Saadat Manto - Bombay Stories

Poor Vankatre was about to protest against Chaddah’s awful singing when Gharib Nawaz and Ranjit Kumar came in. Both had two bottles of Scotch, which they set down on the table. I knew Ranjit Kumar well enough, but we weren’t close friends and so we exchanged only a couple words, ‘When did you come?’

‘I came just today.’ Then we toasted each other and began to drink.

Chaddah really had become quite emotional, and whatever the conversation he brought up the platinum blonde. Ranjit Kumar finished off a fourth of a bottle, Gharib Nawaz drank three shots of Scotch and everyone got drunk, except me (I was saved because I was used to drinking a lot). I guessed from their conversation that the four of them were badly infatuated with the new girl Mummy had brought in from God knows where. Her name was Phyllis. She worked in a hairdressing salon somewhere in Pune and usually went around with a boy who looked like a eunuch. Gharib Nawaz wanted her so badly that he was ready to sell his Hyderabadi inheritance to get her. Chaddah had only one thing going for him, his looks. Vankatre was sure his singing would be enough to win her. And Ranjit Kumar thought that coming on strong would be the best approach. But in the end everyone knew that Mummy herself would decide the lucky one, the one who would get Phyllis, the platinum blonde.

As they went on about Phyllis, suddenly Chaddah looked at his watch and said to me, ‘To hell with this girl! Let’s go, your wife’s probably getting upset over there. The only problem is I might get sentimental there too. Well, look after me, will you?’ He shook the last few drops into his mouth and shouted out, ‘Oh, Prince of the Country of Mummies! Oh, Prince of Egypt!’

The Prince of Egypt appeared rubbing his eyes as though after centuries of rest he had just been excavated from some tomb. Chaddah flicked some rum on his face and said, ‘Get us two tongas, two Egyptian chariots!’

The tongas arrived, and we got in and headed for Parbhat Nagar.

Harish, my old film buddy, was at home. The inconveniences of entertaining there were great because of his apartment’s far-flung locale, and yet he hadn’t overlooked the smallest detail in making sure my wife felt comfortable. Chaddah let him know with a glance where everything stood, and this proved quite useful. My wife didn’t seem upset in the least, and in fact, it looked like she had had a good time, which was likely because Harish knew how to please women with his interesting banter. He asked my wife if she would like to see that day’s shooting.

‘Are you filming any songs?’ she asked.

Harish answered, ‘No, that’s tomorrow. I think you should go then.’

Harish’s wife was tired of going to shootings, as she had ferried countless people to her husband’s sets. She quickly said to my wife, ‘Yes, tomorrow will be good.’ Then she turned to her husband and said, ‘She’s still tired from travelling.’

We all breathed a sigh of relief. Harish entertained everyone for a while with his witty conversation and then said to me, ‘Come on then. Let’s go.’ He looked at my friends. ‘Let them stay. Our producer wants to hear your story.’

I looked at my wife and then told Harish, ‘Ask for her permission.’

My naïve wife was caught in the trap, and she said to Harish, ‘When we were leaving Bombay I told him to take his briefcase, but he said it wasn’t necessary. Now what will he show him?’

‘He can recite something from memory,’ Harish suggested. Then he looked at me, asking for my confirmation.

‘Yes,’ I said nonchalantly, ‘that’s possible.’

Chaddah put the finishing touch on the little drama.

‘Okay, then. We’re going,’ he said. The four of them got up, said their goodbyes and left. A little while later Harish and I left too. Chaddah and the others were waiting with tongas at the edge of Parbhat Nagar. When he saw us, he cried out, ‘Long live King Harish Chandar!’

We all went to Mummy’s, except for Harish who had to meet one of his girlfriends. Mummy’s house was a bungalow, and from the street it looked like Sayeedah Cottage although inside it was clean and orderly, which reflected Mummy’s good taste. The furniture was ordinary, and yet everything was so well arranged that the house looked as if a designer had put it together. When we left Parbhat Nagar I had expected a brothel, but the house didn’t look anything like that. It was as respectable as a middle-class Christian house and somehow seemed much younger than Mummy, as it didn’t have any false touches like her make-up’s obvious attempts at deception. When Mummy entered the living room, I suddenly realized that while everything around her was actually very old, Mummy alone continued to age. God knows why, but while looking at her garish make-up, I suddenly wanted to see her young again.

Chaddah introduced me, and then he introduced Mummy, ‘This is Mummy, the great Mummy!’

Hearing Chaddah’s words, she smiled at me and then turned back to Chaddah and spoke in English, ‘You ordered tea in your usual panic — you didn’t even tell me if he liked it or not.’ Then she said to me, ‘Mr Manto, I’m very ashamed. In fact all this mischief is due to your friend Chaddah, my incorrigible son.’

I complimented her on the tea and expressed my thanks, but Mummy told me not to offer empty praise. She said to Chaddah, ‘Dinner’s ready. I made it because I knew that if I didn’t, you’d come at the last minute and make my life hell.’

Chaddah hugged Mummy. ‘You’re a jewel, Mummy! Let’s eat!’

‘What? No, you won’t!’ Mummy said, startled.

‘But we left Mrs Manto in Parbhat Nagar,’ Chaddah explained.

‘May God strike you down!’ Mummy yelled. ‘Why the hell did you do that?’

‘Because of the party!’ Chaddah laughed.

‘But I cancelled it when I saw Mrs Manto in the tonga,’ Mummy said.

Chaddah was crestfallen. ‘No, how could you! We made all these plans just for the party!’ He sat down dejectedly in a chair and addressed everyone, ‘Well, all our dreams are shattered! The platinum blonde whose hair is the colour of a snake’s belly’s delicate scales …’ He got up and grabbed Mummy’s arms. ‘You cancelled it! You cancelled it in your heart. Here, I’m going to reverse it — I’m going to write “swad” on your heart.’ Then he made the Urdu letter ‘swad’ on Mummy’s heart and shouted, ‘Hurray!’

Mummy had just said the party was cancelled, but I could tell she didn’t want to disappoint Chaddah. She patted his cheek affectionately and said over her shoulder, ‘Okay, General Vankatre, go bring the cannons in from headquarters.’

Vankatre saluted and left to carry out his orders. Sayeedah Cottage was very close, and in under ten minutes he returned with not just the liquor bottles but also Chaddah’s servant. Chaddah welcomed him, ‘Come here — come here — Prince of the Caucusus — that — that girl whose hair is the colour of snake’s scales is coming. You, too, should try your luck!’

Ranjit Kumar and Gharib Nawaz did not like the way Chaddah was opening up the competition for the platinum blonde, and they both told me how Chaddah often got out of line in this way. As usual, Chaddah kept bragging about himself while the two of them sat quietly in the corner, sipping their rum and enumerating their sorrows.

I kept thinking about Mummy. Gharib Nawaz, Ranjit Kumar, and Chaddah were sitting in the living room like small children waiting for their mother to come back with toys. Chaddah was confident he would get the best toy because he was the oldest and also his mother’s favourite, and Ranjit Kumar and Gharib Nawaz sympathized with each other because their problems were the same. Liquor was like milk in that setting, and the image of the platinum blonde was like a little doll. If every place and time has its own melody, then the melody that night was rather flat — Mummy was the mother, the others were the boys, and that was that.