Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

‘Why doesn’t she have a name-tag?’ she asked. ‘Dr Evans always insisted on name-tags, in case babies got lost or exchanged by mistake.’ Meenakshi’s little earrings glinted as she shook her head at the frightful thought.

Mrs Rupa Mehra got irritated. ‘I am here to ensure that nothing happens. Mothers should stay with their children. Who can steal the baby when her cot is in this room?’

‘Of course, things are much better arranged in Calcutta,’ continued Meenakshi. ‘In the Irwin Nursing Home, where Aparna was delivered, there’s a separate nursery where the babies are kept, and you can only view them through glass — to prevent infection, of course. Here everyone breathes and talks above the baby, and the air is full of germs. She could easily fall ill.’

‘Savita is trying to rest,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra severely. ‘These are not very restful thoughts, Meenakshi.’

‘I agree,’ said Kakoli. ‘I think things are run splendidly here. In fact, I think it would be rather fun if babies got exchanged. Like in The Prince and the Gipsy .’ This was a romantic potboiler that Kuku had recently read. ‘In fact,’ she continued, ‘this particular baby looks rather too red and crinkled for my liking. I’d ask for a replacement.’ She giggled.

‘Kuku,’ said Lata, ‘how’s your singing and piano going? And how is Hans?’

‘I think I want to go to the bathroom, Ma — could you help me?’ asked Savita.

‘Let me help,’ said Meenakshi and Kakoli simultaneously.

‘Thanks, but Ma and I are used to things,’ said Savita with calm authority. It was difficult for her to walk to the bathroom; the stitches made everything more painful. Once she closed the door, she told Mrs Rupa Mehra that she was rather tired, and that Meenakshi and Kakoli should be told to return in the evening at visiting time.

Meenakshi and Kakoli, meanwhile, had been talking to Lata, and had decided that they would come and see that afternoon’s rehearsal of Twelfth Night.

‘I wonder what it must have been like to be married to Shakespeare,’ breathed Meenakshi, ‘and have him say such wonderful poetic things to one all the time — about love and life—’

‘He didn’t say much to Anne Hathaway,’ said Lata. ‘He wasn’t there most of the time. And according to Professor Mishra, his sonnets imply that he was interested in other people too — more than one.’

‘But who isn’t?’ said Meenakshi, then suddenly stopped, recalling that Lata was, after all, Arun’s sister. ‘In any case, I’d forgive Shakespeare anything. It must be so wonderful to be married to a poet. To be his muse, to make him happy. I was just saying so to Amit the other day, but he’s so modest, he only said: “I think my wife would have a hell of a time.”’

‘Which is nonsense, of course,’ said Kakoli. ‘Amit has a lovely nature. Why, Cuddles bites him less often than anyone else.’

Lata said nothing. Meenakshi and Kuku were being remarkably unsubtle, and their talk about Amit irritated her. She felt fairly sure that Amit could not have acquiesced in this mission. She looked at her watch, and realized that she was almost late for a class.

‘See you at three o’clock at the auditorium,’ she said. ‘Don’t you want to see Pran as well?’

‘Pran? Oh, yes.’

‘He’s in room 56. On the ground floor. Where are you staying?’

‘With Mr Maitra in Civil Lines. He’s a sweet old man, but completely senile. Dipankar stayed with him as well. It’s become the Chatterji hostel in Brahmpur.’

‘I wish you were staying with us,’ said Lata. ‘But you see how difficult things are at present.’

‘Now, don’t worry about us, Lata,’ said Kuku kindly. ‘Just tell us how to occupy ourselves between now and three o’clock. I think we’ve had our fill of the baby for the moment.’

‘Well, you could go to the Barsaat Mahal,’ said Lata. ‘I know it’s hot at this time of day, but it’s as beautiful as they say it is, and much more so than any of the photographs.’

‘Oh, monuments! — ’ said Meenakshi, yawning.

‘Isn’t there something livelier in Brahmpur?’ asked Kakoli.

‘Well, there’s the Blue Danube café on Nabiganj. And the Red Fox. And the movies, though the English ones are a couple of years out of date. And the bookstores—’ Even as she spoke, Lata realized how dreary Brahmpur must seem to the ladies of Calcutta. ‘I’m really sorry, I have to run now. My lecture.’

And Kuku was left wondering at Lata’s enthusiasm for her studies.

What with the activity surrounding Pran’s illness and the baby’s arrival, Lata’s own reticence and Malati’s protective presence at rehearsals, Lata and Kabir had merely exchanged Shakespeare’s lines, and none of their own, for the last few days. Lata longed to tell him how much she sympathized with him about his mother, but did not know how to do so without eliciting an intensity of feeling on both sides that she feared would shake her — and probably him — too painfully. So she said nothing. But Mr Barua noticed that Olivia was kinder to Malvolio than he thought the script merited, and he tried to correct her.

‘Now, Miss Mehra, do try that again. “O you are sick of self-love, Malvolio—”’

Lata cleared her throat for a second attempt. ‘O you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite—’

‘No, no, Miss Mehra like this: “O you are sick—” and so on. Slightly sharp, slightly tired. You are irritated by Malvolio. It is he who is mooning over you.’

Lata tried to think of how angry she had been when she saw Kabir at the first rehearsal. She began once more:

‘O you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets—’

‘Ah, yes, much better, much better. But you seem rather too annoyed. Tone it down, Miss Mehra, if you would, tone it down a little. That way, when he seems to be really mad later on, even offensive, you’ll have an unused range of emotions that you can bring into play. Do you see what I mean?’

‘Yes, yes I think I do, Mr Barua.’

Kakoli and Meenakshi had been chatting to Malati for a while, but she suddenly disappeared. ‘My cue,’ she explained, and bounced into the wings to come on as Maria.

‘What do you think, Kuku?’ said Meenakshi.

‘I think she has a soft spot for that Malvolio chap.’

‘Malati assured us she hadn’t,’ said Meenakshi. ‘She even called him a cad. Seemed a strange word to use. A cad.’

‘I think he’s delicious. He looks so broad-shouldered and soulful. I wish he’d shoot a cannon-bullet at me. Or his bird-bolt.’

‘Really, Kuku, you have no decency at all,’ said Meenakshi.

‘Lata has certainly opened up since she was in Calcutta,’ said Kakoli thoughtfully. ‘If Amit is to stand a chance, he can’t continue to lie low—’

‘The early worm catches the bird,’ said Meenakshi.

Kakoli giggled.

Mr Barua turned around in annoyance.

‘Er, would the two young ladies at the back—’

‘But it’s so amusing — the lines, I mean — under your direction,’ said Kakoli with brazen sweetness. Some of the boys laughed, and Mr Barua turned around, blushing.

But after a few minutes of foolery by Sir Toby, both Kakoli and Meenakshi got bored, and left.

That evening, the two sisters went to the hospital. They spent a few seconds with Pran, whom they found unattractive and negligible—‘I knew it the minute I saw him at the wedding,’ said Meenakshi — and most of their time upstairs in Savita’s room. Meenakshi advised Savita about her feeding times. Savita listened carefully, thinking about other matters. Lots of other people came in, and the room became as crowded as a concert. Meenakshi and Kakoli, pheasants among the Brahmpur pigeons, looked around them with unfeigned contempt, especially at the Rudhia relatives and Mrs Mahesh Kapoor. Some of these people were incapable of speaking English. And the way they dressed!