But Vishwa has no time for me in the morning. Asha is in bed with fever and he has to cope with Dipali’s tears when she is told they are not going to the beach. She can’t understand why she cannot go. For her, Sunday is ‘going to the beach day’.
‘You take her, Amma,’ Vishwa says.
‘I?’ I draw back fearfully. ‘No, I’ll stay with Asha, you go with her, Vishwa.’
When they are gone, I take in some coffee to Asha. I have to persuade her to let me deal with the lunch.
Groping about in another woman’s kitchen, I fumble and Sunita laughs at me. I feel diminished by my ineptitude. And angered. I, who could cook for twenty with ease! Yet, even in my anger I know the fault is mine. It is I who have done this to myself.
After lunch, I tell Vishwa of Shaku’s proposal.
‘What do you think, Amma?’ he asks me when I have finished.
‘I don’t know. I’m not keen myself, really….’
Disappointment, yes, I’m almost sure it is that, flits across his face, but he quickly puts on an approving look. ‘I’m glad you think that way, Amma. I didn’t want to say anything yesterday—I saw her speaking to you—but I didn’t like the way she forced herself in. I know she’s Anju’s friend, but she’s a woman who’s left her husband. We don’t know why….’
Is this what Shaku sees on people’s faces when she goes to ask for a house to live in? And is this my son Vishwa? He seems so smug, so self-righteous, so narrow….
‘It’s better not to get involved. You never know what problems it could lead to. And it isn’t that you need the money. I don’t like the idea ….’
It’s like hearing my own thoughts spoken aloud. I should be pleased, but I’m not. I’m looking in a mirror and seeing a face I don’t like at all—smug, narrow and self-righteous.
‘I hope you haven’t promised her anything?’ he asks sharply.
‘No. I said I would talk to you.’
‘Good. If she asks you again, just say you can’t. If you feel bad about it, I’ll speak to her myself.’
‘No, Vishwa, don’t. I’ll do that myself.’
‘Sure?’ He looks doubtfully at me.
‘Yes, I’m sure. Whatever it is, I’d rather tell her myself.’
He still seems doubtful, but there’s nothing more he can say. He goes back to his room and I to mine where Dipali, bored with her toys, pounces on me with her usual, ‘Tell me a story’.
‘All right, Which story do you want today?’
‘Tell me the one you were telling me yesterday. About your grandfather and you.’
‘But that’s finished.’
‘Finished?’
‘Yes. Once I started speaking properly, I never lisped again. That was over.’
‘And you could say "r"?’
‘Yes.’
‘Say it. Show me how.’
‘Rrrrrrrrr,’ I growl it out in mock-ferocity. ‘See? I can do it.’
Hearing Dipali’s scream of laughter, Vishwa rushes in to hush her. Finger at lips, he begins to speak, then stands at the door, forgetting what it is he wanted to say, staring at me as if he’s never seen me before.
THE BEGINNING
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PENGUIN BOOKS
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Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published in India by Penguin Books India 1993
This Collection published by 2018
Copyright © Shashi Deshpande 1993
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover Designer: by Sunil Sil
ISBN: 978-0-140-23688-0
This digital edition published in 2018.
e-ISBN: 978-9-353-05246-1
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The Intrusion and Other Stories Page 17