Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

Kakoli sang out, so that the sound could be heard on the other side of the locked door:

‘Sweetest Lata, have a heart!

Come and kiss me. Don’t be tart.’

When she heard no response to this crass creation, she continued:

‘Let me kiss your hands, my queen:

Softest pigskin I have seen.’

Mrs Rupa Mehra was about to shout at Kakoli, but the baby began yowling and distracted everyone on that side of the door. Lata continued to read in noisy peace.

Haresh’s letter was as straightforward as usual. After mentioning the bad news, he went on to write:

It can be no easy time for you with Pran’s illness and by now maybe his baby too, so I feel sorry to burden you with the news I have given above. But I had to write to you today under the very great stress of circumstances. So far I have heard nothing by way of reconsideration from Mr. Clayton of James Hawley, and I am now not quite so hopeful that anything will happen in that direction. It was a fine job fetching Rs. 750/-per month all told, but I have not yet lost hopes entirely. I feel that they will realize the injustice of the whole thing. But perhaps with my resignation from CLFC I have indeed fallen between two stools. Mr. Mukherji, the General Manager, is a fine man but Mr. Ghosh, it seems, is dead set against me.

Yesterday I was with Kalpana for over two hours when you were the only topic of discussion. I do not know how much of my feelings I could hide, for the thought of you was exciting.

Excuse this scribbling pad. I have none other at my disposal at the moment. Kalpana says she has written to your mother about my news, and that I must write to you today — and I have been feeling the same myself.

I have an interview later in the month in Indore (with the State Public Service Commission) for a Small Scale Industry job. And it may be that the Praha matter will work out. At least if I can meet Mr. Khandelwal through the good offices of Mr. Mukherji, I am sure I will get a job interview in Calcutta. There are however a few things that you shall have to decide:

1. Whether you would like me to go to Calcutta via Brahmpur, given so many different factors including your brother-in-law’s illness.

2. Whether in my unemployed position you think I am the same as before — i.e. whether you think you could be quite happy in considering me as someone you could care for.

I hope that your mother does not take this too seriously — there are other jobs in the offing I am sure, and it will not take too long to fix up.

Somehow I feel there is a lot of good in my present position — being unemployed gives one a better insight into human character and gives the right value to the right things. I hope Pran is better. Remember me to the family. I shall write again soon.

Yours,

Haresh

Nothing could have brought out Lata’s warmth and tenderness more effectively than this letter. She felt very bad for Haresh, particularly at the thought that there might be a great deal of anxiety behind his brave front. If she had problems, so had he, and far more pressing ones. Yet instead of allowing himself to get depressed by his misfortune, he claimed to see advantages in it. Lata felt a little ashamed of herself for not behaving in a more robust manner in the face of emotional adversity.

She wrote back:

My dear Haresh,

Your letter came today and I am replying immediately. Yesterday Ma got a letter from Kalpana. Ever since then I have been wanting to write to you, but I felt I couldn’t till I had heard the news directly from you. You must believe that it doesn’t make any difference to me. Affection doesn’t depend on things like jobs. It is unfortunate that you should have missed such a good chance at James Hawley — it really is a very good firm — I should think almost the best. Anyway, don’t worry. Everything happens for the best — and, as you say, there is still hope — nothing like going on trying. I feel sure something will emerge.

Here Lata paused and looked out of the bedroom window before continuing. But it was his problems she had to address, not her own, and she continued to write before thoughts could crowd too closely in on her:

Perhaps, Haresh, you didn’t do a very wise thing in not letting your firm know that you were trying elsewhere. Perhaps you should have gone through them. Anyway, let’s forget about it — it’s all in the past now. The unkindness of people only hurts if we continue to remember it. Now that you are out of a job, perhaps you should try for the best rather than the first that comes your way. Maybe it’s worthwhile waiting a little.

You ask if I want you to come to Brahmpur on your way to Calcutta. It would be good to talk to you again. I hope you have not lost your smile. It doesn’t sound so from your letter, anyway. You have a very pleasant smile — when you are amused your eyes disappear altogether — and it would be a pity if you lost it.

Here Lata paused again. What on earth am I writing? she asked herself. Is this too much? Then she just shrugged, told herself she wouldn’t correct it, and wrote on:

The only problem is that the house is in chaos at the moment, and even if you were to live in a hotel, you would see us at a very confused time. Also, my brother Arun’s wife and sister-in-law are here, and though I like them very much, they will not give either of us a moment of peace. And then my afternoons are taken up with rehearsals, which put me in a very confused state. I don’t know if I’m myself or one of Shakespeare’s creatures. Ma also is in a peculiar mood. All in all, it is not a good time for us to see each other. I hope you do not think that I am trying to put you off.

I am glad that Mr Mukherji has been so kind and understanding. I hope he is successful in helping you.

Pran looks much better for his three weeks in hospital, and the constant presence of the baby — who has been named Uma by the whole family at a sort of board meeting — does him a world of good. He sends his regards to you, as does everyone else here. Ma was worried to get your news from Kalpana, but not exactly in the way you think. She was more worried because she thought I was worried, and she kept telling me not to worry, that everything would be all right. I was only worried because I thought you must be very upset — especially as you hadn’t written for a while. So you see it was a sort of vicious circle. I am happy that you haven’t lost any of your optimism and are not bitter. I hate people to wear martyred airs — just as I dislike self-pity. It is the cause of too much unhappiness.

Please keep me informed about everything that happens, and write soon. No one else has lost their faith in you, except your Umesh Uncle, who never had it anyway, so you mustn’t lose it in yourself.

Affectionately,

Lata

Lata sent the letter off with Mansoor to be posted at the general post office on his way to the market.

Mrs Rupa Mehra was displeased that she had not been allowed to read either the letter or the response.

‘I’ll let you read his letter, Ma, if you insist,’ said Lata. ‘But my reply’s gone off so there’s no question of reading that.’

Haresh’s letter had contained far less of a personal nature than usual, and was therefore showable. Under ‘the very great stress of circumstances’—or possibly because of Lata’s short response to the subject — Haresh had omitted to bring up the question of Simran again.

Meanwhile, Kakoli had got hold of Mrs Rupa Mehra’s card to Pran and Savita, and was enjoying herself, mouthing ‘winsome’ and ‘dainty’ to the helpless Lady Baby, and reformulating the lines while kissing Uma on the forehead.

‘Hush! Lady Baby’s fast asleep, the friendly fire-flames dance and leap and burning her to ash they sweep across the Lady Baby’s dress.’