Anyway, I have to thank Kalpana for our chance meeting. But for her we would never have known each other.
Please send me the impression of your foot, because I wish to design something for you – maybe the Chinese man, Mr Lee, can help! Would you like a low sandal for the summer or do you wear the usual High Heels?
Also, I hardly ever see the photograph you gave me because it does the postal rounds. Please do send me another photograph of yourself, recently taken. I will not send that one around. Today I tried to get a frame for your photograph but failed to get it. I am therefore waiting for your next photograph before I expend the money for a good frame. Do you mind if I keep your photograph on my table? It may tend to keep me more ambitious. As I look at your photograph, just back from my father, I find that smile on the brink very attractive. You certainly have a poise which makes you very attractive to me, but then you must, I am sure, be knowing it yourself – others will have told you all that before me.
My father appears to be in favour of a match.
Remember me to your mother and to Pran, Kedarnath and his wife, and Bhaskar. I find it very hard to think of that boy being hurt in that stampede. I trust he is all right by now.
Affectionately,
Haresh
Lata was unsettled by this letter. Everything from the photograph to the foot impression worried her, and the hints about his past life troubled her too. She could not understand how he could expect her to write to Simran. But because she liked him, she replied as kindly as she could. With Pran’s hospitalization, Savita’s imminent baby, and the daily rehearsals with Kabir all weighing on her heart, she could manage no more than a couple of pages, and when she re-read the letter it appeared to her to be nothing but a linked chain of refusals. She did not encourage him to spill out whatever he was hinting at; indeed she did not mention it at all. She did say that she could not write to Simran until she felt more confident about her feelings (though she was pleased that he had trusted her enough to confide in her about so many things). She was shy about her feet, which she did not think looked very attractive. And as for the photograph:
To tell you the truth, it is real agony for me, being photographed in a studio or by people from a studio. I know it’s very silly of me, but I feel dreadful. I think the last photograph that Ma got taken of me – before the one that I gave you – was taken about six years ago, and it wasn’t at all good. The one you have was taken in Calcutta this year under compulsion. For the last three years I have been promising to send one in for my old school magazine; really I felt quite ashamed of myself when, just before coming to Kanpur, I met one of my old nuns and she confronted me again about it. At least now I have been able to send her one. But I can’t go through that ordeal again. As for the ‘smile on the brink’ among other things – altogether, I think you flatter me. This is paradoxical, because I think of you as a very sincere and frank sort of person, and surely sincerity and flattery don’t go together! Anyway, anything that’s ever told me, I have learned to take with a large pinch of salt.
There was a long pause between this letter and Haresh’s next one, and Lata felt that her triple refusal must have hurt him too much. She discussed with Malati the question of which of the three refusals had upset Haresh the most, and their discussion of this helped her make light of the matter.
13.22
ONE DAY, when Kabir had acted particularly well, Lata told Malati: ‘I’m going to tell him afterwards how good I thought his acting was. It’s the only way to break the ice.’
Malati said: ‘Lata, don’t be foolish, it won’t be breaking the ice, it’ll be releasing the steam. Just leave well enough alone.’
But after the rehearsal was over, when the three of them, among others, were milling around outside the auditorium, Kabir came up to Lata and said: ‘Could you give this to Bhaskar? My father thought he might find it interesting.’ It was a kite with an unusual shape: a sort of lozenge with streamers behind it.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Lata, a little uneasily. ‘But you know he’s no longer at Prem Nivas. He’s gone back to his parents’ house in Misri Mandi.’
‘I hope it’s not too much trouble –’
‘No, it isn’t, Kabir – it isn’t at all – we can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for him.’
Both of them were silent. Malati hung around for a while, thinking that Lata might be grateful if she interposed herself into any intense conversation that Kabir might start. But after a glance or two at Lata, she judged that Lata would be happier if she could talk to him by herself. So she took her leave of both of them – though Kabir had not, in fact, greeted her.