‘“Have you seen the new girl at Shahjahan?” Robbie asked me. “She may not be a ravishing beauty, but she’s very pleasing on the eye. Couldn’t the poor girl have got a job in England? How can anyone come to Calcutta without knowing the ropes? Some top brass from Clive Street grabbed her hand last night, the barman shook him off with great difficulty. Someone else said, ‘Give me company, come round to my table and drink with me.’ If I hadn’t prevented him he would probably have forced her out from behind the counter, and there would have been a scandal. Other customers at the bar would have got upset, all of them would have said, come and sit by me, I’m feeling lonely.”
‘Our Robbie hadn’t become a complete Calcuttan as yet. He’d worked for one of the top firms on Clive Street for about a year, but he hadn’t managed to get used to the language, manners or mores of Calcutta. I had no idea it was going to turn out this way. Some invisible attraction drew him to the Shahjahan every day. They couldn’t have met in the daytime, since Silverton went to bed only after locking Jane up in her room. And she would be fast asleep, too—since her working hours began in the evening. And bars in those days didn’t close at ten or eleven like they do now, they’d stay open till five in the morning. Through the drunken laughter, the sound of glasses tinkling and breaking, two hearts had quietly come close.’
Hobbs smiled and continued, ‘I’m a businessman. Poetic excesses don’t appeal to me. But I must say there was something poetic about their relationship. I believe they spoke in a code: as she served his glass of whiskey, she would use strong language; there was no way she could smile or say a few sweet words—other customers would raise a rumpus. The barman was possibly the only one who knew what was going on. If there was a secret message to be passed, it was he who conveyed it to Robbie. The poor barman didn’t have a moment of peace—while guests may have hesitated to make a proposition to the barmaid directly, when it came to doing it through the barman, they felt no embarrassment. Those who frequented the bar would give him a rupee and a letter to hand over to the lady. I heard from Jane later that on a single night she got thirty letters, ten of them proposals for marriage. “My poor barman—if he can earn thirty rupees a day, I don’t mind,” she told me.’
Hobbs paused and swallowed. Ruminating over those distant memories, he said, ‘I warned Robbie, though. I told him, “Don’t forget, Calcutta is Calcutta.”’
Sutherland seemed to be in a stupor. ‘Indeed,’ he said softly. ‘Calcutta is indeed Calcutta.’
‘Even when Jane and Robbie were planning to get married, I told Robbie, “Don’t forget, Calcutta is Calcutta. Go to the hotel for your drinks and your fun, nobody will have a thing to say. But don’t marry a barmaid.”’
I was amazed—so you actually ran the risk of being ostracized on account of your marriage even in English society? And to think that for ages we Indians have been blamed for being conservative in our outlook.
Hobbs began his story again. ‘Robbie brushed aside all my objections. “I’ve promised her,” he said. “I have to rescue Jane from the hellhole of Shahjahan Hotel.” Jane didn’t object either—she was dying to get out of Shahjahan. It may have sounded like a fairy tale—the way she had found her lover while serving at the bar—but it had indeed happened. Now she could only look longingly at the calendar.
‘Silverton was taken aback by the rumours. Drawing Jane aside, he said, “I hope the rumours I’m hearing are untrue. We’re happy with your work here—you are the envy of all the barmaids of Calcutta. I’m going to raise your salary in the next contract.”
‘“Do you have any objection to employing married women?” Jane asked.
‘“Married women! Jane, are you mad? How can married women work as barmaids?”
‘“Why not? What’s the problem?” she asked.
‘“I don’t have a problem, our patrons do. They’ll be insulted, they might even boycott the Shahjahan bar,” he said.
‘Jane’s immediate response was, “I won’t sign the contract, then—I’ll have to give up my job.”
‘Silverton tried to tempt her, he asked her to think it over. He was willing to give her a commission on sales. Jane still didn’t agree—she hadn’t come to Calcutta to make money. Reduced to abject poverty back home, she had come here only to earn a decent livelihood, but now she had seen for herself how things were.
‘“I won’t interfere in your private life,” Silverton said. “That business about keeping you locked up was only for publicity—I’ll give you the key if you like, you can do whatever you want.”
‘Jane said, “There’s no need to stay behind locked doors any more, you can give that opportunity to the new barmaid.”
‘Silverton tried to scare her. “You’re inviting disaster, Jane, you have no idea how dangerous this city is. Those who beg and plead with you for a glimpse of your sweet smile at the Shahjahan bar are transformed once they’re out on the road. They have their own society, with rules even stricter than those of the Hindus. Women who stay up all night selling liquor have no place there.”
‘Jane smiled and said, “I’m not asking them to make room for me! As long as the person in my heart also has me in his, I have nothing more to ask.’
‘Silverton met Robbie as well. He told him, “Once a barmaid, always a barmaid. We pay a fortune to bring in women from England, and then the Adelphi and Hotel de Europe lure them away with more money—only to throw them out when their youth is on the wane, when their eyes lose their lustre. These women then get their tailors to tighten their clothes and queue up at Kidderpore. At the docks, Africa, Asia and Europe mingle and become one; the British and the African stand shoulder to shoulder.”
‘Robbie said, “Since I have no intention of writing a book on the subject, I’d rather not know anything about it.”
‘As a last resort, Silverton called on Robbie’s boss. “I see,” said the manager, “that girl with a naughty smile. How many duplicates of the keys to her door do you have?”
‘To Robbie he said, “Hindus don’t bring into their bedrooms the shoes they go out in. If you need to, use a separate pair of bathroom slippers in your room.”
‘Robbie said, “When setting sail from London, I was told that wherever he goes an Englishman always respects other people’s privacy.”
‘His manager didn’t say anything more, except to remind him that as we sow, so we reap. Robbie thanked him for the advice and left. And then, on an auspicious day, having served out her contract at Shahjahan, Jane went to church to link her lifeline to Robert Adam’s.
‘There wasn’t much of a crowd at the Dharmatala Church that day. Jane had no friends, except Miss Dickson, who was under lock and key on the top floor of Shahjahan Hotel. And thanks to the social scandal perpetrated by Robbie’s wedding, none of the boxwallahs of Clive Street could make it. I wasn’t very familiar with that set yet, which was perhaps why I went to the wedding, and practically forced Silverton to come along with me. “After all, one of your employees is getting married,” I told him.
‘After they set up home after marriage, I visited them one morning. They welcomed me effusively—Robbie brought out a bottle of brandy. Watching her husband pour our drinks, Jane burst out laughing, and I joined in. “You served me hundreds of times at the Shahjahan counter, now let me try to pay back the debt bit by bit.”
‘Jane looked as though she had been freed from prison after all this time—her happiness knew no bounds. As we sipped the brandy, I drank to the newly wed couple’s health. As she knitted, Jane told me, “Since you’ve travelled a long way, why don’t you have lunch with us? Of course, I should have given you proper notice.”
‘“That’s the problem with you—you didn’t give Silverton much notice, either!” said Robbie.
‘Jane pretended to be angry saying, “Incompetent people have no problem getting released on short notice. No owner would hesitate a moment to get rid of useless people like me.”
‘Robbie said, “If everyone were a jeweller, Hamilton and
Company of Old Court House Street wouldn’t have become so famous.”
‘“I can’t see why you have a weakness for Hamilton,” said Jane. Turning to me, she said, “Please make him understand—he’s deposited an entire month’s salary in their hands to get me a diamond brooch. Isn’t that a bit too much?”
‘“It’s only my fault, is it?” Robbie answered immediately. “If you’re so unhappy with Hamilton, why did you have to get the silver teapot for me from them?”
‘Taken aback, Jane said, “That’s different—I was trying to cure like with like, trying to use tea to drive out liquor.”
‘I can’t forget the attention they lavished upon me that day. When the conversation veered round to music, Robbie said, “She used to play the piano, you know—I want to buy her one if I can.”
‘A few days later, I heard of a good piano for sale. I was thinking of informing them, but before I could, they turned up at my house. As soon as I saw them I said, “I’ve tracked down a wonderful piano.”
‘Jane’s face darkened, while Robbie looked like he hadn’t slept all night. “We probably cannot afford one now,” he said.
‘“What’s the matter?”
‘“I’ve lost my job.”
‘“Why? Have you quarrelled with the manager?”
‘“No—but by marrying a woman who used to serve liquor to strangers all night at a bar, I’m supposed to have lowered the prestige of the company. Having an employee like me would adversely affect sales and business.”
‘I couldn’t believe that an Englishman could lose his job in this manner in Calcutta. But Robbie held out the letter written in the manager’s own hand.
‘Jane said anxiously, “What do we do now?”
‘“Look for another job,” I comforted them. “There’s no shortage of firms in Calcutta, surely.”
‘But even if there were many employers, it wasn’t easy getting a job, as we discovered within a few days. Robbie did the rounds of many companies, but the senior officers jumped out of their skins when they set eyes on him—as though he had been convicted for murder and was looking for a job after being released from jail. They would offer him a seat and say, “Oh yes, we’ve heard of you—you’re the person who ran away with the barmaid at Shahjahan.”
‘“I didn’t run away with her—I married her,” Robert would protest in a stricken voice.
‘“Oh, I see, not kidnapping, not an elopement, just plain and simple marriage.”
‘There wasn’t a single job to be had. Gradually Robbie realized that he wouldn’t get a job—no company in Calcutta would employ him. Whatever savings he had were running out, so they had to give up their beautifully decorated home and move to a smaller place.
‘“I’ll try to get a job,” said Jane.
‘At that time women had very few opportunities to work. There were no typists or telephone operators. They could become ladies’ dressmakers or hairdressers, and set up shop on Park Street. But all that had to be learnt, how else did one dare make dresses or cut hair? Still, I sent Jane to one or two people for a job, but Robbie wasn’t willing at all. People in those days weren’t as modern as you lot are—the very thought of their wives working made their heads reel. “Don’t be so impatient,” he said, “I still have some money in the bank.”
‘Now Jane discovered that even if she did get a job she wouldn’t be able to take it—she was pregnant. Robbie came to see me quite often, which was how I kept track of them. “I had no idea that the lords and masters of Calcutta had so many punishments in store for us,” he said. “But the two of us will see this to the end, and we’ll live happily and comfortably right under their noses. I didn’t know marrying a barmaid was a crime—hasn’t anyone in Calcutta ever married a hotel girl before?”
‘“They have,” I said. “You have Sergeant Oakley, who married Peggy. Calcutta’s policemen used to do the rounds of the bars every night, and one night Sergeant Oakley arrested Peggy to maintain law and order, but later the same sergeant became a prisoner at the hands of Peggy. There’s nothing in the government’s laws to prevent marriage, so they’re living quite happily. Both their sons are going to school, and not only did he not lose his job, he had the good fortune to be promoted.”
‘Eventually I managed to get Robbie an agency for textiles. Mr Street from Manchester had come to Calcutta on business and put up at Shahjahan. I had a nodding acquaintance with him, on the strength of which I told him, “Take Robbie on—you needn’t give him a salary, he’ll work on commission.”
‘Even those terms were a boon to Robbie. He’d be on his feet all day long with samples of the textiles, going to Barabazar in the morning, returning home for whatever frugal lunch Jane had cooked, and then setting off in a different direction. The company’s cloth material for umbrellas was very famous—Robbie even gifted me an umbrella—but how many umbrellas could one sell in a year?
‘Not too many, which meant that the commission wasn’t much either—so low, in fact, that you couldn’t employ a bearer and a cook on it. Jane had to do everything herself. By the time Jane’s delivery day drew near, they had fallen on even harder days, living in a ramshackle flat on Williams Lane. There was a priest next door, whom Mrs Brockway knew quite well, Father um...well I can’t remember the name now. Both Mrs Brockway and her priest husband used to visit them regularly during their hardship.
‘When I went to see Jane, I found her in rags—a woman who had spent her nights in a palace like Shahjahan, who was used to walking only on soft carpets. The flat had two rooms, the plaster was peeling off, exposing the bricks underneath. The same woman whom waiters used to escort carefully to the dining room and whose every comfort was attended to had to cook for herself today, dragging her sickly body around to keep things in order. Shahjahan Hotel had retreated a long way into the distance, and the woman who used to serve at the bar, dispensing her smile like pearls, along with the whiskey, brandy, dry gin, rum and vermouth, was lost. Jane probably read my mind, for she said, “I’ll never be able to forgive Shahjahan, even though I found my husband there.”
‘“Why?” I asked.
‘She began sobbing as she said, “Without informing you, I went to them for a job, telling them that I was prepared to work at the bar again—only, they shouldn’t lock me up in the afternoon. I wouldn’t eat at the hotel either, and I’d come back home as soon as I was through. I asked them to let me work at least till a new girl arrived from England—they too are having trouble without someone to help out. Silverton made a face and said, ‘If you want to stay unlocked go to Kidderpore. Having a married woman as a barmaid is a folly not just I but no hotel in Calcutta would commit. Once you leave Shahjahan, you have no choice but to end up in Kidderpore.’”
‘Jane was still in tears, but she dried her eyes on hearing Robbie’s footsteps. Having scoured Barabazar, Dharmatala and Shyambazar all day, he was exhausted, his clothes soaked with perspiration. He hadn’t been able to sell anything, or even get payment for what he had sold earlier. And now the month was drawing to a close, which meant that accounts would have to be sent to England.
‘Drawing him aside, I said to him, “Run away—you’ll get a job in Madras or Bombay.”
‘He didn’t agree. Jane probably guessed what I was saying, and told me, “Never—we have to stay in Calcutta. We’re going to give them a fitting reply. We’re not going to be down and out all our lives—we’ll take a flat on Russell Street again, and then we’ll host a banquet at Shahjahan. We’ll invite all of them—we won’t leave Calcutta until we’ve celebrated our silver wedding anniversary at Shahjahan Hotel.’
‘Robbie put his arms around Jane. “Right you are, Jane,” he said.
‘Their optimism, despite their extreme hardship, brought tears to my eyes. I prayed fervently for their wishes to come true. If only I’d known that the tears had just begun, that the deluge was yet to come. I didn’t see it for myself though, I heard about it from their neighbour, the priest.
‘“Something te
rrible has happened,” he said. “Your friend Robbie Adams has smallpox.”
‘“Where are they?” I asked.
‘“At their home on Williams Lane. He can’t be allowed to stay there, he should be sent to the infectious diseases hospital. Who will look after him? Who will take care of him? And most important, where will they get the money? Jane refuses to listen, even in her condition she’s by him all day. The poor thing fainted last night.”
‘Friends warned me, “Smallpox! Don’t go within half-a-mile of it, if you want to help send some money through the priest.” But I simply couldn’t stay away, and walked down Bowbazar Street to their place. I could smell phenol and medicine from a distance, but didn’t dare enter. The priest must have been inside, looking after Robbie, applying olive oil with a brush on the scabs—it seemed as though someone had set Robbie’s body on fire, twisting it like a lamb on a spit.
‘And Jane! In her maternity coat, shopping bag in hand, she was probably on her way to the market when she saw me and stopped. I could barely recognize her. Was this the same person for whom the city’s well-heeled gentry had once crowded the bar at Shahjahan? For whom the applause rang out, for whom inebriated young men burst into song, because of whom the sale of liquor at Shahjahan went up?
‘“Mr Hobbs! What a surprise,” she forced the words out.
‘“I came to see how Robbie is,” I said with bowed head.
‘“I’m sure he’ll get better, Father prayed for him in church last night. The local Hindu boys are very nice—they may not go to Shahjahan or Wilson’s Hotel, but they’re gentlemen. They’ve all gone to pray to the Firinghee Kali today—I tried to give them some money, but they wouldn’t take it. They raised it themselves, and told me, ‘After Robbie gets better and gets a job, you can bake us a cake—just like the English cakes which the gentlemen have with their tea, which the ladies bite into and giggle.’”
Chowringhee Page 13