A Suitable Boy(693)

Varun glanced at her with a mixture of bewilderment and tenderness, and got out.

In the waiting room, he noticed a couple of candidates who looked like south Indians. They were shivering. They had been even less prepared for the Delhi weather than himself, and it was a particularly cold day. One of them was saying to the other: ‘And they say that the Chairman of the UPSC can read you like a book. He can assess you as soon as you enter the door. Every weakness of your personality is laid bare within seconds.’

Varun felt his knees tremble. He went to the bathroom, got out a small bottle that he had managed to secrete on his person, and took two quick swigs. His knees settled down, and he began to think he would conduct himself superbly after all.

‘I’m afraid I really have no idea,’ he repeated to himself.

‘About what?’ asked one of his fellow-candidates after a pause.

‘I don’t know,’ said Varun. ‘I mean, I’m afraid I really couldn’t tell you.’

*

‘And then I said “Good morning”, and they all nodded, but the Chairman, a sort of bulldog man said, “Namasté” instead. I was quite shocked for a second, but somehow I got over it.’

‘And then?’ asked Kalpana eagerly.

‘And then he asked me to sit down. It was a roundish table, and I was at one end and the bulldog man was at the other end, he looked at me as if he could read every thought of mine before I had even thought it. Mr Chatterji – no, Mr Bannerji, they called him. And there was a Vice-Chancellor and someone from the Ministry of External Affairs, and –’

‘But how did it go?’ asked Kalpana. ‘Do you think it went well?’

‘I don’t know. They asked me a question about Prohibition, you see, and I’d just been drinking, so naturally I was nervous –’

‘You had just been what?’

‘Oh,’ said Varun guiltily. ‘One or two gulps. Then someone asked me if I liked the odd social drink, and I said, yes. But I could feel my throat become dry, and the bulldog man just kept looking at me and he sniffed slightly and noted something down on a pad. And then he said, Mr Mehra, what if you were posted to a state like Bombay or a district like Kanpur where there was Prohibition, would you feel obliged to refrain from the odd social drink? So I said of course I would. Then someone else on my right said, what if you were visiting friends in Calcutta, and were offered a drink, would you refuse it – as a representative of a dry area? And I could see them staring at me, ten pairs of eyes, and then suddenly I thought, I am the Iron Frame, who are all these people anyway, and I said, No, I saw no reason to, in fact I would drink it with a pleasure enhanced by my previous abstinence – that’s what I said. “Enhanced by my previous abstinence.” ’

Kalpana laughed.

‘Yes,’ said Varun dubiously. ‘It seemed to go down well with them too. I don’t think it was I who was answering all those questions, you know. It seemed to be a sort of Arun person who had taken possession of me. Perhaps because I was wearing his tie.’

‘What else did they ask?’

‘Something about what three books I would take with me to a desert island, and did I know what the initials M.I.T. stood for, and did I think there would be war with Pakistan – and I really can’t remember anything, Kalpana, except that the bulldog man had two watches, one on the inside of his wrist and one on the outside. It was all I could do to avoid staring at him. Thank God it’s over,’ he added morosely. ‘It lasted forty-five minutes and it took a year off my life.’

‘Did you say forty-five minutes?’ said Kalpana Gaur excitedly.

‘Yes.’

‘I must send a telegram to your mother at once. And I have decided that you must stay in Delhi for another two days. Your being here is very good for me.’

‘Really?’ said Varun, reddening. He wondered if it might have been the Brylcreem that had done it.

*

VARUN BOOSTED INTERVIEW CONCLUDED FINGERS CROSSED FATHER MENDING LOVE KALPANA.



Kalpana can always be trusted to do the needful, said Mrs Rupa Mehra happily to herself.





19.2


IN Calcutta Mrs Rupa Mehra went around like a whirlwind, buying saris, herding her family into conferences, visiting her son-in-law-to-be twice a week, requisitioning cars (including the Chatterjis’ big white Humber) for her shopping and for visits to friends, writing long letters to all her relatives, designing the invitation card, monopolizing the phone in a Kakoli-like manner, and weeping alternately with joy at the prospect of her daughter’s marriage, concern for her daughter on her wedding night, and sorrow that the late Raghubir Mehra would not be present.