple of years out of date. And the bookstores –’ Even as she spoke, Lata realized how dreary Brahmpur must seem to the ladies of Calcutta. ‘I’m really sorry, I have to run now. My lecture.’

And Kuku was left wondering at Lata’s enthusiasm for her studies.