Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

With fondest love to you both,

Yours,

Ma

(Mrs Rupa Mehra)

P.S. Please send me a telegram after the interview is over, otherwise I will not be able to sleep.

Varun looked nervously around at his fellow-passengers as the cold, dry, flat countryside around Delhi hurtled past the windows of the train. No one appeared to realize how momentous this journey was for him. Having read the Delhi edition of the Times of India from the first page to the last and back again — for who knew what the predatory interviewers might decide to ask him about current affairs? — he stealthily glanced at an advertisement that seemed to leap out at him:

Dr Dugle. Highly honoured and patronised for his social services (Inland and Overseas) by many eminent persons, Rajas, Maharajas, and chiefs. Dr Dugle. India’s leading specialist with international fame in chronic diseases such as nervous debility, premature old age, run down conditions, lack of vigour and vitality, and similar acute diseases. Consultations in complete confidence.

Varun fell gloomily to pondering his innumerable social, intellectual and other inadequacies. Then another ad attracted his attention.

Dress your hair with the creamed oils of Brylcreem.

Why creamed oils? Brylcreem is a creamed mixture of tonic oils. It is easier to apply, cleaner to use and its creaminess gives the right amount of all Brylcreem ingredients each time. Brylcreem gives that smooth soft lustre to the hair which so many women admire. Buy Brylcreem today.

Varun felt suddenly miserable. He doubted that even Brylcreem would help women to admire him. He knew he was going to make a fool of himself in the interview, just as in everything else.

‘The servants will be coming in half an hour,’ whispered Kalpana Gaur tenderly, pushing Varun gently out of her bed.

‘Oh.’

‘And you’d better sleep in your own bed for half an hour, so that they don’t wonder.’

Varun looked at her, amazed. She smiled at him in a motherly sort of way, the pale green quilt up around her neck.

‘And then you’d better get ready for breakfast and the interview. Today’s your big day.’

‘Ah.’ Varun seemed speechless.

‘Now, Varun, don’t be tongue-tied, it won’t do — at least not today. You have to impress them and charm them. I promised your mother I’d make sure you were well taken care of and that I’d boost your confidence. Do you feel boosted?’

Varun blushed, then smiled weakly. ‘Heh, heh,’ he laughed anxiously, wondering how he was going to get out of bed without embarrassment. And it was so cold in Delhi compared to Calcutta. The mornings were freezing.

‘It’s so cold,’ he mumbled.

‘Do you know,’ said Kalpana Gaur, ‘I often feel hot spots on my feet which trouble me throughout the night, but last night I didn’t feel any at all. You were marvellous, Varun. Now remember, if at any time during the interview you begin to feel anxious, think of last night, and tell yourself: “I am the Iron Frame of India.”’

Varun still looked dazed, though not unhappy.

‘Use my dressing gown,’ suggested Kalpana Gaur.

Varun gave her a grateful and puzzled glance.

A couple of hours later, after breakfast, she examined his appearance critically, patted his pockets, adjusted his striped tie, wiped off the excessive Brylcreem in his hair, and combed it again.

‘But—’ protested Varun.

‘Now I’ll make sure you get to the right place at the right time.’

‘That’s not necessary,’ said Varun, not wanting to cause trouble.

‘It’s on my way to the hospital.’

‘Er, give my best to your father when you get there.’

‘Of course.’

‘Kalpana?’

‘Yes, Varun?’

‘What happened to that mysterious illness of yours that Ma kept telling us about? It was more than just hot spots, according to her.’

‘Oh, that?’ Kalpana looked thoughtful. ‘It sorted itself out the moment my father had to go to hospital. It made no sense for both of us to be ill.’

The Union Public Service Commission was holding its interviews in a temporary structure in Connaught Place, one which had been set up during the War and had not yet been dismantled. Kalpana Gaur squeezed Varun’s hand in the taxi. ‘Don’t look so dazed,’ she said. ‘And remember, never say, “I don’t know”; always say, “I’m afraid I haven’t any idea.” You look very presentable, Varun. Much more handsome than your brother.’

Varun glanced at her with a mixture of bewilderment and tenderness, and got out.

In the waiting room, he noticed a couple of candidates who looked like south Indians. They were shivering. They had been even less prepared for the Delhi weather than himself, and it was a particularly cold day. One of them was saying to the other: ‘And they say that the Chairman of the UPSC can read you like a book. He can assess you as soon as you enter the door. Every weakness of your personality is laid bare within seconds.’

Varun felt his knees tremble. He went to the bathroom, got out a small bottle that he had managed to secrete on his person, and took two quick swigs. His knees settled down, and he began to think he would conduct himself superbly after all.

‘I’m afraid I really have no idea,’ he repeated to himself.

‘About what?’ asked one of his fellow-candidates after a pause.

‘I don’t know,’ said Varun. ‘I mean, I’m afraid I really couldn’t tell you.’

‘And then I said “Good morning”, and they all nodded, but the Chairman, a sort of bulldog man, said, “Namaste” instead. I was quite shocked for a second, but somehow I got over it.’

‘And then?’ asked Kalpana eagerly.

‘And then he asked me to sit down. It was a roundish table, and I was at one end and the bulldog man was at the other end, he looked at me as if he could read every thought of mine before I had even thought it. Mr Chatterji — no, Mr Bannerji, they called him. And there was a Vice-Chancellor and someone from the Ministry of External Affairs, and—’

‘But how did it go?’ asked Kalpana. ‘Do you think it went well?’

‘I don’t know. They asked me a question about Prohibition, you see, and I’d just been drinking, so naturally I was nervous—’

‘You had just been what?’

‘Oh,’ said Varun guiltily. ‘One or two gulps. Then someone asked me if I liked the odd social drink, and I said, yes. But I could feel my throat become dry, and the bulldog man just kept looking at me and he sniffed slightly and noted something down on a pad. And then he said, Mr Mehra, what if you were posted to a state like Bombay or a district like Kanpur where there was Prohibition, would you feel obliged to refrain from the odd social drink? So I said of course I would. Then someone else on my right said, what if you were visiting friends in Calcutta, and were offered a drink, would you refuse it — as a representative of a dry area? And I could see them staring at me, ten pairs of eyes, and then suddenly I thought, I am the Iron Frame, who are all these people anyway, and I said, No, I saw no reason to, in fact I would drink it with a pleasure enhanced by my previous abstinence — that’s what I said. “Enhanced by my previous abstinence.”’

Kalpana laughed.

‘Yes,’ said Varun dubiously. ‘It seemed to go down well with them too. I don’t think it was I who was answering all those questions, you know. It seemed to be a sort of Arun person who had taken possession of me. Perhaps because I was wearing his tie.’

‘What else did they ask?’

‘Something about what three books I would take with me to a desert island, and did I know what the initials M.I.T. stood for, and did I think there would be war with Pakistan — and I really can’t remember anything, Kalpana, except that the bulldog man had two watches, one on the inside of his wrist and one on the outside. It was all I could do to avoid staring at him. Thank God it’s over,’ he added morosely. ‘It lasted forty-five minutes and it took a year off my life.’