Saadat Manto - Bombay Stories

But nobody was depressed — just the opposite. On those few occasions when they turned to talk about what was wrong with their lives, they did so cheerfully. They were really an interesting cast of characters.

We were just about to push open the cottage’s gate when Gharib Nawaz came out. Seeing him gave Chaddah an idea, and he took some money out of his pocket. Without counting it, he gave some to Gharib Nawaz and told him, ‘We need four bottles of Scotch. If this isn’t enough, you’ll have to make up the difference. If there’s change, give it back to me.’

Gharib Nawaz smiled mischievously. Chaddah laughed loudly, looked in my direction and then said to Gharib Nawaz, ‘This is Mr One Two, but I can’t let you talk to him because he’s been drinking rum. If there’s some Scotch tonight, you can talk to him then. But please go get the Scotch.’

Gharib Nawaz left and we went inside. Chaddah let out a loud yawn and picked up the half finished bottle of rum. He held the bottle up to the light, glanced to see how much was left and shouted, ‘Oh, Prince of Kazakhstan!’ When the servant didn’t appear, Chaddah poured himself a large drink and said, ‘The idiot must have passed out drunk!’

After finishing his drink, Chaddah became worried. ‘Hey, you shouldn’t have dragged Bhabhi here. I swear, it’s a big responsibility!’ But then he comforted himself. ‘I don’t think she’ll get bored where we left her.’

‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘she’s okay over there. For the time being she’ll forget about wanting to kill me.’ Then I poured some rum into my glass even though the stuff tasted like rotten molasses.

The storage room had two iron-barred windows through which we could see an empty lot. From out there someone shouted out Chaddah’s name. I was startled. I looked again and saw the music director, Vankatre. I couldn’t figure out what race he was — Mongolian, African, Aryan, or God knows what else. You would be about to decide on one when you would see something that contradicted your first impression and force you to revise your thoughts again. Actually, he was Maratha, and yet, instead of having an aquiline nose like Shivaji he had this surprising apparatus, broad and pressed down, which he said was necessary for producing good nasal sounds. When he saw me, he shouted, ‘Manto! Sir Manto Seth!’

Chaddah shouted back in an even louder voice, ‘To hell with all this sir-seth business! Come on, get in here!’ Vankatre immediately came in. Laughing, he pulled a bottle of rum out of his pocket and set it on the footstool and said, ‘Hell, I went over to Mummy’s. She said my friend had come, and I wondered who the hell it could be — hell, I had no idea it was fucking Manto!’

Chaddah thumped Vankatre on his pumpkin-shaped head and said, ‘Stop fucking talking about him, would you? At least you brought some rum.’ Vankatre rubbed his head. Then he picked up my empty glass and poured himself a drink. ‘Manto, when we met today,’ he said, indicating Chaddah, ‘the first words out of this bastard’s mouth were how he felt like drinking, but I didn’t have any money and so didn’t know what to do.’

Chaddah pounded him on the head again, ‘Sit down, will you? You make it sound like you really cared.’

‘Hey, if I didn’t care, who the hell brought this big bottle? Your dad give it to me?’ Then Vankatre slugged down his rum. Chaddah didn’t pay any attention to Vankatre’s chatter but asked, ‘So what did Mummy say? Anything? When will Mozelle come? Oh, yes — the platinum blonde!’

Vankatre wanted to say something but Chaddah grabbed my arm and began talking. ‘Manto, I swear to God, she’s so great. I’d heard of platinum blondes but yesterday I saw my first. Her hair is like delicate silver threads! It’s great! I swear to God, Manto! Long live Mummy!’ Then he looked fiercely at Vankatre and snapped, ‘You idiot, Vankatre! Repeat with me—“Long live Mummy!” ’

Chaddah and Vankatre shouted together, ‘Long live Mummy!’ After several rounds of shouting, Vankatre tried again to answer Chaddah’s question, but Chaddah stopped him, ‘Okay, enough of that. I’m all emotional now.’ Then he went on, ‘You know how the beloved’s hair is usually black, like black clouds? This is something else.’ He turned to me again. ‘Manto, it’s very confusing. Her hair is like beautiful silver threads! But I can’t say it’s silver, and I don’t know what colour platinum is because I’ve never seen it. It’s a strange colour, a mixture of steel and silver.’

Vankatre finished his second shot and suggested, ‘And then add a little XXX rum to that.’

This made Chaddah furious and he shouted, ‘Don’t talk shit!’ He turned again to me with a compassionate look and said, ‘Man, I have really become emotional! Yes — that colour — I swear to God it’s unprecedented. Have you seen it? You’ll find it on a fish’s stomach — no, no, not just their stomachs — on pomfret fish — what are those things on fish called? No, no — on snakes — on their delicate scales — yes, scales — just that colour — scales — I learned that word from a fisherman. It’s such a beautiful thing and yet such an absurd word! In Punjabi we call it ‘chane’—shining — yes, that — it’s exactly how her hair is. Her hair is so beautiful, it could kill you!’ Then he suddenly got up. ‘Fuck all this! Man, I’ve got all emotional!’

Then Vankatre asked very innocently, ‘What do you mean by “emotional”?’

‘It means “sentimental”,’ Chaddah answered. ‘But you won’t understand, you, the son of Balaji Baji Rao and Nana Farnavis!’

Vankatre poured himself another shot and turned to me. ‘This bastard Chaddah thinks I don’t know any English,’ he said. ‘Hey I graduated from high school! Fuck, my father … he loved me so much … he.… ’

Chaddah interrupted him, ‘He made you into Tansen. He twisted your nose so you could make good nasal sounds. He taught you how to sing dhrupads when you were still a child. When you cried for milk, it was in Mian ki Todi, and when you cried to go to the bathroom it was in Adana and the first words out of your mouth were in Patdeep. And your father … he was a great musical guru, better than even Baiju Bawara. And now you’re better than your father, and that’s why your name is One-Up Vankatre!’ He turned to me. ‘Manto, this bastard … whenever he drinks, he starts going on about how great his father was. Why should I care if his daddy loved him? And should I tear up my BA and throw it out the window just because this fool graduated from high school?’

Vankatre wanted to fend off this storm of insults, but Chaddah wouldn’t let him. ‘Be quiet! I already said I’ve become emotional — yes, the colour of pomfret fish — no, no — like a snake’s fine scales — yes, that’s just that colour — God only knows how Mummy charmed this girl out of hiding.’

Then Vankatre said, ‘Ask for a peti. I’m going to play something.’

Chaddah laughed. ‘Sit down, will you, you idiot savant!’

Vankatre poured the rest of the rum into his glass and then said, ‘Manto, if he doesn’t get this platinum girl, Mr Chaddah is going to go to some peak in the Himalayas and become a yogi.’ And then he tossed down his drink.

Vankatre started to open the bottle he had brought and then said, ‘But, Manto, this girl’s really great.’

‘We’ll see,’ I said.

‘Actually tonight — tonight I’m going to give a party,’ Chaddah said. ‘Fortunately for me, you came and so Mr One-Hundred-Eighty Mehtaji gave me that advance, otherwise things would have been really tough. Tonight … tonight …’ Chaddah began to sing in a very coarse voice, ‘Tonight, don’t play any sad melodies …’