Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

‘Meenakshi, I just can’t go on with this sort of thing,’ he was saying.

‘Oh, do be quiet, and let me think. My headache’s come back,’ said Meenakshi.

Billy nodded contritely. Meenakshi was putting on her sari again — rather violently.

By the time she had worked out that she was probably safe anyway, she was in no mood to relinquish Billy. She told him so.

‘But after Shireen and I are married—’ began Billy.

‘What does marriage have to do with it?’ asked Meenakshi. ‘I’m married, aren’t I? You enjoy it, I enjoy it; that’s all there is to it. Next Thursday, then.’

‘But Meenakshi—’

‘Don’t gape, Billy. It makes you look like a fish. I’m trying to be reasonable.’

‘But Meenakshi—’

‘I can’t stay to discuss all this,’ said Meenakshi, putting the finishing touches to her face. ‘I’d better be getting home. Poor Arun will be wondering what on earth’s happened to me.’

‘Put off the light,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra to Lata as she came out of the bathroom. ‘Electricity does not grow on trees.’

Mrs Rupa Mehra was seriously annoyed. It was New Year’s Eve and, instead of spending it with her mother as she ought to, Lata was behaving like a Young Person and going out with Arun and Meenakshi for a round of parties. Mischief was afoot, and Mrs Rupa Mehra could sense it.

‘Will Amit be going with you?’ she demanded of Meenakshi.

‘Well, Ma, I hope so — and Kuku and Hans too if we can persuade them,’ Meenakshi added as camouflage.

Mrs Rupa Mehra was not deceived. ‘Well, then, you will have no objection to Varun going as well,’ she asserted. She promptly instructed her younger son to go along with them. ‘And do not leave the party for a moment,’ she warned him sternly.

Varun was not happy at all with this state of affairs. He had hoped to spend his New Year with Sajid, Jason, Hot-ends and his other Shamshuing and gambling acquaintances. But there was that in Mrs Rupa Mehra’s eye which brooked no counter-squeak. ‘And I do not want Lata to go off by herself,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra when she got Varun by himself for a moment. ‘I do not trust your brother and Meenakshi.’

‘Oh, why not?’ asked Varun.

‘They will be having much too good a time to keep an eye on Lata,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra evasively.

‘I suppose I shouldn’t have a good time myself,’ said Varun with gloomy annoyance.

‘No. Not if your sister’s future is at stake. What would your father say?’

At the memory of his father Varun felt a sudden sense of resentment of the kind he often had towards Arun. Then, almost immediately, he felt bad about it, and was overcome by a sense of guilt. What kind of son am I? he thought.

Mrs Rupa Mehra and the rump of the family — Pran, Savita, Aparna and Uma — were to go over to Ballygunge that evening to spend New Year’s Eve with the senior Chatterjis, including old Mr Chatterji. Dipankar and Tapan would be at home too. It would be a quiet family evening, thought Mrs Rupa Mehra, not like this endless gallivanting that seemed to be the craze these days. Frivolous, that was the word for Meenakshi and Kakoli; and their frivolity was a disgrace in a city as poor as Calcutta — a city moreover where Pandit Nehru had just arrived to talk about the Congress and the freedom struggle and socialism. Mrs Rupa Mehra told Meenakshi exactly what she thought.

Meenakshi’s response was a couplet disguised as ‘Deck the hall with boughs of holly’, of which there had been a good deal too much on the radio recently:

‘End the year with fun and frivol.

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!

All the rest is drab and drivel.

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!’

‘You are a very irresponsible girl, Meenakshi, I can tell you that,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘How dare you sing to me like that?’

But Mrs Arun Mehra was in too good a mood to be put off by her mother-in-law’s ill-temper and, surprisingly and suddenly, gave her a kiss for New Year. Such a sign of affection was rare in Meenakshi, and Mrs Rupa Mehra accepted it with glum grace.

Then Arun, Meenakshi, Varun and Lata whizzed off to enjoy themselves.

They went to several parties, and landed up after eleven o’clock at Bishwanath Bhaduri’s, where Meenakshi saw the back of Billy’s head.

‘Billy!’ Meenakshi cooed in a carrying vibrato from halfway across the room.

Billy looked around and his face fell. But Meenakshi traversed the room and managed to detach him as blatantly and flirtatiously as possible from Shireen. When she had got him alone in a corner, she said:

‘Billy, I can’t make it on Thursday. The Shady Ladies just phoned to say they’re having a special meeting.’

Billy’s face expressed relief. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ he said.

‘So it will have to be Wednesday.’

‘I can’t!’ pleaded Billy. Then he became annoyed. ‘Why did you get me away from my friends?’ he said. ‘Shireen will begin to suspect me.’

‘She will not,’ said Meenakshi gaily. ‘But it’s good your back’s turned to her at the moment. If she saw you looking so angry, she certainly would. And indignation doesn’t suit you. In fact nothing suits you. Only your birthday suit. Don’t blush, Billy, or I shall be forced to kiss you passionately an hour before your New Year kiss is due. Wednesday then. Don’t evade your irresponsibilities.’

Billy was horribly unhappy, but he didn’t know what to do.

‘Did you watch the Test match today?’ asked Meenakshi, changing the subject. Poor Billy, he looked so dejected.

‘What do you think?’ said Billy, cheering up at the memory. India had not done too badly, having managed to get England out for 342 in the first innings.

‘So you’ll be there tomorrow?’ Meenakshi said.

‘Oh, yes. I’m looking forward to seeing what Hazare will do with their bowling. The MCC have sent a second-rate team out to India, and I’ll be happy to see them taught a lesson. Well, it’ll be a pleasant way to spend New Year’s Day.’

‘Arun has a few tickets,’ said Meenakshi. ‘I think I’ll go and watch the match tomorrow.’

‘But you aren’t interested in cricket—’ protested Billy.

‘Ah — there’s another woman waving at you,’ said Meenakshi. ‘You haven’t been seeing other women, have you?’

‘Meenakshi!’ said Billy, so deeply shocked that Meenakshi was forced to believe him.

‘Well, I’m glad you’re still faithful. Faithfully unfaithful,’ said Meenakshi. ‘Or unfaithfully faithful. No, it’s me she’s waving at. Should I deliver you back to Shireen?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Billy mutedly.

Varun and Lata were talking to Dr Ila Chattopadhyay in another part of the room. Dr Ila Chattopadhyay enjoyed the company of all sorts of people — and the fact that they were young did not count against them in her view. In fact this was one of her strengths as a teacher of English. Another was her devastating braininess. Dr Ila Chattopadhyay was as crazy and opinionated with her students as with her colleagues. Indeed, she respected her students more than her colleagues. They were, she thought, much more intellectually innocent, and much more intellectually honest.

Lata wondered what she was doing at this party: was she also chaperoning someone? If so, she was performing her duties laxly. At the moment she was entirely absorbed in conversation with Varun.

‘No, no,’ she was saying, ‘don’t join the IAS — it’s just another one of those Brown Sahib professions, and you’ll turn into a variant of your odious brother.’

‘But what should I do?’ Varun was saying. ‘I’m not good for anything.’