With my Cuddles: that is fun!
I would like room 22:
With my Cuddles: that will do.
I would like room 23:
With my Cuddles: just for me.
I would like room 24:
With my Cuddles: …’
She played a little, in an extemporaneous manner – trills, broken chords and fragments of uncertain melody – until Amit could bear the suspense no longer, and added: ‘To be sure.’
They improvised the rest of the song together:
‘I would like room 25:
With my Cuddles: we will thrive.
I would like room 26:
With my Cuddles: please to fix.
I would like room 27:
With my Cuddles: that is heaven.
I would like room 28:
With my Cuddles: that is great.
I would like room 29:
With my Cuddles: that is fine.
I would like room number 30.
“Sorry, no, that room is dirty.” ’
Both of them laughed with pleasure, and told each other how stupid they were. Cuddles barked hoarsely, but then suddenly grew very excited. His ears pricked up and he strained at the leash.
‘Pillow?’ said Amit.
‘No, he looks pleased.’
The front door-bell rang, and Dipankar walked in.
‘Dipankar!’
‘Dipankar Da! Welcome back.’
‘Hello, Kuku, Hello, Dada – Oh, Cuddles!’
He knew you were back even before you rang the bell. Put that bag down.’
‘Clever dog. Clever, clever dog.’
‘So!’
‘So!’
‘Look at you – black and gaunt – and why have you shaved your head?’ said Kuku, stroking the top of it. ‘It feels like a mole.’
‘Have you ever stroked a mole, Kuku?’ asked Amit.
‘Oh, don’t be pedantic, Amit Da, you were so nice a moment ago. The prodigal returns, and – what does “prodigal” mean anyway?’
‘What does it matter?’ said Amit. ‘It’s like “lambent”, everyone uses it, no one knows what it means. Well, why have you shaved your head? Ma’s in for a shock.’
‘Because it was so hot – didn’t you get my postcards?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Kuku, ‘but you wrote in one of them that you were going to grow your hair long and that we would never see you again. We loved your postcards, didn’t we, Amit Da? All about the Quest for the Source and the whistles of the pregnant trains.’
‘What pregnant trains?’
‘That’s what it looked like in your handwriting. Welcome back. You must be ravishingly hungry.’
‘I am –’
‘Bring out the fatted marrow!’ said Amit.
‘Tell us, have you found another Ideal?’ demanded Kuku.
Dipankar blinked.
‘Do you worship the Female Principle in her? Or is there more to it than that?’ asked Amit.
‘Oh, Amit Da,’ said Kuku reproachfully. ‘How can you!’ She became the Grande Dame of Culture, and pronounced with pontifical languor: ‘In our India, like the stupa, the breast nourishes, inflates… the breast is not an object of lust to our young men, it is a symbol of fecundity.’
‘Well –’ said Dipankar.
‘We were just floating away on the wings of song, when you came in, Dipankar Da,’ said Kuku:
‘Auf Flugeln des Gesanges…
Fort nach den Fluren des Ganges
and now you can keep us firmly on earth –’
‘Yes, we need you, Dipankar,’ said Amit. ‘All of us except you are helium balloons –’
Kuku broke in.
‘Morning bathing in the Ganga,
Guaranteed to make you younger,’
she sang. ‘Was it really very filthy? Ila Kaki will be furious –’
‘Do you mind not interrupting me, Kuku, once I’ve interrupted you?’ said Amit. ‘I was saying that you, Dipankar, are the only one who keeps this family sane. Calm down, Cuddles! Now have some lunch and a bath and a rest – Ma’s out shopping, but she should be back in an hour… Why didn’t you tell us when you were coming? Where have you been? One of your postcards was from Rishikesh! What have you decided about the family business? Won’t you handle all that and let me work on my wretched novel? How can I give it up or postpone it when all those characters are howling in my head? When I am pregnant and hungry and full of love and indignation?’
Dipankar smiled. ‘I’ll have to let my Experiences merge with my Being, Amit Da, before I can come to an Answer.’
Amit shook his head in exasperation.
‘Don’t bully him, Amit Da,’ said Kuku. ‘He’s just come back.’
‘I know I’m indecisive,’ said Amit, midway between despair and mock-despair, ‘but Dipankar really takes the cake. Or, rather, doesn’t even know whether to.’