Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

She was exquisitely charming, and believed in winning people over — including women. Though she suffered from some insecurity because of her past background, she was never aggressive with them. It was only where sweetness didn’t work that she gave vent to fury.

Mr Khandelwal appeared to be getting impatient. After a little while he excused himself to get a breath of fresh air. He came back a minute or two later, smelling of cardamoms and looking happier.

Mrs Khandelwal viewed him with suspicion when he returned, but he looked completely innocent.

Suddenly, without warning, three large Alsatians bounded into the room, barking frenetically. Haresh was bewildered and almost spilled his tea. Arun jumped up. Khandelwal was perplexed; he wondered how they could have got in. Only the two women remained cool. Meenakshi was used to the vicious Cuddles and was fond of dogs. And Mrs Khandelwal turned on them in a low, commanding hiss:

‘Sit down! Down, Cassius, down — down — Crystal — down, Jalebi!’

The three dogs sat down in a line, trembling and silent. Each of them knew that if they disobeyed, Mrs Khandelwal would have thought nothing of whipping them unmercifully there and then.

‘See—’ said Mrs Khandelwal, ‘see how sweet he is, my Cassius, look at him, my little pet — how unhappy he looks. He didn’t mean to disturb anyone.’

‘Well,’ said Arun, ‘I’m afraid my wife is in rather a — a—well, a delicate state, and these sudden shocks—’

Mrs Khandelwal, horrified, turned on her husband. ‘Mr Khandelwal,’ she said in a tone of absolute authority, ‘do you know what you have done? Do you have any idea?’

‘No,’ said Mr Khandelwal in fear and trembling.

‘You have left the door open. That is how these three beasts have entered. Take them out at once and close the door.’

Having dispatched the dogs and her husband, she turned — dripping concern — towards Meenakshi.

‘My poor Mrs Mehra, I cannot apologize enough. Have another pakora. Have two. You must build up your strength.’

‘Excellent tea, Mrs Khandelwal,’ said Haresh bravely.

‘Do have another cup. We get our own blend directly from Darjeeling,’ said Mrs Khandelwal.

There was a pause, and now Haresh decided to beard the lion.

‘You must be Lata’s brother,’ he said to Arun. ‘How is Lata?’

‘Very well,’ said Arun.

‘And your mother?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ said Arun, with some hauteur.

‘And the baby?’

‘The baby?’

‘Your niece.’

‘Flourishing, no doubt.’

There was another pause.

‘Do you have any children?’ asked Haresh of Meenakshi.

‘Yes,’ said Meenakshi. ‘A girl.’

This cobbler, she decided, would make a very poor rival to Amit.

Arun turned to Haresh and said: ‘What is it you do exactly, Mr Khanna? I understand you’ve been taken on by Praha in some sort of position. A managerial position, I presume.’

‘Well, not managerial,’ said Haresh. ‘I am in a supervisory position at the moment, though my previous job was managerial. I decided to take this job because it has more of a future.’

‘Supervisory?’

‘I am a foreman.’

‘Ah! A foreman.’

‘Praha usually starts people on the shop floor, not even in supervisory jobs.’

‘Hmm.’ Arun took another sip of tea.

‘James Hawley offered me a managerial job—’ began Haresh.

‘I could never understand why the Cromarty Group hasn’t moved its head office to Calcutta,’ said Arun in a distant manner. ‘Puzzling that they should wish to remain a provincial concern. Ah well.’

Meenakshi felt that Arun was being too unfriendly. ‘You’re from Delhi originally, aren’t you, Mr Khanna?’ she asked.

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Haresh. ‘And I went to St Stephen’s College.’

‘And then, I understand, you went to England for your education. Was that to Oxford or to Cambridge?’

‘I went to the Middlehampton College of Technology.’

There was silence for a few seconds, only interrupted by Mr Khandelwal’s return. He was looking even happier. He had an arrangement with the watchman to keep a bottle of whisky and a glass for him at the gate, and he had mastered the art of gulping down a peg in five seconds flat.

Arun continued his conversation with Haresh: ‘What plays have you seen recently, Mr Khanna?’ Arun named a few that were running in London.

‘Plays?’

‘Well, since you’ve come from England, I presume you would have taken the opportunity to visit the theatre.’

‘I didn’t have much of an occasion to see plays in the Midlands,’ said Haresh. ‘But I did see a large number of films.’

Arun received this information without comment. ‘Well, I expect you visited Stratford; it’s not far from Middlehampton.’

‘I did,’ said Haresh, relieved. This was worse than Novak, Havel and Kurilla put together.

Arun began to talk about the restoration of Anne Hathaway’s cottage, and by slow degrees moved from the provinces to post-war reconstruction work in London.

Meenakshi talked about friends of hers who were doing up a mews off Baker Street.

From there the conversation moved to hotels. At the mention of Claridges, Mr Khandelwal, who always booked a suite there whenever he visited London, said:

‘Oh, yes, Claridges. I have a good relation with Claridges. The manager always asks me, “Is everything to your satisfaction, Mr Khandelwal?” And I always say, “Yes, it is all to my satisfaction.”’ He smiled, as if at a private joke.

Mrs Khandelwal looked at him with suppressed anger. She suspected that his trips to London had a carnal as well as a business element to them, and she was right. Sometimes she would phone him up in the middle of the night to ensure that he was where he had said he would be. If he complained, which he rarely dared to do, she would tell him that she had mixed up her time zones.

‘What do you like best about London — when you do happen to go there?’ asked Arun, turning to Haresh.

‘The pubs, of course,’ said Haresh. ‘No matter where you go you bump into a pub. One of my favourites is that wedge-shaped pub near Trafalgar Square — the Marquis of Anglesey — or is it the Marquis of Granby?’

Mr Khandelwal looked somewhat interested, but Arun, Meenakshi, and Mrs Khandelwal gave a collective shudder. Haresh was behaving like a real bull among the Rosenthal.

‘Where do you buy toys for your daughter?’ asked Mrs Khandelwal quickly. ‘I am always telling Mr Khandelwal to buy toys from England. They make such good gifts. People are always being born in India and I don’t know what to give them.’

Arun quickly, and with accuracy and aplomb, gave the names of three toyshops in London, but ended with a hymn to Hamleys:

‘I always believe, though, Mrs Khandelwal, that one should go for the tried and tested stores. And really, there still is nothing to compare with Hamleys. Toys from top to bottom — nothing but toys on every floor. And it’s done up beautifully at Christmas. It’s on Regent Street, not far from Jaeger’s—’

‘Jaeger’s!’ said Mr Khandelwal. ‘That’s where I bought a dozen sweaters last month.’

‘When were you last in England, Mr Mehra?’ asked Haresh, who was feeling left out of the conversation.

But something appeared to have got stuck in Arun’s throat, because he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to cough, pointing with his left hand to his Adam’s apple.

His hostess was all solicitude. She ordered a glass of water for him. The servant brought in a thick tumbler of water on a stainless steel thali. Seeing Meenakshi’s horrified look, Mrs Khandelwal shouted at the servant.