A Suitable Boy(594)

‘You have the most extraordinary expression on your face,’ said Amit, who had joined them.

‘Oh, Amit! Hello,’ said Lata. It was good to see him.

‘What were you thinking of?’

‘Nothing – nothing at all.’

Dr Ila Chattopadhyay was telling Varun about the idiocy of Calcutta University in making Hindi a compulsory subject at the B.A. level. Amit joined the discussion for a bit. He sensed that Lata’s thoughts were still quite far away. He wanted to talk to her a little about her poem. But he was accosted by a woman who said: ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘Well, here I am,’ said Amit.

‘My name is Baby,’ said the woman, who looked about forty.

‘Well, mine is Amit.’

‘I know that, I know that, everyone knows that,’ said the woman. ‘Are you trying to impress me with your modesty?’ She was in a quarrelsome mood.

‘No,’ said Amit.

‘I love your books, especially The Fever Tree. I think of it all night. I mean The Fever Bird. You look smaller than your photographs. You must be very leggy.’

‘What do you do?’ asked Amit, not knowing what to make of her last few words.

‘I like you,’ said the lady decisively. ‘I know whom I like. Visit me in Bombay. Everyone knows me. Just ask for Baby.’

‘All right,’ said Amit. He had no plans to go to Bombay.

Bishwanath Bhaduri came over to say hello to Amit. He ignored Lata almost completely. He even ignored the predatory Baby. He was in raptures about some new woman, whom he pointed out: someone who was dressed in black and silver.

‘One feels she has such a beautiful soul,’ said Bish.

‘Repeat that,’ said Amit.

Bishwanath Bhaduri drew back. ‘One doesn’t say such things in order to repeat them,’ he said.

‘Ah, but one doesn’t get to hear such things very often.’

‘You’ll use it for your novel. One shouldn’t, you know.’

‘Why shouldn’t one?’

‘It’s just Calcutta chitchat.’

‘It’s not chitchat – it’s poetic; very poetic; suspiciously so.’

‘You’re making fun of me,’ said Bishwanath Bhaduri. He looked around. ‘One needs a drink,’ he murmured.

‘One needs to escape,’ said Amit quietly to Lata. ‘Two need to.’

‘I can’t. I have a chaperone.’

‘Who?’

Lata’s eyes indicated Varun. He was talking to a couple of young men, who were clinging to his words.

‘I think we can give him the slip,’ said Amit. ‘I’ll show you the lights on Park Street.’

As they walked behind Varun they heard him say: ‘Marywallace, of course, for the Gatwick; and Simile for the Hopeful. I have no idea about the Hazra. And for the Beresford Cup it’s best to go for My Lady Jean…’

They eluded him with ease and walked down the stairs, laughing.





16.19


AMIT hailed a taxi.

‘Park Street,’ said Amit.

‘Why not Bombay?’ asked Lata, laughing. ‘To meet Baby.’

‘She is a thorn in my neck,’ said Amit, shaking his knees together rapidly.

‘In your neck?’

‘As Biswas Babu would say.’

Lata laughed. ‘How is he?’ she asked. ‘Everyone talks about him, but I’ve never met him.’

‘He’s been telling me to get married – to produce, he hopes, a fourth generation of Chatterji judge. I suggested that Aparna was half a Chatterji and might easily rise to the bench, given her precocity. He said that that was a different kettle of tea.’

‘But his advice ran off your back like duck’s water.’

‘Exactly so.’

They had been driving along Chowringhee, parts of which were lit up – especially the larger stores, the Grand Hotel, and Firpos. Now they were at the crossing of Park Street. Here a large reindeer complete with Santa and sled was illuminated by large coloured bulbs. Several people were strolling along the side of Chowringhee adjacent to the Maidan, enjoying the festive atmosphere. As the taxi turned into Park Street, Lata was taken aback by its unaccustomed brilliance. On both sides, multicoloured strings of lights and brightly coloured festoons of crepe hung from the fronts of shops and restaurants: Flury’s, Kwality’s, Peiping, Magnolia’s. It was lovely, and Lata turned to Amit with delight and gratitude. When they got to the tall Christmas tree by the petrol pump she said: ‘Electricity growing on trees.’

‘What was that?’ said Amit.

‘Oh, that’s Ma. “Turn off the lights. Electricity doesn’t grow on trees.” ’

Amit laughed. ‘It’s very nice to see you again,’ he said.