THE MAGICAL PALACE (13 page)

We visited Mallika that night. I was worried that Binesh Kaku would never allow her to see Salim if he found out what was going on. If someone saw them together and told Binesh Kaku, they would not stand a chance.

‘Mallika, Chatterjee Mesho has arrived,’ Binesh Kaku announced imperiously as he opened the door without a smile. After waiting for just a few seconds, he said impatiently, ‘Mallika, come here, right now!’ He sounded so angry that both Rani and I looked at each other, wondering if he knew. If he did, we would get into trouble too.

Mallika and Shyamala came running downstairs, looking scared. Mallika was wearing a salwar kameez, her hair flowing down around her shoulders. She greeted my parents nervously and, as they walked into the sitting room, she said to Rani and me, ‘Come upstairs.’ Her voice was low and agitated. She turned around and ran up the stairs.

The moment we reached the bedroom, she closed the door behind her. Taking Rani aside, she said to her, ‘They are upset because Mr Khosla mentioned to Baba that I was associating with young men.’ She looked nervously at me.

‘It’s okay. Rahul knows about it all. How did Binesh Kaku and Anjali Mashi find out?’ Rani said, including me in the conversation. I felt very privileged at having their confidence for the first time.

‘It is that nosy parker, Professor Khosla, who saw Salim and me having tea at the cafeteria at Osmania. He made it a point to mention it to Baba at the Lions’ Club meeting. Next thing I know, there is a Spanish Inquisition here at
home. I have never seen Baba so angry. I thought he was going to slap me. Ma said that if I persist like this I will ruin the family name. They said that if I continued this behaviour they would marry me off to the first eligible boy they find. Can you imagine me in an arranged marriage?’ She paused, then continued with fear in her voice: ‘I don’t think they know about Salim. Oh God, if they find out, it will be hell. In any case, I will not stop seeing him!’ Mallika sounded defiant and angry, her normally cheerful face stubborn, her lower lip jutting out obstinately. But she also looked worried, the lines on her forehead made her look older, like her mother.

She went to the dressing table and opening the bottom drawer, stuck her hand all the way in and pulled out a bundle of handwritten rice paper. ‘Look,’ she said, showing us the bundle. ‘Salim says he loves me. He drops off a letter for me almost every day at college.’ She held the bundle to her chest, a dreamy look on her face.

We were rudely interrupted by Binesh Kaku. His voice was rough. ‘Mallika, serve Chatterjee Mesho tea and snacks,’ he ordered from downstairs. I was reminded of the way my father ordered my mother to bring him tea. It was as if the purpose of women in life was to serve men. ‘I’m coming,’ Mallika replied, and we trooped down obediently. We sat in the living room, drinking tea and eating kochuri and alur dom. I wondered if Binesh Kaku and Anjali Mashi had said anything to my parents. He looked serious as always, so it was hard to tell.

After dinner, my father leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh and said, ‘Mallika, sing us a song.’

Always acquiescent, Mallika went to Anjali Mashi’s bedroom and brought out the family harmonium. She sang
a famous Rabindra Sangeet, ‘
Aami chini go chini tomare, o go bideshini
…’, a haunting, lilting melody that took her parents and mine back to a place I had never been— Calcutta.

‘Binesh Kaku, please let Mallika Didi and Shyamala come and visit us tomorrow. We want to go to the market and buy bangles.’ Rani and I begged before we were leaving.

‘No!’ Binesh Kaku’s eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were tight. I felt like leaving the room as I did when my father was angry.

‘She can go, it is summer vacation,’ Anjali Mashi said.

‘Yes, Binesh Dada, let them visit. It will be a nice change for them to be at our place,’ my mother joined in.

‘What change? Don’t they have plenty of fun at school and college? There is no need for such frivolous activities. They can stay home and help their mother. It is high time they learned some housekeeping skills.’

I felt helpless and angry. Without our parents’ permission, we could not do anything. It was just not fair!

‘Binesh, I am like Mallika and Shyamala’s father. It will be good for them to come over and visit.’ My father came unexpectedly to the rescue.

Unable to refuse his gentle admonition, Binesh Kaku relented. Mallika started clearing the table, breathing a sigh of relief. Accompanied by Shyamala and Rani, she went to the kitchen. I followed them.

‘I will call Salim and tell him to meet us at the South Indian restaurant when we go to buy bangles. You must convince your father to take us to the bangle shop,’ Mallika whispered to Rani.

‘Remember, Rahul, not a word to anyone—don’t be a blabbermouth!’ Rani said.

‘Yes, Rahul, remember this is our secret. We will have fun tomorrow.’ Mallika’s eyes sparkled mischievously for a moment as she took my hand in hers and squeezed it. I had never felt so grown-up and special and I knew that I would keep this secret—just like my other secret, my fantasies about Rajesh Khanna and now about Shubho. Perhaps things would actually work out for both of us.

The next day I woke up and lay in bed, luxuriating in the joy of the day ahead, full of anticipation. Mallika arrived just before lunch, looking like my old Mallika—excited about doing things with me. She looked stunning in a sky-blue churidar–kurta embroidered with little red flowers and covered with glass-work, her hair shining in the sunlight. I was thrilled. We were going to meet Salim and no one else knew about it.

‘Remember to ask if we can go to buy bangles,’ Shyamala said to Rani. ‘After buying bangles, we will go to meet Salim.’

Rani nodded conspiratorially.

After we had eaten, Rani addressed Baba: ‘I want to buy some of the lovely satin-glass bangles that Mallika Didi has. They are available at the shop on Abid Road. And then we want to go eat some South Indian food at the Udipi Palace, next to John’s Bakery. Can you take us there, please, please, please?’ We knew that Rani was the only one who could get my father to agree.

Unable to resist her pleading, my father said, ‘Achha, but all of you must stay together. Mallika, please make sure you keep an eye on Rahul.’ I felt like I was being treated like a child and almost declared that Mallika had shared her secret with me and that I was a big boy, but remembered just in time that I had promised her not to tell anyone. I had many confidences to keep.

‘Remember to be right here when I come back,’ Baba said as he dropped us off on Abid Road. ‘Here, Rani,’ he said, holding out a ten-rupee note. ‘This is for your South Indian treat.’ He laughed at the look on her face. I loved it when he surprised us like that. I felt a pang of guilt for lying to him. But we had to do this so that Mallika could meet with Salim. She was counting on us.

We went to Mohini Bangle Store on Abid Road. It was a tiny store and sold thousands of bangles. There were bangles made of glass, brass, gold, silver, plastic, lac, bone and bronze. The walls were covered with hundreds of tiny wooden drawers with shiny brass handles. In the front of the store was a glass case that held the more expensive gold and silver bangles. They were studded with glass, semi-precious and precious stones. Some were also enamelled, painted and carved.

‘Namaste, Baby and Baba,’ the shop owner said, bowing to us with folded hands.

‘Namaste, Uncleji,’ we chorused in unison. He was a kindly old man, always dressed in khadi kurta–pajama and a Gandhi cap.

‘Uncleji, please show us some of the satin-glass bangles you have, just like these.’ Mallika thrust her wrist out for him to see.

‘Achha, Baby,’ he said. He turned around and looked at the identical drawers with the identical brass knobs. I have no idea how he knew where to look, but he went straight to a brass knob in the middle of the wall and pulled. A dark-brown, varnished drawer slid out smoothly. He pulled it out of the wall and brought it over to us. It was full of a few dozen bangles, all shiny and satiny, made of glass.

‘Uncleji, I want these blue ones,’ Rani said.

‘I want some too, the red ones!’ I said, unable to help myself.

The shop owner turned to me and looked me up and down in bemusement. His voice was surprisingly sharp. ‘Baba, you are not a girl. Only girls wear bangles. Who will marry a boy who wears bangles? I had a nephew who insisted on wearing girls’ clothes and bangles when he was your age.’

Rani sputtered in the background and then started humming under her breath: ‘Rahul is a girlie boy. Rahul is a girlie boy!’ Shyamala started giggling.

He turned to them, looking serious. ‘No, Baby, it is not a laughing matter. He never married, not to this day and his mother, my poor sister, died without a grandchild. Everyone made fun of him. It was very sad.’

‘But Uncleji, I don’t want to get married,’ I stated firmly.

‘Not marry? But everyone marries!’ Uncleji looked shocked. ‘Ram, Ram,’ he muttered under his breath as he turned away. ‘Who will make them understand? Children these days! Why don’t they listen to their elders?’

‘Don’t listen to anyone,’ Mallika said. ‘You wear whatever you want, Rahul.’

I beamed. I loved it when Mallika stood up for me.

‘Not all of us do what is expected of us by this stupid conformist society with its hoity-toity British mentality. How I wish I could break the rules!’ Mallika’s voice shook as she shredded a corner of her lace handkerchief in her frustration.

‘Calm down, Mallika Didi,’ Rani said in a low, appeasing voice. ‘We don’t want Uncleji to say anything about you getting upset to Binesh Kaku, or he will never let us go out together again.’

Mallika took a deep breath. I took her hand in mine and squeezed it and she smiled at me wanly. ‘We’ll show them, won’t we, Rahul?’

Uncleji carefully wrapped a dozen of the electric-blue bangles in newspaper and then put them in a bag for Rani. Triumphantly bearing her spoils aloft, she led the way out of the store. We walked out, blinking in the afternoon light, the heat from the paving stones rising in a wave, making us dizzy.

‘Let us go to the Udipi Palace,’ Shyamala suggested, looking at her watch. ‘It is nice and air-conditioned inside— it is so hot right now!’

‘Yes, let’s go.’ Mallika’s steps lightened at the suggestion. She led the group forward and we quickened our steps, the unrelenting heat following us. The Udipi Palace was a large restaurant and immensely popular during summertime in Hyderabad. We opened the darkened doors covered with greasy fingerprints and walked into a cool oasis. The blast of cold freezing was very welcome.

‘Ah, that feels so good, doesn’t it, Mallika Didi?’ I asked.

Mallika was not listening. She was already ahead of us, scanning the tables, looking for someone. Salim.

‘Oh, what if someone sees us?’ Mallika’s voice was fearful as she clutched at my arm when she saw him. We stopped for a moment as Shyamala and Rani moved forward.

I looked up at her and smiled and then pulled her along gently. Salim waved to us. He was wearing white cotton pants and a maroon short-sleeved shirt. I noticed his lean arms as he stretched his hand out over the table to say hello to us. Rani and Shyamala looked self-conscious. They giggled and looked away from Salim, suddenly gawky.

‘Salim.’ Mallika’s quiet voice filled with pleasure. We stood awkwardly around the table, trying to decide where to sit. Mallika looked around nervously at the room and then slipped into the chair that Salim held out for her, next to him.

Shyamala and Rani looked around too. ‘The coast looks clear,’ Rani murmured. ‘I will sit here so that I can look at the door in case someone we know walks in.’

The waiter came over and poured us tall glasses of icy water.

‘So, Rani and Shyamala, how are you?’ Salim leaned over the table, looking at them with his beautiful brown eyes.

Rani giggled and leaned forward to get a glass of water and, in a clumsy move, knocked it over. The water spilt and flowed towards Mallika. Salim jumped up in a flash, went to Mallika’s chair and pulled her away. She blushed furiously and brushed his hands away. Shyamala started laughing and then I joined in and soon the rest burst out laughing as well. The ice was broken.

‘Rahul, Rahul! Hey!’ a familiar, deep voice resounded over the clink of the stainless steel plates and bowls, the only way good South Indian food was ever served. It was a serendipitous moment, for when I turned around, there was Shubho, sitting a few tables away with his girlfriend Anamika. ‘Come over and say hello,’ he invited.

I felt a wave of excitement go through my body and then felt acutely embarrassed.

‘Who is that?’ Rani’s voice cut through my embarrassment. ‘My, he is so cute.’

‘Yes, he is,’ Shyamala agreed with a muffled giggle.

‘That is Shubho Dada.’ I mumbled.

‘What? Ranjan Bose’s brother? The last time I saw him he was all gangly and awkward. He looks so … handsome!’

‘Yes,’ I said, not sure what exactly she thought I was agreeing to.

‘And who is that girl with him?’

‘That is Anamika, his girlfriend.’

‘Hey, Rahul!’ Shubho was relentless.

‘I’ll be right back,’ I said and walked over to Shubho’s table.

Anamika was dressed in a short white tennis outfit. Shubho was wearing shorts that said ‘Slazenger’ on the side. His tanned calves were taut and his expensive tennis shoes were neatly laced up. A white polo shirt was open at the neck. They must have arrived just before us. Even though the air-conditioning was on, they both looked sweaty and flushed from their game of tennis and the torpid heat.

‘Hey, Rahul, have a seat.’ Shubho patted an empty chair next to him. I sat down awkwardly, both elated and unsure of what to do next. I looked at the table in front of me and examined the food stains that the waiter had missed. I focused on one that looked just like the map of Africa.

‘So, how is your summer vacation going? Are you having fun? Who are you here with?’ Shubho shot off a series of questions.

‘You boys catch up while I go to the bathroom.’ Anamika pushed her chair back and left the dining room as scores of eyes followed her out, glued to her bare legs in the short tennis tunic. A sight like this had probably been seen only in films by most of the patrons of the restaurant. I wondered what the men in the room felt when they saw Anamika. This was not the way the women in their families dressed. I knew that the boys in my class would have responded the same way as the patrons. But why did I not feel that interest? No matter—Shubho’s questions demanded my attention.