In November, Betina presented him with a framed quotation by the biologist George Wald, who had won the Nobel fifty years ago. It read:
What one really needs is not Nobel laureates but love. How do you think one gets to be a Nobel laureate? Wanting love, that’s how. Wanting it so bad that one works all the time and ends up a Nobel laureate. It’s a consolation prize. What matters is love.
“What the hell do you want me to do with this?” said Chandra, who had come to a similar conclusion himself but would sooner be damned than tell Ms. Moreira this.
“You keep it on your wall, Chandu,” said Betina. “Just keep looking at it, so it seeps in.”
“I don’t want it to ‘seep in,’ ” said Chandra, “or anything else.”
“I used to be skeptical too, sir,” said Ram. “But I’ve found such things can be very effective.”
“Will you shut up, both of you?” said Chandra, who was sitting at the kitchen table trying to read an email from the Master, informing him that Caius was having a “college silver” weekend:
We will be making use of some of the rarely used but eminently valuable silverware owned by the College. Among them will be our collection of “silver marrow spoons.” We are aware that bone marrow will not be to everyone’s taste or dietary inclination. Should you not wish to partake, please indicate “No bone marrow” on the form below. Simultaneously, do bear in mind the College has only 14 silver bone marrow spoons, and that these will be allocated on a first-come-first-served basis.
Professor Chandra did not know what his position on bone marrow was and deleted the email without filling in the form. He had a dozen more messages to read, but Ram and Betina were still hovering in the kitchen, which was never a good sign.
“So…we’ve been thinking about your birthday,” said Betina. “We thought we could host a small gathering here. Just a few close friends. Intimate. Romantic.” She did a little waltz around the kitchen. “A fun, lovely evening.”
“I don’t want a party,” said Chandra. “I don’t want to do anything.”
“But it’s your seventieth, Chandu.”
“It’s true, sir,” said Ram. “How many seventieth birthdays does a person have?”
“Well, in any case,” said Chandra, who had prepared a lie for exactly this eventuality, “I’ve just been on the phone to my daughter and she wants to take me out in London, something about a West End show and dinner.”
“Why don’t you bring her here?” said Betina. “That would be so much nicer, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Chandra, who hadn’t thought of that. “Yes, it would. But she’s only in the U.K. for one night. Transit to the U.S. There wouldn’t be time.”
He could see Betina working out the logistics. This was the problem with finance graduates. They were sharp in all the wrong places.
“Your daughter…” said Ram, also thinking, only more slowly. “You don’t mean the one you haven’t seen in all this time?”
He’d told Ram about it once, after a bottle of wine.
“Oh,” said Betina. “But that’s wonderful!”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Chandra, and went upstairs to his study, the one place he could be certain Ram and Betina would not enter.
* * *
—
Jasmine had sent an email, which meant she was awake, though it was three thirty in the morning in Colorado.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Xmas
Hey Dad,
Just saw your mail. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry if you can’t get me on the phone. There’s not much reception up here and I can hardly keep it on during zazen, can I? As for you, I take your point, but the whole reason behind having a mobile is…it’s mobile. If you leave it in a drawer or only turn it on when you want to make a call, it sort of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?
Thanks for the pictures. I do miss home, yeah, but it’s hard to miss anywhere when you’re here. You spend so much time inside your head that it’s like you’re in every place at once. You live in your memories a lot.
It’s getting cold now. The snow hasn’t hit yet, but it will. Not looking forward to kinhin when it does, and at five in the morning! I’m pretty sure I saw a mountain lion last week. Don’t freak out. It was miles away, and they only attack if they mix you up with a deer or something, and that only happens when you’re jogging.
I saw a couple of hunters yesterday too with bows and guns, God knows why they need both. They were going after bears, they said. Saul says he respects them seeing as they kill all their own meat and don’t bother with the industrial agricultural system blah blah blah. I guess he has a point, but he says a lot of stuff just to be controversial, like you wouldn’t expect a roshi to say he respects hunters so he’s got to go ahead and say it. He is a genuinely weird guy, even Dolly says so. He just does his own thing, has a PhD in maths, and he told me the other day he used to be a professional juggler.
Saul also says George Soros thinks there’s going to be another crash, or depression, or recession, or whatever it is. Is this true?
Christmas could work, yeah. Dolly says it’s okay. You could have your own rooms at reduced cost. The thing is that Mum wanted me to come to Boulder but I don’t think I’m even allowed, so I was thinking, if it wouldn’t be too weird for you, maybe you could all come up to Cove. We could ask Sunny too. I know he said he wanted to visit. It’s just an idea, but it could be fun, all of us having Christmas together. Don’t you think it could be fun? Or maybe it’s silly. I don’t know.
Miss you loads, Dad.
A big hug. Be good! Be healthy! Be happy!
Jaz xoxoxo
This “Be happy!” Hari Rama spiel was new, the result of his daughter’s recent conversion, but at least she was communicating. She seemed to have forgotten that this was all his doing, that she had barely known what Zen was prior to his intervention.
Chandra had been unable to convince his lodgers (or dislodgers, as he thought of them) that he didn’t give a damn about turning seventy, but it was true. What he did care about was Christmas.
His born-again daughter was right. It would not do for her to go back to Boulder, even if she were allowed. There were too many temptations there, too many drug fiends and hoodlums. But Jasmine’s idea of a family congregation in Cove was interesting. He doubted Jean would be enthusiastic, though Steve would probably love the idea of spending Christmas in a Zen monastery.
Chandra considered emailing the two of them together, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wrote to Jean instead, telling her about Jasmine’s idea. “Of course Steve must come,” he said, somewhat high-handedly, as this was hardly up to him. “Give me an all-clear and I’ll write to Sunny. It could be good for Jasmine, to host us in her ‘own place.’ ”
He turned to his upcoming lecture, making some final notes on “The Economics of India’s Southern States,” trying to think of a good economist joke to open with, preferably one he hadn’t told before. He used to use the one about the woman whose doctor tells her she has six months to live and advises her to marry an economist and move to Kansas. “Why?” says the woman. “Will this cure my illness?” “No,” says the doctor, “but those six months will feel like a lifetime.” But after his divorce and his heart attack, Chandra had been on the lookout for something less depression-inducing.
Chandra googled on until lunchtime, reading joke after joke but finding little to his taste. Too many were replete with genuine hatred, which was hardly appropriate, while the rest were simply unfunny, probably written by economists. At one thirty, he saw he had a new email from Jean, who must have just woken up.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Xmas
Hullo Charles,
I’
ll have to check with Steve but I don’t think it’s a bad idea. You’re right. It would definitely be good for her. I’ll email Sunny if you like, but you’re the one he listens to. Try to put your foot down. He’ll do it if you don’t plead with him, and I know you know what I mean.
I’ve finally given up coffee, which has, you’ll be glad to know, made me a lot calmer. Steve and I drink matcha in the mornings instead. You make it from powder and whip it with a shaving brush, well, something that looks like a shaving brush. It tastes weird but it’s good for you.
Look after yourself,
Jean
Delighted, Professor Chandra wrote back to Jasmine at once.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Xmas
Dear Jasmine,
Well, it’s all settled. I’m coming, so is your mother, and we’ll stay until Christmas is over. We’re so looking forward to it, all of us. I’m still working on Sunny, but if you could drop him a line that would probably help. Try to butter him up a little. I guess you know what I mean.
Seventy on Thurs. Getting old. Been riding the damn exercise bike in the bedroom. Read Twilight. Boring, I thought. Vegetarian vampires is a stupid idea. Going to try Hunger Games on your recommendation. This is the good thing about getting old. Read what the hell I like. No guilt anymore. Done my bit.
Look after yourself. Keep meditating. Stay away from bears, lions, and anything else that looks like it might eat you. Can’t wait for my holiday. Becoming a sentimental fool in my old age but you fellows are the only things that make me happy nowadays.
Love, Dad
P.S. You ever drink something called matcha? All the rage, I am told.
Professor Chandra began composing his email to Sunny. He could hear Betina making lunch in the kitchen, singing to herself in Portuguese. She and Ram were talking about getting married the following summer. He was happy for them. Ram Singh, he knew, had no delusions of grandeur. He just wanted to get by, finish his PhD, find a high-paying job within an unscrupulous institution, raise a family, and get old and die with a minimum of terror or fuss. It was, Chandra was beginning to believe, a laudable non-ambition.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Jasmine
Dear Sunny,
Good of you to call the other week. Seems like you’re doing a roaring trade out there. The world needs positivity these days and you’re much in demand. Proud of your successes and ideas as always. I’ve been saying my affirmations. Not sure if I’m getting it right. Trying to remind myself of my good qualities and so on. Also trying to do it for the economy, FTSE and so forth. All our stock needs to rise, n’est-ce pas?
Was talking with Jaz. She’s doing okay out there. Talked to the head honcho too. Guy by the name of Saul. Nice chap. Bit pompous. Says Jasmine’s coming along well, settling in, calming down. No drugs of course, which is the most important thing, but she’s also found something she likes. Bit of meditation does everyone some good, doesn’t it?
I do think she could use her family from time to time, that’s the only thing that’s missing. Been out there on her own for too long. Thing is, Jaz wants us all to come for Christmas and she particularly wants to see you, big brother and all that, in the non-Orwellian sense of course. Looks to you for guidance as you know and, well, she’s hoping you might come, be proud of what she’s doing and whatnot. It’s her new life and she wants to show it to you.
Plan is that all of us, your mother, me, you and S, land up in Colorado on 23 Dec and stay a few days together. The monks have heard so much about you, expert on the mind etc., and I think they’d even like you to give a small talk, if this is of interest to you.
With all love and best wishes,
Dad
P.S. Saw your Chopra fellow on the YouTube the other day. Very strange chap. Not sure I understand what he means by “quantum” in this context, but each to their own. More anon.
He hoped this would do the trick.
* * *
—
On the morning of his birthday, Professor Chandra allowed Betina and Ram Singh to serve him a breakfast of scrambled eggs, salmon, and champagne in bed, where he stayed until lunchtime. He didn’t answer his phone except for when Jasmine called, and took out his iPad only once. There were messages all over Facebook and several emails “congratulating” him, which he found irritating. It was hardly an achievement to reach seventy: all one did was try not to die. A great many emails were from younger colleagues and old PhD students he hadn’t heard from in years, all angling for something, a fellowship or a reference.
In the afternoon he went into college. Maurice, the head porter, presented him with a card which read:
Esteemed, Sir,
We look forward to seeing your face for many more years to come, smiling out at us from the Gate of Humility.
With kindest regards, the Lodge Staff
He opened the rest of his mail in his rooms. The handwritten notes touched him more than any of the digital messages. Some were obviously insincere, like those from his old colleagues in Chicago, his rivals in India (the Bengali included), and his brother, though Prakash’s note contained no mention of imperialism or Monsanto and was written in his wife’s handwriting. Saul and Dolores had sent him a blue silk scarf and Jasmine had gifted him the remaining books from the Twilight series. As was her habit, she had written him a poem too:
Nobel Sir, it began, which made him wince:
So you’re seventy today, whoever would have thought it?
Don’t worry about a thing, everything’s as it ought
To be, it’s a question of karma
Ask Dolores who sends a kiss, you old charmer
I can’t wait to see you and give you one too
We’re so far away these days and I miss you
It’s getting cold now, the zendō has icicles
So look after yourself, Dad, and stay away from bicycles.
Professor Chandra printed the poem, with the words “Nobel Sir” cut out, and pinned it to his wall. He switched on his computer and skimmed through more birthday wishes, including ones from his insurance company, bank, travel agent, and, to his relief, Sunny.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Happy birthday!!!
Hi Dad,
Sorry not to call. The time difference, and I’ve been in this bloody thing all day, conference on neuro-programming or something, which is boring the hell out of me. But what can I do? I said I’d be the keynote and I can hardly walk out before everyone else has had their turn, can I?
So, seventy years old. Many congratulations and happy returns. I hope you’re enjoying yourself, wherever you are.
Apologies too for not replying earlier about Cove. I had to sort out my schedule, but I’d love to come to Colorado for Xmas and, with a little bit of juggling, I’m pretty sure I can make it. Like you say, it would be good for Jaz and, to be honest, I think it’d be good for me too. Been feeling the strain lately. Not sure why. Feels like I woke up and twenty years had gone by and I’m thinking, how did I get here? And, what do I do now? Mid-life crisis maybe, I don’t know. Or maybe I just don’t want to be in Hong Kong anymore, miles away from anyone. Got to think about these things, I suppose.
Anyway, cheerio, old man, and see you soon(ish). Try to say those affirmations before you go to bed. “I am young.” “I am healthy.” “I am happy.” “I am a masterpiece.” It’ll do you good and much more in the long run. Sometimes I forget to say mine. Ridiculous, I know, but, well…
Okay, dear Professor, got to go. Happy birthday again!!!
Love,
Sunil
This was unprecedented fro
m Sunny, an admission that he was confused and unhappy and had no idea what he was doing in life. But at least he was coming. That was the most important thing, in the short term.
Professor Chandra sent a quick reply, telling Sunny he was delighted and couldn’t wait to see him at Christmas, and then ran a brush through his hair before setting off down the staircase. He had drinks with the Master at four in honor of his birthday.
It was getting dark as he crossed Tree Court, entering the Master’s Lodge into which he hadn’t set foot since the day of his accident. The Master was waiting for him in front of the fireplace, an open bottle of champagne and two glasses beside him.
“Welcome, Chandra,” said the Master, standing. “And a very happy birthday.”
“Thank you so much, Master,” said Chandra.
“So, seventy!”
“That’s right.”
“Well, you know what George Eliot said—that the years between fifty and seventy are when you’re always being asked to do things but aren’t decrepit enough to turn them down.”
Chandra laughed, clenching his fist inside his blazer pocket.
“Haven’t seen much of you since you left for the States though,” said the Master. “You’re working on a new book, aren’t you?”
“I put it on hold,” said Chandra.
“For health reasons?”
“Actually, no,” said Chandra. “I’ve been having something of a change of outlook.”
Professor Chandra Follows His Bliss Page 23