A Fine Family: A Novel (19 page)

Tara was in tears. She ran away to her room and stayed there till Seva Ram came home in the evening.

‘Why don’t you tell Bauji that we don’t need his money—that you are concerned with the principle for the sake of your sisters,’ advised Seva Ram. ‘We are well-off and don’t need any more money, do we?’

‘What do you mean?’ said Tara. ‘Of course we could use the money. Do you have any idea how I run the house? Do you know how difficult the last week is before the monthly salary comes? If we had some money we could get nicer furniture. Arjun could go to Bishop Cotton School. So much we could do.’

‘Then I suggest you stop talking about principles and talk about cash.’

‘Will you speak to Bauji?

‘You must be crazy!’

‘Well, he’s angry with me. Maybe you could explain to him nicely.’

‘I don’t want his money, thank you.’

‘Oh, you are hopeless!’

‘In that case I suggest you avoid the subject,’ said Seva Ram.

During the remainder of her parents’ stay in Simla, Tara followed her husband’s advice. As if by tacit agreement she and her father tactfully avoided the subject. They talked incessantly about politics but the subject of the Hindu Code Bill was skilfully skirted. The days passed quickly and before they realized it, it was time to go. Exactly a month after they came Bauji and Bhabo left.

By the time he was eighteen and in his final year in school, Arjun often used to go alone to the Mall in the evenings. He used to go up on the Ridge, the highest point on the Mall, and stand along the railing near the bandstand and look down at the procession of life below. He would gaze down and be filled with wonder over the countless different individual lives down there. And each moment of each person’s life was unique, rich and would never occur again. The world seemed to be full of all kinds of people and strange happenings. He wondered why men and women lived together in families, and where the animals and birds came from. What, he asked himself, was the relationship of the stars and the moon to our destinies?

Walking on the Mall, he observed that one met the same people a number of times in the same evening, as everyone tended to walk back and forth along the same familiar stretch. The first time one met one’s friends, one stopped and chatted for a few minutes. The second time one folded one’s hands in greeting from a distance and continued on one’s way. The third time one smiled conspiratorialy from a distance. The secret smile meant that both people belonged to a select group, and knew that three was about the right number of times to meet. And if there were a fourth or subsequent meetings in the same evening, both looked at each other embarrassed by the realization that one had nothing better to do than to ‘eat the Mall air’.

One day Karan spotted Arjun wandering alone on the Mall. Arjun must have looked lost, for Karan immediately put his arm around him and took him into the exclusive Amateur Dramatic Club (ADC). Although he had never been inside, Arjun knew it as the fashionable meeting place of high society, where all of Simla’s gossip and scandals started. Karan signed Arjun as a guest at the entrance, which was adorned with potted palms in polished brass planters. A hall porter in livery greeted Karan by name. Arjun was led past the library and the smoke-filled card room towards the Green Room. It was full of young people and laughter. They sat down at a small table and ordered tea and samosas. Arjun looked around the room (which was in fact painted green), and he was filled with awe. Bearers in starched white uniforms with green cummerbunds and green sashes and tassels in their turbans were gliding gracefully between the tables. Karan asked him if he wanted to act in a play, as the Club was casting for its next production. Arjun shook his head shyly. Karan explained that the Club had started in the 19th century as an addition to the Gaiety Theatre next door. The rehearsal rooms had soon become such popular meeting places that they were expanded, and the club acquired its social character. It still did a comedy every six weeks during the season.

From his wanderings on the Mall, Arjun recognized a number of people in the room whom he associated with the ‘smart set’. Everyone was stylishly dressed and vivaciously absorbed in his little group. He noted that Karan was popular, as a number of people at different tables smiled at him or nodded to him in greeting. Karan excused himself to deliver a message to someone in the billiards room. Arjun looked around and thought ‘So this is the place where all the smart people of Simla meet.’ Meanwhile the bearer brought the tea, along with gleaming forks, knives, and white cloth napkins. Arjun felt nervous and hoped that he would not have to eat the samosa with a fork and knife. He was not adept with these instruments, as he ate Indian food with his fingers at home. He associated knives and forks with highly Westernized Indians.

Soon Karan returned, and Arjun was grateful when he saw Karan eat a greasy samosa with his fingers and then casually lick them afterwards. Karan chatted away, but Arjun was tongue-tied. To put him at ease, Karan hailed a group of young people from the next table.

‘Priti, come and meet my young friend!’

Priti smiled, and skipped over to their table, bringing some of her friends with her. Karan introduced Arjun to them as his ‘nephew and dearest friend’. Priti gave Arjun a vivacious smile, and Arjun marvelled at her complete lack of self-consciousness.

Priti poutingly turned to Karan, ‘When are you going to play the sitar for us? Mother has been anxiously waiting to hear you play since your famous concert in Delhi. The whole world has been talking about it.’

Arjun looked incredulously at Karan, who blushed. Karan made polite sounds and gently changed the subject as he always did when the talk turned to him.

Arjun recognized one of Priti’s friends at the table. She was Neena, the daughter of Rao Sahib, the successful director of a British company, whom his parents also knew. He kept looking at her, hoping she would recognize him. But she did not. In fact she completely ignored him, as if he were invisible, and he felt hurt.

The talk turned to popular Bombay movies. Karan excused himself again, leaving Arjun in Priti’s care. Arjun was impressed with the sophisticated way in which everyone spoke about the films playing in the four cinemas of Simla. They all predicted that a particular film would break all records. Arjun was at a loss since he had not seen any of the films.

Arjun’s eyes kept returning to Priti’s lean face and her long, gleaming black hair. She had a habit of tilting her head in an audacious way, which gave her an imperious air. Her body was small, and she had striking, dark eyes. Whenever they met his, she smiled, and Arjun’s heart skipped a beat.

Suddenly, Priti and her friends were speaking in hushed voices. Arjun heard someone say, ‘Dabbu Ram was black-balled last Friday.’ Everyone knew Dabbu Ram. Even Arjun knew him as the fat, rich, balding owner of a new saree shop on the Mall. But he didn’t understand what had happened to him. He looked puzzled, and Priti explained that being ‘black-balled’ meant that he was refused admission to the club.

‘The Committee members vote with white and blackballs. White means “yes” and black means “no”,’ she explained.

‘Why was poor Dabbu black-balled?’ whispered the girl whom they called Veena.

‘Because he is a trader, silly,’ replied Neena. ‘They don’t want traders in the club.’

‘But there are other business people in the club, aren’t there?’ asked Veena.

‘Yes, but they are not shopkeepers.’

Arjun’s eyes kept meeting Priti’s. Every time they did, she smiled.

‘Where do you live?’ she asked.

‘Pine Villa’, he stuttered.

‘Where is it?’

Instead of simply saying ‘in Chota Simla’, he blushed and started giving a round-about explanation, which someone interrupted.

‘Isn’t that in Chota Simla?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted meekly.

‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place?’ Priti asked with a teasing smile, as she tilted her head the other way.

‘Well, it’s not in the bazaar, but below it,’ he defensively added, since Chota Simla also referred to a small market street full of shops.

‘Of course it isn’t. Any fool knows that. Only shopkeepers live in the bazaar,’ replied Priti impatiently.

The conversation turned to fashionable people unknown to him, and Arjun felt that he had made a fool of himself. A confident ‘Chota Simla’ would have been much more effective. He had sounded as if he were trying to hide something, which in a sense he was. He felt that he must be an object of scorn in Priti’s eyes. He did not know about movies or fashionable people, and now he had committed the one sin that mattered in her society: he had tried to be something that he was not. He could not lift his eyes to face Priti’s the rest of the evening.

Meanwhile Karan rejoined the group. Arjun was grateful that at least Karan had not witnessed his embarrassment. But he was afraid that Priti would tell him. He could not bear the thought of the two making fun of him. As he looked around the glittering room, with its animated chatter, he felt that they were all aligned against him, including Karan, who spoke charmingly and who seemed to belong so naturally to these people. When he spoke, everyone listened. Arjun suddenly felt alone. He wanted to run away. Yet, a magnet-like force drew him to this crowd and held him there.

Mrs Maira, the mother of the girl they called Veena came by to fetch her daughter. Karan and the only other male in Priti’s group, a boy named Rishi, gallantly rose to greet her. ‘Hello-ji, hello-ji,’ she said gushingly. She spoke a little louder than necessary. Everyone smiled back at her. Arjun realized too late that perhaps he too should have risen. Priti must think him an uncouth peasant, he thought.

“Hello-ji, hello-ji,’ mimicked Neena after Mrs Maira had left.

‘What an odd thing to say. Either you say “hello” or you say “namaste-ji”. You don’t mix them up,’ said Rishi laughing. The others joined in the laughter, except Karan.

‘Her father, you know, worked so hard to become as English as possible,’ said Neena in a conspiratorial voice. ‘He even Anglicized his name from Mehra to Maira. And now look at her. . .The old man must be turning in his grave.’

Their attention was suddenly diverted, as the dashing young Major Chadha appeared at the door in uniform, sporting a baton in his right hand.

‘Isn’t he handsome!’ said Neena.

‘I like his moustache,’ laughed Priti.

‘He is a show-off,’ interjected Rishi. ‘Why does he need to carry a swagger stick into the Green Room? Obviously lacks confidence, poor chap.’

The handsome Major smiled at Neena, who smiled back.

‘Entirely too many Army types in Simla,’ said Priti.

‘But they are such fun,’ said Neena.

‘They don’t think very much,’ said Priti.

‘They are soldiers after all,’ said Rishi.

‘But they love life,’ said Neena.

‘And they are honest,’ said Karan.

Everyone looked at Karan, as if he had said something odd.

‘They are honest and fun-loving because they know they are probably going to die before any of us.’

‘Who is honest? No one is honest!’ interjected a tall and distinguished looking man, who had silver grey hair at his temples.

‘Hello, Rao Uncle,’ said Priti warmly.

‘Hello, father!’ said Neena.

A. N. Rao, Neena’s father, was a boxwallah, and one of the first Indian directors of a British company based in Bombay. He sported an ascot and a tweed jacket; he was the sort of person who spoke Hindustani with an Oxford accent. He was the son of a senior civil servant, and everyone knew that his success in the Anglo-Indian commercial world had been due to his Anglicized ways and his father’s connections.

‘Priti, I say, are you coming to the picnic on Friday to Narkunda? There will be Sita and Chippy, Dinky, Neena, Bubbly and Flukey and Rishi, and all your friends,’ said Rao Sahib.

‘But why Narkunda? It is so far away.’

‘Don’t you know that one about Narkunda, my dear?’

‘What?’ asked Priti.

Rao Sahib began to recite in a thick British army accent.

There lived a small puppy in Narkunda

Who sought for the best tree to bark under

Which he found and said, ‘Now,

I can call out Bow-Wow’

Underneath the best cedar in Narkunda.

Everyone laughed. Karan shouted ‘bravo!’ and Rao Sahib continued.

There was an old man of Narkunda

Whose voice was like peals of loud thunder

It shivered the hills

Into Colveynth pills

And destroyed half the trees of Narkunda.

There was clapping. Rao Sahib took a bow.

‘Well done!’ said Karan. ‘A little help from Kipling can persuade the most reluctant picnicker.’

‘Well, Priti, are you coming? Father has even arranged for the Governor’s Rest House, in case it rains,’ said Neena.

‘I say, come to think of it, one never sees you on the Mall these days.’ said Rao Sahib to Karan.

‘And why should one see me on the Mall?’ said Karan, closing his lips in an ironical smile.

‘But what else does one do in Simla—except go to the Mall in the evening; find your friends eating ice cream at Scandal Point; drag them to the Green Room for the latest gossip and samosas; rush to the Rivoli for the newest picture; plan picnics to Mashobra and Narkunda; and throng to the Sunday morning bingo and beer?’

Rao Sahib had to stop to take a breath.

‘Bravo!’ said Karan clapping his hands again.

‘Uncle Rao, you should act in the play that they are doing,’ said Priti.

‘Oh, but he doesn’t need the Gaiety Theatre. He is always on stage,’ said Karan.

With that Karan rose from his chair. He looked enquiringly at Arjun, who also got up.

‘You are not leaving, are you?’ protested Priti. ‘Oh, you always leave early, just when we are getting started.’ She smiled and tilted her head again. Arjun thought she looked ravishingly beautiful when she did that.

When Karan and he were parting on the Mall, Arjun picked up enough courage to ask, ‘Who is Priti?’

‘Priti Mehta. Her grandfather knew Bauji, and I knew her father well.’

‘Oh, you mean that big house with the green fence on Cart Road? Does she live there?’ asked Arjun.

Karan nodded.

‘The one we used to pass on our Saturday walks!’

‘She is pretty, isn’t she?’ said Karan with a sly smile.

Arjun’s head was spinning when he returned home. He felt intensely excited after this first encouter with an inaccessible and forbidden world. He was intoxicated by the glamour, the clothes, and the sophistication of manners and language. He imagined these people living in big houses, surrounded by tall hedges, with many servants, living a life quite unlike his own.

The discovery that he had known all along where Priti lived, left him breathless. He had passed by her house on the way to school every day and he now realized that he had seen her on occasions when he peered through the hibiscus hedge. Priti’s house, which had been merely an impersonal landmark on his daily trudge to school, now acquired a special character. He tried to recall her face again. He could clearly visualize her sparkling brown eyes, her gleaming dark hair, her thin face, and the extraordinary way she tilted her head. All these combined into an enchanting image. The more he thought how desirable she was the less accessible she seemed to become. Half the men in the Green Room must be in love with her, he thought. And they were all handsome and worldly!