‘Anybody with a head for figures?’ Connie sent out another appeal. Phokla was apparently waiting for just such an opportunity—he rose immediately and approached the stage, while I threw a measuring tape at Connie.
Meanwhile, the dwarf had returned to the stage. He seemed a little taken aback at the sight of the beautiful Connie and kept biting his tongue and scratching his head, not sure what to do. At the other end of the stage Connie stood with her face averted, handing the tape to Phokla and saying, ‘Measure for yourself—yesterday it was 38-24-36.’
The dwarf stood at the mike and whispered to the audience, ‘I was mistaken; I’m not Connie. My name is Lambreta, Lambreta, the man.’ Then he looked at Connie and screamed, ‘Hello, miss. I’m an expert statistician, a qualified accountant, and a famous tailor, and I can do complicated sums in my head.’ He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and started wiping his face. Seeing that Phokla was all set to start measuring the long-limbed Connie, he loped towards them awkwardly. His eyes seemed to be on fire. Trying to push Phokla aside, he said, ‘Get away, I’m going to measure her.’
Phokla paid no attention to him at first, but soon Lambreta pushed him with all his strength. The hall-full of people were laughing fit to burst, and Chatterjee was forced to hand the tape to the dwarf and return to where he’d been sitting. Meanwhile, Connie had begun humming a song, and couldn’t hear what Lambreta was screaming from around her knees. She was standing with her legs slightly apart, and twice the dwarf passed between them, at which some members of the audience whistled obscenely. But Lambreta had no time for them. He tried his best to attract the lady’s attention, while the proud, tall Connie appeared not to have seen him at all.
Failing in all his attempts, Lambreta suddenly got hold of a ladder from somewhere. But as soon as he propped it up against Connie’s back and started climbing it, she walked off; he wasn’t going to give up, though—he clung on to her dress. Now it became clear that the ladder was on wheels, because as Connie moved away, so did the ladder, taking Lambreta with it. The faster the ladder moved, the more scared he looked—in desperation he pretended to clutch her around the waist. In the midst of all this, Connie did an about-turn, whereupon he spun around, too. By now he had grown bolder, and climbed a little further up the ladder, saying, ‘Miss Connie, I’ve brought you a rose.’
Overcome with gratitude, Connie said, ‘Oh what a lovely rose! Really, there’s nobody like you!’
As soon as he heard this, Lambreta fell off the ladder in excitement, but Connie paid no attention. Struggling back to his feet, he brushed the dust off himself and, propping the ladder back against Connie, tried to kiss her. Failing to express his passion physically he tried to show it verbally, but the attempt backfired. As soon as he had climbed up the ladder to whisper something in her ear, Connie grabbed him and dangled him by his ears. Swinging his legs wildly, he cried out pathetically, ‘Please, please, pardon me, miss, I’ll never propose to such a tall girl again, it was a big mistake.’
When Connie threw Lambreta down on the floor, a few people rolled on to the carpet from their chairs, laughing. For a moment the lights came on very bright, and showed Lambreta running away.
Going up to the mike, I said, ‘Now that we’ve got rid of the dwarf with great difficulty, the dance is about to begin.’
Smiling sweetly at me, Connie took off her voluminous robe. Gomez’s band was busy trying to awaken the animal passions slumbering within the depths of the human mind, with a teasing rhythm. Dancing her way off the stage, Connie went over and sat on a guest’s lap, as she laughingly took his neighbour’s handkerchief to wipe off her perspiration. Another man called out, ‘We’re waiting back here.’ Connie floated off in that direction, sitting on his lap for a while. Then she pulled Mr Ranganathan up, caressed him and said, ‘Hello, my boy, come sit on my lap.’
Ranganathan was about to object, but Connie brushed his murmurs aside and forced him down on to her lap. He had probably been somewhat softened—under the effect of alcohol he caressed her dress and said, ‘Lovely.’
Putting her arms around him, Connie said, ‘I’m like a mine, the deeper you dig, the more jewels you will find.’
Who knew what Ranganathan made of that, but Connie had no more time to spare. Pushing him away, she began her act. One by one, her clothes came off—the tiara bid farewell, the gloves on her hands disappeared, and then the skirt slid off, whereupon Calcutta, hungry for feminine flesh, raised a cheer. But the very next moment their hopes were dashed to the ground as they realized that Connie was dressed in several sets of clothes, one beneath the other.
After that, I remember nothing. I saw Gomez’s face distort with loathing and exhaustion, while his assistants played on furiously, like machines. All of a sudden there was nothing covering Connie, and at that instant, the hall went dark. Picking up a diaphanous piece of cloth from the floor, she preserved her modesty somehow and disappeared.
The lights came on and the crowd burst into a frenzied, prolonged applause. Standing on the stage, I saw numerous items of clothing strewn about, the midget Lambreta picking up the skirt, panties, blouse and brassiere slowly, one by one.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, there will be a few minutes’ interval,’ I announced into the mike.
Wiping his face with a handkerchief, Gomez said, ‘It’s the death-knell of civilization—can’t you hear it?’
The band struck up once again, and the guests took advantage of the break to consume a few more pegs. I even saw Ranganathan trying out the whiskey.
The lights went out once again, and the tinkle of anklets filled the entire hall. A strange wave of sound emanated from Gomez’s instruments. I felt as though I was sitting in a dense forest, where the doe had been calling all night long—all the stags heard her, but only those who could identify the sound approached her. On that strange evening, it was time for love.
The lights came on slowly, revealing Connie on the stage. Amazing! She had no clothes covering her, only balloons, hundreds of them. The coloured lights mingled with the coloured balloons to create whole new shades of the spectrum. Connie started dancing and as she danced, she strolled among the guests, handing a small metal pin to one of them, saying, ‘Go on, burst one.’ He plunged the steel pin into a balloon near her breasts, and it exploded with a grotesque bang.
After dancing a few more steps, Connie went up to another guest, who also burst a balloon. As the number of balloons decreased, more and more of her body could be seen. And the madness in the hall reached a crescendo. Clearly the stags were fearless tonight. There was unbridled excitement in the air. Lust, desire and craving were palpable everywhere.
There were only three balloons left on Connie’s body now. A few old men rushed forward together to pierce them, and as the balloons exploded, all the lights went out. Trying to make her escape in the darkness, poor Connie tripped on the carpet and fell. I helped her up, and heard her gasp, ‘Please get me my robe.’
I gave it to her, and she ran out of the hall.
The lights came on again, and with it I seemed to have regained consciousness. Next to me lay a pair of Connie’s shoes. Gomez packed his instruments with the help of his boys, his eyes studiously downcast. Going up to the mike, I managed to speak: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you on behalf of Connie and Shahjahan Hotel for being present at this pleasant gathering. Goodnight.’
But there was no respite yet. Phokla came up to me and said, ‘Mr Ranganathan wants to meet Connie.’
A few more people made the same request.
Swaying in his inebriated state, Phokla drawled, ‘That’s why I like coming to the first show. She won’t be as free in the next one. The lords of law and order in Calcutta will never allow so much—at least, they’ll never allow the last three balloons to be burst.’ Before leaving, he said, ‘Another thing—I’m asking you because you’re Bengali—they’re never completely nude, are they? That’s not allowed in Calcutta, is it? They probably have something thin on—nylon or silk,
isn’t that so?’
I could feel my ears burning; I couldn’t speak. Looking at him, I somehow managed to say, ‘Honestly, I have no idea.’
Gomez was standing in front of me. ‘Come on, let’s go back to our rooms,’ he said.
Phokla and Ranganathan exchanged a few words, after which Phokla grabbed my hand and whispered, ‘I have something to say to you in private—strictly private and confidential.’
I went out with him to the car park. Standing by his car, he said, ‘This is a very nice place, there isn’t another hotel as respectable in the country. They have shows elsewhere too, but those have no dignity. As I was saying, you are a Bengali, it’s your duty to take care of my needs. And it’s my duty to ensure that you make some money over and above your salary.’
I still couldn’t make out what he was getting at. He now leaned towards Ranganathan and, taking a few ten-rupee notes out of his pocket, held them out to me, saying, ‘You know what the problem is? Mr Rangnathan is feeling very lonely, he’s all alone in Calcutta. I have to go back home right now, my wife is waiting for me. If you could get Connie to agree—it’s not very late yet, and besides, they’re used to staying up nights, they can always sleep all day.’
I was in no frame of mind to reply; I quickly drew my hand back as though an electric current had passed through it, and stared at him. Phokla burst out laughing. ‘Too young...you’re very raw, very green.’ Putting the notes back in his pocket, he said, ‘You’ve put me in a spot. If I’d known I would have made arrangements elsewhere. He’s a very important purchase officer—I can’t possibly ask him to spend the night in any old place.’
His car left with Ranganathan in it, as did the other cars with their owners sitting in them.
I hadn’t enjoyed a single moment of the evening. Though I hadn’t had time for dinner, I didn’t want any now. I went out of the hotel on an impulse, almost against my instincts.
Buses and trams had stopped plying long ago; it was as if someone had injected the indisposed city with a strong sedative and put it to sleep. Never before had I seen this calm and yet terrifying face of Calcutta by night. Walking down Chittaranjan Avenue, I went and stood before Sir Ashutosh Mukherjee in his judge’s robes. The stout Sir Ashutosh remained perpetually at the crossing, the illuminated globe atop the head office of the Calcutta Electric Supply Corporation still rotating according to its own sweet will.
I have to beg your indulgence once more. Bose-da had told me only to observe and not ask questions, and yet, in the middle of the night I was forced to ask myself: Was this Calcutta? Was this the city of our dreams? Or was I standing alone and helpless in, as the poet had put it, the dense forests of Libya? I recalled the words of a poem by Bose-da’s favourite poet. It was he who had made me read the poem many times.
Turning on the hydrant the leper licks up the water
Or perhaps the hydrant was always on, being out of order
Midnight descends on the city in droves...
*
Yet from the window above
In a voice all her own
Sings the half-awake Jewish girl...
*
Smart young foreigners walk by
Leaning against a pillar an old Negro smiles,
Cleans the briar-pipe in his hand
With the faith of a toothless gorilla
The generous night of the metropolis
Seems to him like a Libyan forest
Yet its animal denizens are unique,
In fact they wear clothes only out of shame.
‘You here, sir?’
With a start, I found two waiters from Shahjahan looking at me.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.
‘This is where we sleep, there’s no space in the kitchen—the cook’s mates don’t let anybody get in there.’
There was plenty of space in the hotel lounge—a few people could easily sleep on the carpet if they allowed it. But that would mar the beauty of the hotel. The portico was also out of bounds—if employees were found lying there it would lower the hotel’s prestige. So there was no choice but to seek shelter at the feet of Sir Ashutosh and Victoria House.
‘Have you had dinner?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I have a permanent arrangement with Little Shahjahan—fourteen paise per meal; only Mayadhar hasn’t eaten.’
‘Why haven’t you eaten, Mayadhar?’
Mayadhar had flopped down on the grass by then, clutching his legs in agony. The other bearer said, ‘The pain in his leg has worsened, his veins are hurting badly today.’
Kneeling, I saw by the light provided by the Calcutta Electric Supply Corporation that the veins in his leg had swollen up like knotted cords, as though several blue snakes had entwined themselves around his legs. Bose-da had told me that these were varicose veins.
‘We feel like cutting our legs off at the end of the day, sir. That’s how we all end up. After years of standing the veins start swelling up. We have to hide them from the boss, sir, if the steward gets to know he’ll throw us out immediately.’
‘Don’t you ever go to the doctor?’
‘It costs a lot, sir. And the doctors say, give your feet some rest. How can you work in a hotel and still give your feet some rest, sir?’
‘Haven’t you been to a doctor yet?’ I asked Mayadhar.
‘Bose sahib had given me a letter for a doctor he knows,’ he said. ‘But I haven’t been to him—I’m saving money. It’s expensive. But now I have to go, or else I’ll become like Bharat. After this there will be sores all over the legs, and they’ll burst and bleed, I won’t be able to stand any more. I’ll lose my job, my children will starve to death, sir.’
‘It’s very late, you’d better go to sleep,’ I said and started walking away.
Where could I go? I had no idea. Tramping through the darkness, I entered Curzon Park. There were a lot of people sleeping there, too. Who knows, some of my colleagues from Shahjahan may have been among them. The paved area at the feet of Sir Hariram Goenka was tempting, but it had already been taken by a few lucky souls. The street light filtered through the railings on the west and bathed his feet. The inmates of ‘Hariram Inn’ had devised a clever way of shielding themselves from its glare. The light distributed free of cost by the Corporation had been stopped in its tracks by dried leaves that they’d placed over their eyes. There was darkness beneath. And it was there, it seemed, that my India slept.
9
By the time I returned to the hotel, it was very late. I don’t know why, but walking down Calcutta’s deserted streets, I felt that I had at last come of age. All this time, I had been seeing the world through inexperienced eyes; I had not matured. But that night I crossed over into adulthood and entered a new world.
On my way into the hotel, I saw Bose-da at the reception counter. There was no one else. He probably read something in my expression—perhaps my eyes were a little red. Taking my hands, he said, ‘Are you feeling ill? Where did you go off to? You didn’t even have your dinner—I asked Juneau, he said he hadn’t seen you eat. I got hold of some sandwiches from the old man and put them in the drawer here. No one’s going to turn up, so you can break the rules and eat them here, like a schoolboy.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ I forced the words out.
Bose-da could read people’s minds very easily. He probably sensed that the obedient, well-mannered schoolboy inside had been displaced by an unfamiliar, frightening grown-up. He continued in his light-hearted vein, trying to cheer me up.
‘That’s why I asked for sandwiches! If you’d been really hungry half-a-dozen sandwiches would have been no good. Besides, I want to give you a treat—you did a great job as a compére. Connie’s very pleased, too. She just couldn’t believe that you’ve never presented cabaret artistes in your life. I can see clearly that one day you will be indispensable to this hotel; the counter, the bar, the cabaret won’t survive a moment without you.’
Tears had started rolling down my cheeks by then—I couldn�
��t understand why those tears, oblivious of my reluctance to let them flow, were bent on making a fool of me.
The next moment Bose-da embraced me affectionately. He had been burning in the same fire for ages. In a voice choked with emotion, he said, ‘I’m very happy; I can’t tell you how happy your tears make me. Just keep observing, Shankar, you’ll never get a chance like this again. But don’t change, my boy, never change. May you never lose this ability to weep.’
He went back to being impersonal. ‘Connie was looking for you at supper. She’s a very sociable girl...talks beautifully. She told me a lot of interesting stories—she’s been a wanderer all her life. She says there’s only one season for sportsmen, actresses and dancers—and that’s spring. The only gift they have is youth. She’d have told more stories, but Lambreta spoiled the party. As soon as the dwarf appeared at the bar, some women shrieked in horror. Lambreta was most offended and promptly sat at one of their tables. There was a pregnant lady sitting with her husband. Lambreta told her, “Don’t look at me like that, the child you’ll have will be even smaller than me!” Whereupon she practically fainted, so we had to take care of her. Connie had to forcibly take Lambreta to his room, and the whole session fizzled out.’ He paused briefly. ‘Go along to bed now. I might as well doze off on a chair, too. There’s nothing to do except wake some guests who’re leaving at four in the morning.’
Going up to the terrace, I opened the door quietly. I didn’t expect to find anybody at this hour—Gurberia should have been asleep too. But as soon as I set foot on the roof I found Lambreta, still wearing his suit, on the dirty floor, a liquor bottle in his hand. He was taking swigs from it. When he saw me, he stood up and said, ‘Have you seen how lovely the moon looks?’
I was in no state to gaze at the moon. ‘Aren’t you going to bed?’ I asked.
Bottle in hand, he followed me to my room, entering without so much as a by-your-leave. His eyes were terrifying—the clown who had made 350 Calcuttans laugh just a while ago seemed to have vanished.
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