Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

The hall was packed with students, alumni, teachers, parents and relatives together with smatterings of Brahmpur society, including a few literary lawyers and judges. Mr and Mrs Nowrojee were there, as were the poet Makhijani and the booming Mrs Supriya Joshi. Hema’s Taiji was there together with a knot of a dozen giggling girls, most of them her wards. Professor and Mrs Mishra were present. And of the family, Pran of course (since nothing could have kept him away, and he was indeed feeling much better), Savita (Uma had been left with her ayah for the evening), Maan, Bhaskar, Dr Kishen Chand Seth and Parvati.

Mrs Rupa Mehra was in a high state of excitement when the curtain went up to a sudden hush from the audience, and to the strains of a lute that sounded rather like a sitar, the Duke began: ‘If music be the food of love, play on—’

She was soon entirely carried away by the magic of the play. And indeed, there was no major mischief, other than some incomprehensible bawdy and buffoonery, in the first half of the play. When Lata came on, Mrs Rupa Mehra could hardly believe that it was her daughter.

Pride swelled in her bosom and tears forced themselves into her eyes. How could Pran and Savita, seated on either side of her, be so indifferent to Lata’s appearance?

‘Lata! Look, Lata!’ she whispered to them.

‘Yes, Ma,’ said Savita. Pran merely nodded.

When Olivia, in love with Viola, said:

‘Fate, show thy force. Ourselves we do not owe:

What is decreed must be; and be this so!’

— Mrs Rupa Mehra nodded her head sadly as she thought philosophically of much that had happened in her own life. How true, she thought, conferring honorary Indian citizenship on Shakespeare.

Malati, meanwhile, had the audience charmed. At Sir Toby’s line, ‘Here comes the little villain — How now, my nettle of India?’ everyone cheered, especially a claque of medical students. And there was another great round of applause at the interval (which Mr Barua had placed in the middle of Act III) for Maria and Sir Toby. Mrs Rupa Mehra had to be restrained from going backstage to congratulate Lata and Malati. Even Kabir-as-Malvolio had so far proven to be innocuous, and she had laughed with the rest of the audience at his gecking and gulling.

Kabir had donned the accent of the officious and unpopular Registrar of the university, and — whether this would prove beneficial for Mr Barua’s future or not — it increased the present enjoyment of the students. Dr Kishen Chand Seth, in fact, was Malvolio’s only supporter, insisting loudly in the interval that what was being done to him was indefensible.

‘Lack of discipline, that is the trouble with the whole country,’ he stated vehemently.

Bhaskar was bored with the play. It was nothing like as exciting as the Ramlila, in which he had obtained a role as one of Hanuman’s monkey-soldiers. The only interesting part of this play so far had been Malvolio’s interpretation of ‘M, O, A, I’.

The second half began. Mrs Rupa Mehra nodded and smiled. But she nearly started from her chair when she heard her daughter say to Kabir: ‘Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?’ and she gasped at Malvolio’s odious, brazen reply.

‘Stop it — stop it at once!’ she wanted to shout. ‘Is this why I sent you to university? I should never have allowed you to act in this play. Never. If Daddy had seen this he would have been ashamed of you.’

‘Ma!’ whispered Savita. ‘Are you all right?’

‘No!’ her mother wanted to shout. ‘I am not all right. And how can you let your younger sister say such things? Shameless!’ Shakespeare’s Indian citizenship was immediately withdrawn.

But she said nothing.

Mrs Rupa Mehra’s uneasy shufflings, however, were nothing compared to her father’s activities in the second half. He and Parvati were seated a few rows away from the rest of the family. He started sobbing uncontrollably at the scene where the disowned sea-captain reproaches Viola, thinking her to be her brother:

‘Will you deny me now?

Is’t possible that my deserts to you

Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery

Lest that it make me so unsound a man

As to upbraid you with those kindnesses

That I have done for you.’

Loudly sobbed Dr Kishen Chand Seth. Astonished necks swivelled swiftly towards him — but to no effect.

‘Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here

I snatched one half out of the jaws of death,

Relieved him with such sanctity of love,—

And to his image, which methought did promise

Most venerable worth, did I devotion.’

By now Dr Kishen Chand Seth was gasping almost asthmatically. He started pounding the floor with his stick to relieve his distress.

Parvati took it from him and said, rather sharply: ‘Kishy! This isn’t Deedar !’—and this brought him heavily back to earth.

But not much later, the distress of Malvolio — cooped up in an inner chamber and driven from bewilderment almost to madness — evoked further distress, and he began to weep to himself as if his heart would break. Several people around him stopped laughing and turned to look at him.

At this, Parvati handed him back his stick and said, ‘Kishy, let’s go now. Now! At once!’

But Kishy would have none of it. He managed to control himself at last, and sat out the rest of the play, rapt and almost tearless. His daughter, who had no sympathy whatsoever with Malvolio, had grown increasingly reconciled to the play as he made more and more of a fool of himself and finally came to his undignified exit.

Since the play ended with three happy marriages (and even, Indian-movie-style, concluded with the last of four songs), it was a success in the eyes of Mrs Rupa Mehra who had, miraculously and conveniently, forgotten all about Malvolio and the bed. After the curtain calls and the appearance of shy Mr Barua to calls of ‘Producer! producer!’ she rushed backstage and hugged Lata, and kissed her, make-up and all, saying:

‘You are my darling daughter. I am so proud of you. And of Malati too. If only your—’

She stopped, and tears came to her eyes. Then she made an effort to control herself, and said, ‘Now get changed quickly, let’s go home. It’s late, and you must be tired after talking so much.’

She had noticed Malvolio hanging around. He had been chatting to a couple of other actors, but had now turned towards Lata and her mother. It seemed that he wanted to greet her, or at any rate to say something.

‘Ma — I can’t; I’ll join you all later,’ said Lata.

‘No!’ Mrs Rupa Mehra put her foot down. ‘You are coming now. You can clean off your make-up at home. Savita and I will help you.’

But whether it was her own newfound thespian confidence or merely a continuation of Olivia’s ‘smooth, discreet, and stable bearing’, Lata simply said, in a quiet voice:

‘I am sorry, Ma, there is a party for the cast, and we are going to celebrate. Malati and I have worked on this play for months, and have made friends whom we won’t see until after the Dussehra break. And please don’t worry, Ma; Mr Barua will make sure I get home safely.’

Mrs Rupa Mehra could not believe her ears.

Now Kabir came up to her and said:

‘Mrs Mehra?’

‘Yes?’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra belligerently, all the more so because Kabir was very obviously good-looking, despite his make-up and curious attire, and Mrs Rupa Mehra in general believed in good looks.

‘Mrs Mehra, I thought I would introduce myself,’ said Kabir. ‘I am Kabir Durrani.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra rather sharply. ‘I have heard about you. I have also met your father. Do you mind if my daughter does not attend the cast party?’