It would have been too demeaning for Arun to approach him directly, and he had been wondering how to go about it. But yes, he could certainly mention the matter to the Chairman of Praha and perhaps inveigle a common invitation to tea – on neutral grounds. Here was an excellent opportunity.
Billy was continuing: ‘It’s remarkable. He no sooner finishes one than another’s at his elbow. He never knows when to stop.’
Arun laughed. Then another thought struck him. ‘Oh, by the way – Meenakshi’s expecting again.’
‘Expecting?’ Billy was looking slightly blank.
‘Yes, you know, old fellow, preggers!’
‘Ah, yes, yes, preggers !’ Billy Irani nodded his head. Then suddenly a thought struck him, and he began to look bewildered.
‘Are you feeling all right, old chap? Another? Abdar –’
The waiter came by. ‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Another gimlet. Though we were taking the usual precautions. Still, it shows you never can tell. Determined fellows –’
‘Fellows?’
‘Yes, you know, babies. They want to appear, so they do so without consulting their parents. Meenakshi’s been looking worried – but I suppose it’s all for the best. Aparna could do with a brother. Or sister, I suppose. I say, Billy, I might have to go over and have a few words with Khandelwal. It’s about the new hiring policies of our firm. Praha’s apparently have been taking on some Indians lately, and I might get a few ideas from him – well, I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Oh, no, no – not at all.’
‘You’re looking rather poorly. Is it the sun? We can change tables.’
‘No, no – just tired – working too hard, I suppose.’
‘Well, take it easy. Doesn’t Shireen tick you off? Act as a moderating influence and all that?’ Arun smiled as he moved away.
‘Shireen?’ Billy’s handsome face was pale. His mouth was open in rather a fish-like gape. ‘Oh, yes, Shireen.’
Arun wondered for a second whether Billy’s IQ had sunk to zero, but his mind was soon occupied with other thoughts. He winched up a smile as he approached Mr Khandelwal’s table at the far end of the verandah.
‘Ah, Mr Khandelwal. Good to see you.’
Mr Khandelwal looked up, half sozzled already, but very genially. This was Arun Mehra, one of a handful of young men in Calcutta who had been accepted into the British commercial establishment – and who with their wives were therefore the leaders of Indian society in Calcutta. Chairman of Praha though he was, he was flattered to be recognized by Arun, to whom he had once been introduced at the races. Khandelwal remembered that the young man had an exceedingly glamorous wife, but he had a bad memory for names, and groped around a bit before Arun, who could not believe that anyone could have forgotten him, said, ‘Arun Mehra.’
‘Yes, yes, of course – Bentsen Pryce.’
Arun was mollified.
‘I wonder if I could have a few words with you, Mr Khandelwal,’ he said.
Mr Khandelwal gestured towards a chair and Arun sat down.
‘Will you have a drink?’ offered Mr Khandelwal, his hand poised above the small brass bell.
‘No, thank you, I’ve had one already.’
In Mr Khandelwal’s view that was no good reason not to have another half-dozen. ‘What is on your mind?’ he asked the younger man.
‘Well, as you know, Mr Khandelwal, our firm, and several others like ours, have been recruiting Indians – suitable Indians, of course – for management positions, on a gradual basis. And one hears that you, too, being a big organization, have been thinking of doing the same thing.’
Khandelwal nodded.
‘Well,’ said Arun. ‘In some respects we are in the same predicament. It’s rather difficult to get the sort of people we need.’
Khandelwal smiled.
‘You may find it difficult,’ he said slowly, ‘but we find no problem getting qualified people. Only the other day we recruited a man with a good background.’ He lapsed into Hindi. ‘A good man – he has studied in England, has a fine technical background. They wanted to give him a lower position, but I insisted –’ He gestured for another Scotch. ‘I can’t remember his name, oh yes, Haresh Khanna.’
‘From Kanpur?’ replied Arun, permitting himself two words in Hindi.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mr Khandelwal. ‘Oh yes, from Kanpur. He came to my attention through Mukherji of CLFC. Yes, have you heard of him?’
‘It’s very curious,’ said Arun, to whom none of this was in the least curious. ‘But now that you mention the name, Mr Khandelwal, I believe this must be the young man whom my mother talked about a little while ago as a – well, as a prospect for my sister. He’s a khatri, and, as you know, so are we – though I’m not in the least a believer in caste and so on. But of course there’s no arguing with my mother – she believes in all this khatri-patri business. How interesting; so he works for you?’