Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

‘I worry about you.’

‘I don’t,’ Pran lied.

‘You don’t get enough fresh air, and you use your lungs too much. I wish you were a writer, not a lecturer.’ Savita drank the water slowly, savouring its coolness in the warm night.

‘Thanks,’ said Pran. ‘But you don’t get enough exercise either. You should walk around a bit, even during your pregnancy.’

‘I know,’ said Savita, yawning now. ‘I’ve been reading the book my mother gave me.’

‘All right, goodnight, darling. Give me the glass.’

He switched off the light and lay in the dark, his eyes still open. I never expected to be as happy as this, he told himself. I’m asking myself if I’m happy, and it hasn’t made me cease to be so. But how long will this last? It isn’t just me but my wife and child who are saddled with my useless lungs. I must take care of myself. I must take care of myself. I must not overwork. And I must get to sleep quickly.

And in five minutes he was in fact asleep again.

The next morning a letter from Calcutta arrived in the post. It was written in Mrs Rupa Mehra’s inimitable small handwriting, and went as follows:

Dearest Savita and Pran,

I have just a little while ago received your dear letter and it is needless to say how delighted I am to get it. I was not expecting a letter from you Pran as I know you are working very hard and could hardly get any time to write letters so the pleasure of receiving it is even greater.

I am sure inspite of difficulties Pran dearest your dreams in the department will come true. You must have patience, it is a lesson I have learned in life. One must work hard and everything else is not in one’s hands. I am blessed that my sweetheart Savita has such a good husband, only he must take care of his health.

By now the baby must be kicking even more and tears come into my eyes that I cannot be there with you my Savita to share the joy. I remember when you were kicking it was so gentle a kick and Daddy bless him was there and put his hand on my stomach and could not even feel it. Now my darlingest S, you are yourself to be a mother. You are so much in my thoughts. Sometimes Arun says to me you only care for Lata and Savita but it is not true, I care for all four of my children boys or girls and take an interest in all they do. Varun is so troubled this year in his maths studies that I am very worried for him.

Aparna is a sweetheart and so fond of her grandmother. I am often left with her in the evenings. Arun and Meenakshi go out and socialise, it is important for his job I know — and I am happy to play with her. Sometimes I read. Varun comes back very late from college, in the past he used to entertain her and that was good because children should not spend all their time with their ayahs, it can be bad for their upbringing. So now it has fallen to me and Aparna has grown so attached to me. Yesterday she said to her mother who had dressed up to go out to dinner: ‘You can go, I don’t care; if Daadi stays here I don’t care two hoots.’ Those were her exact words and I was so proud of her that at three years she could say so much. I am teaching her not to call me ‘Grandma’ but ‘Daadi’ but Meenakshi thinks if she does not learn correct English now when will she learn?

Meenakshi sometimes I find has moods, and then she stares at me and then Savita dearest I feel that I am not wanted in the house. I want to stare back but sometimes I start crying. I can’t help it at all. Then Arun says to me, ‘Ma, don’t start the waterworks, you are always making a fuss over nothing.’ So I try not to cry, but when I think about your Daddy’s gold medal the tears are there.

Lata is nowadays spending a lot of time with Meenakshi’s family. Meenakshi’s father Mr Justice Chatterji thinks highly of Lata I think, and Meenakshi’s sister Kakoli is also fond of her. Then there are the three boys Amit and Dipankar and Tapan Chatterji, who all seem more and more strange to me. Amit says Lata should learn Bengali, it is the only truly civilised language in India. He himself as you know writes his books in English so why does he say that only Bengali is civilised and Hindi is not? I don’t know, but the Chatterjis are an unusual family. They have a piano but the father wears a dhoti quite a lot in the evenings. Kakoli sings Rabindrasangeet and also western music, but her voice is not to my taste and she has a modern reputation in Calcutta. Sometimes I wonder how my Arun got married into such a family but all is for the best as I have my Aparna.

Lata I fear was very angry and hurt with me when we first came to Calcutta and also worried about her exam results and not like herself at all. You must telegram the results as soon as they come, no matter whether good or bad. It was that boy K of course and nothing else whom she met in Brahmpur and he was clearly a bad influence. Sometimes she made a bitter remark to me and sometimes only gave minimum answers to my questions, but can you imagine if I had let things go on in that way? I had no help or sympathy from Arun at all in this but now I have told him to introduce Lata to his covenanted and other friends and let us see. If only I could find a husband like Pran for my Lata, I would die contented. If Daddy had seen you Pran, he would have known that his Savita was in good hands.

One day I was so hurt that I said to Lata, it was all very well to have non-cooperation in Gandhiji’s time against the British, but I am your own mother, and it is very stubborn of you that you are doing this. Doing what? she said — and it was so indifferent that I felt my heart had broken. My dearest Savita, I pray, if you have a daughter — although actually it is time for a grandson in the family — then she will not ever be so cold to you. But at other times, she forgets she is angry with me — and then she is quite affectionate until she remembers.

May God Almighty keep you well and happy to carry out all your plans. And soon in the Monsoon I will see you, D.V.

Lots and lots of love to both of you from me, Arun, Varun, Lata, Aparna and Meenakshi and a big hug and kiss as well. Don’t worry about me, my blood sugar is all right.

From your everloving Ma

P.S. Please give my love to Maan, Veena, Kedarnath and also Bhaskar and Kedarnath’s mother and your own parents Pran (I hope the neem blossoms are less troublesome now) — and my father and Parvati — and of course to the Baby Expected. Also give my salaams to Mansoor and Mateen and the other servants. It is so hot in Calcutta but it must be worse in Brahmpur and in your condition Savita you must remain very cool and not go out in the sun or take unnecessary exercise. You must get plenty of rest. When in doubt about what to do, you must remember to do nothing. After the birth you will be busy enough, believe me, my dearest Savita, and you must conserve your strength.

The reference to neem blossoms reminded Pran that he had not visited his mother in several days. Mrs Mahesh Kapoor had been even more badly affected this year by the pollen of the neem trees than she usually was. Some days she could hardly breathe. Even her husband, who treated all allergies as if they were wilfully inflicted by the victims upon themselves, was forced to take some notice of his wife. As for Pran, who knew from experience what it felt like to struggle for breath, he thought of his mother with a feeling of sad helplessness — and with some anger towards his father who insisted that she remain in town in order to manage the household.

‘Where should she go where there are no neem trees?’ Mahesh Kapoor had said. ‘Abroad?’

‘Well, Baoji, perhaps to the south somewhere — or to the hills.’

‘Don’t be unrealistic. Who will take care of her there? Or do you think I should give up my work?’