Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

Kabir’s face lit up when he saw Malati enter the Blue Danube. He had drunk two cups of coffee already and had ordered a third. Outside the frosted glass the streetlights of Nabiganj glowed brightly but indistinctly, and the shadowy forms of pedestrians wandered past.

‘Ah, so you’ve come.’

‘Yes. Of course. I got your note this morning.’

‘I haven’t chosen a bad time for you?’

‘No worse than any other,’ said Malati. ‘Oh, that sounds bad. What I meant was that life is so hectic I don’t know why I don’t simply collapse. When I was in Nainital and far away from anyone whom I knew I was quite at peace.’

‘I hope you don’t mind sitting in a corner? We could change.’

‘No, I prefer it.’

‘Well, what’ll you have?’ asked Kabir.

‘Oh, just a cup of coffee, nothing more. I have to go to a wedding. That’s why I’m so overdressed.’

Malati was wearing a green silk sari with a broad border in a darker green and gold. She was looking ravishing. Her eyes were a deeper green than usual.

‘I like what you’re wearing,’ said Kabir, impressed. ‘Green and gold — quite dazzling. And that necklace with those little green things and that paisley pattern.’

‘Those little green things are emeralds,’ said Malati, laughing a little, indignantly but delightfully.

‘Oh, well, you see, I’m not used to this stuff. It looks lovely, though.’

The coffee came. They sipped it and talked to each other about the photographs of the play, which had come out well, about the hill stations they had both been to, about skating and riding, about recent politics and other events, including the religious riots. Malati was surprised how easy Kabir was to talk to, how likable he was, how very handsome. Now that he was no longer Malvolio, it was easier to take him seriously. On the other hand, since he had once been Malvolio, she felt something of a sense of guild solidarity with him.

‘Did you know that there’s more snow and ice in India than anywhere else in the world other than the poles?’

‘Really?’ said Malati. ‘No I didn’t.’ She stirred her coffee. ‘But I don’t know lots of things. Such as, for instance, what this meeting’s about.’

Kabir was forced to come to the point.

‘It’s about Lata.’

‘I thought as much.’

‘She won’t see me, she won’t answer my notes. It’s as if she hates me.’

‘Of course she doesn’t, don’t be melodramatic,’ laughed Malati. ‘She likes you, I think,’ she said more seriously. ‘But you know what the problem is.’

‘Well, I can’t stop thinking about her,’ said Kabir, his spoon going round and round his cup. ‘I’m always wondering when she’ll meet someone else, just like she met me — whom she’ll get to like more than me. Then I won’t have any chance at all. I just can’t stop thinking of her. And I feel so strangely low, it’s no joke. I must have walked around the college grounds five times yesterday, thinking she was here — or she wasn’t here — the bench, the slope down to the river, the steps of the exam hall, the cricket field, the auditorium — she’s really getting me annoyed. That’s why I want you to help me.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. I must be crazy to love anyone so much. Not crazy, well. . ’ Kabir looked down, then continued quietly. ‘It’s difficult to explain, you know, Malati. With her I had a sense of joy — of happiness, which, really, I hadn’t had for at least a year. But it lasted for no time at all. She’s so cool towards me now. Tell her I’ll run away with her if she wants — no, that’s ridiculous, tell her — how can she — she’s not even religious.’ He paused. ‘I’ll never be able to forget the look on her face when she realized I was Malvolio! She was furious!’ He started laughing, then sobered up again. ‘So it’s all up to you.’

‘What can I do?’ asked Malati, wanting to pat his head. He seemed in his confusion to believe that she had endless power over Lata, which was quite flattering.

‘You can intercede with her on my behalf.’

‘But she’s just gone to Calcutta with her family.’

‘Oh.’ Kabir looked thoughtful. ‘Calcutta again? Well, write to her then.’

‘Why do you love her?’ asked Malati, looking at him strangely. In the course of a year, the number of Lata-lovers had shot up from zero to at least three. At this rate it would hit the double digits by next year.

‘Why?’ Kabir looked at Malati in amazement. ‘Why? Because she has six toes. I have no idea why I love her, Malati — anyway, that’s irrelevant. Will you help me?’

‘All right.’

‘All this is having the strangest effect on my batting,’ continued Kabir, not even pausing to thank her. ‘I’m hitting more sixes, but getting out sooner. But I performed well against the Old Brahmpurians when I knew she was watching. Odd, isn’t it?’

‘Very odd,’ said Malati, trying to restrict her smile to her eyes.

‘I’m not exactly an innocent, you know,’ said Kabir, a bit piqued at her amusement.

‘I should hope not!’ said Malati, laughing. ‘Good, I’ll write to Calcutta. Just remain at the crease.’

Arun managed to keep his mother’s birthday party a secret from her. He had invited a few older ladies for tea — her Calcutta friends with whom she occasionally played rummy — and he had generously forborne from inviting the Chatterjis.

The tip of the tail of the cat was let out of the bag by Varun, however, who, ever since sitting for his IAS exams, had been feeling that he had fulfilled enough of his duty to last a decade. The Winter Season was on, and the beat of galloping hooves was pounding in his ears.

One day he looked up from the racing form and said: ‘But I won’t be able to go on that day, because that’s when your party — oh!’

Mrs Rupa Mehra, who was saying, ‘3, 6, 10, 3, 6, 20,’ looked up from her knitting and said, ‘What is that, Varun?. . You’ve disturbed my counting. What party?’

‘Oh,’ said Varun, ‘I was talking to myself, Ma. My friends are, you know, well, throwing a party and it will interfere with a race-meeting.’ He looked relieved that he had covered up so well.

Mrs Rupa Mehra decided that she wanted to be surprised after all, so she did not follow up the matter. But she was in a state of suppressed excitement for the next few days.

On the morning of her birthday she opened all her cards (a good two-thirds of which were illustrated with roses) and read each one out to Lata and Savita and Pran and Aparna and the baby. (Meenakshi had made good her escape.) Then she complained of eye-strain, and asked Lata to reread them back to her. The one from Parvati read as follows:

Dearest Rupa,

Your father and I wish you millions of happinesses on the occasion of your birthday, and hope that you are recovering well in Calcutta. Kishy joins me in saying Happy New Year in advance as well.

With fondest affection,

Parvati Seth

‘And what am I supposed to be recovering from?’ demanded Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘No, I don’t want that one read again.’

In the evening, Arun left work early. He collected the cake that he had ordered from Flury’s and a large number of pastries and patties. While waiting at an intersection, he noticed a man selling roses by the dozen. Arun rolled down his window and asked him the price. But the first price the man mentioned was so shocking that Arun yelled at him and began to roll up his window. He continued to glower even though the man was now shaking his head apologetically and pushing the flowers up against the pane.

But now that the car was moving, Arun thought of his mother again, and was almost tempted to tell the driver to halt. But no! it would have been intolerable to go back to the flower seller and haggle with him. He had been absolutely mad angry, and he was still furious.