Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

The sentence was left unfinished as Professor Durrani looked around the room, pleasingly mystified.

‘Do join us for dinner, Dr Durrani,’ said Sunil. ‘It’s open house. And may I offer you something to drink?’

‘Oh, no, no, er, no,’ said Dr Durrani kindly. ‘You young people go ahead. Don’t mind me.’

Haresh, suddenly thinking of Bhaskar, approached Dr Durrani and said, ‘Excuse me, Sir, but I wonder if I might force a very bright young man on to your attention. I think he would very much enjoy meeting you — and I hope you would enjoy meeting him.’

Dr Durrani looked inquiringly at Haresh but did not say anything. What did young people have to do with anything? he wondered. (Or people, for that matter.)

‘He was talking of the powers of ten the other day,’ said Haresh, ‘and he regretted that neither in English nor in Hindi is there a word for ten to the power of four or ten to the power of eight.’

‘Yes, er, well, it is a great pity,’ said Dr Durrani with some feeling. ‘Of course, in the accounts of Al-Biruni one finds. . ’

‘He seemed to feel that something should be done about it.’

‘How old is this young man?’ said Dr Durrani, quite interested.

‘Nine.’

Dr Durrani stooped once more in order to put himself on talking terms with Haresh. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Well, er, er, send him along. You know where I, er, live,’ he added, and turned to go.

Since neither Haresh nor Dr Durrani had ever seen each other before, this was unlikely. But Haresh thanked him, very pleased to be able to put two like minds into contact with each other. He did not feel uncomfortable that he might be encroaching on the time and energies of the great man. In fact the thought did not even occur to him.

Pran, who dropped in a bit later, was not an old Stephanian. He had been invited by Sunil as a friend and colleague. He missed seeing Dr Durrani, with whom he had a nodding acquaintance, and missed hearing about Bhaskar. In common with almost everyone in the family, he was a little in awe of his nephew, who seemed in certain respects just like any other child — fond of flying kites, fond of playing truant from school, and affectionate most of all towards his grandmothers.

‘Why have you come so late?’ asked Sunil a little belligerently. ‘And why is Savita not here? We were trusting her to leaven our cloddish company. Or is she walking ten paces behind you? No — I don’t see her anywhere. Did she think she’d cramp our style?’

‘I’ll answer the two questions worth answering,’ said Pran. ‘One — Savita decided she was feeling too tired; she begs you to excuse her. Two — I’m late because I’ve had dinner before coming. I know how things run in your house. Dinner isn’t served until midnight — if you remember to serve it at all — and even then it’s inedible. We usually have to get kababs at some wayside stall to fill ourselves up on the way home. You should get married yourself, you know, Sunil — then your household wouldn’t run so haphazardly. Besides, there would be someone to darn those atrocious socks. Anyway, why don’t you have your shoes on?’

Sunil sighed. ‘That’s because Haresh decided he needed two pairs of shoes for himself. “My need is greater than thine.” There they are in the corner, and I know I’ll never see them again. Oh, but you two haven’t met,’ said Sunil, talking now in Hindi. ‘Haresh Khanna — Pran Kapoor. Both of you have studied English literature, and I’ve never met anyone who knows more about it than the one, or less about it than the other.’

The two men shook hands.

‘Well,’ said Pran with a smile. ‘Why do you need two pairs of shoes?’

‘This fellow delights in creating mysteries,’ said Haresh, ‘but there’s a simple explanation. I’m using it as a sample to have another pair made.’

‘For yourself?’

‘Oh, no. I work with CLFC and I’m in Brahmpur for a few days on work.’

Haresh assumed that the abbreviations he often used were entirely familiar to everyone else.

‘CLFC?’ asked Pran.

‘Cawnpore Leather & Footwear Company.’

‘Oh. So you work in the shoe trade,’ said Pran. ‘That’s a far cry from English literature.’

‘All I am living by is with the awl,’ said Haresh lightly, and offered no more by way of explanation and misquotation.

‘My brother-in-law works in the shoe trade as well,’ said Pran. ‘Perhaps you’ve met him. He’s a trader in the Brahmpur Shoe Mart.’

‘I may have,’ said Haresh, ‘though because of the strike not all the traders have their stalls open. What’s his name?’

‘Kedarnath Tandon.’

‘Kedarnath Tandon! But of course I know him. He’s been showing me around all sorts of places—’ Haresh was very pleased. ‘In fact, it’s because of him in a way that Sunil has lost his shoes. So you’re his sala — sorry, I mean Veena’s brother. Are you the older one or the younger one?’

Sunil Patwardhan had loomed back into the conversation. ‘The elder,’ he said. ‘The younger one — Maan — was invited too, but his evenings nowadays are otherwise occupied.’

‘Well, tell me,’ said Pran, turning determinedly towards Sunil, ‘is there some special occasion for this party? It’s not your birthday, is it?’

‘No it’s not. And you’re not very good at changing the subject. But I’ll let you wriggle out of this one because I have a question for you, Dr Kapoor. One of my best students has been suffering because of you. Why were you so harsh — you and your disciplinary committee — what do they call it? student welfare committee? — with the boys who indulged in a little high spirits over Holi?’

‘A little high spirits?’ exclaimed Pran. ‘Those girls looked like they had been dyed in red and blue ink. It’s lucky they didn’t catch pneumonia. And really, there was a lot of, you know, unnecessary rubbing of colour here and there.’

‘But throwing the boys out of their hostels and threatening them with expulsion?’

‘Do you call that harsh?’ said Pran.

‘Of course. At the time that they’re preparing for their final exams?’

‘They certainly weren’t preparing for their exams on Holi when they decided — it seems that a few of them had even taken bhang — to storm the Women’s Hostel and lock up the warden in the common room.’

‘Oh, that steel-hearted bitch!’ said Sunil dismissively, then burst out laughing at the image of the women’s warden locked up, banging perhaps on the carom board in frustration. The warden was a draconian if rather good-looking woman who kept her charges on a strict leash, wore lots of make-up, and glared at any of the girls who did the same.

‘Come on, Sunil, she’s quite attractive — I think you have a soft spot for her yourself.’

Sunil snorted at the ridiculous idea.

‘I bet she asked for them to be expelled immediately. Or rusticated. Or electrocuted. Like those Russian spies in America the other day. The trouble is that no one remembers their own student days once they are on the other side.’

‘What would you have done in her place?’ asked Pran. ‘Or in our place for that matter? The girls’ parents would have been up in arms if we had taken no action. And, quite apart from the question of such repercussions, I don’t think the punishment was unfair. A couple of members of the committee wanted them expelled.’

‘Who? The Proctor?’

‘Well — a couple of members,’ said Pran.

‘Come on, come on, don’t be secretive, you’re among friends—’ said Sunil, putting a broad arm around Pran’s gangly shoulders.

‘No, really, Sunil, I’ve said too much already.’

‘You, of course, voted for leniency.’