He was least bothered with the arrangements, happy to thrust all the responsibility upon us. Sitting down in Karabi’s rocking chair, he said, ‘I hope I can get through the next few days. My mother tells me that once when Father wasn’t very well-off, he had to skip lunch for three days to wangle the agency of a firm. Let’s see what fate holds in store for me—I don’t like skipping lunch at all.’
‘Times have changed,’ said Karabi, poker faced.
‘Absolutely,’ said Anindo, ‘I’ll make sure my mother hears that. I’ll go to the airport early tomorrow morning, and then come here. I’ll stick to them like a leech. After that, we’ll see what happens.’
‘Your mother won’t have anything to complain about,’ I said. ‘But it’s not a bad idea to let her know your point of view beforehand.’
He didn’t agree. ‘You don’t know my mother—she’ll think her Kajol hasn’t been concentrating. Oh I forgot to tell you, my nickname is Kajol. At Presidency my friends used to call me Kajla-didi. Whenever they saw me they would shout, “It’s evening at the bamboo grove and the moon is out, but where’s Kajla-didi, the poet, up and about?”’
Karabi’s expression remained deadpan, but I couldn’t help laughing.
‘Did you recite a lot of poetry?’ I asked.
‘Of course not, but I knew many quotations by heart and I loved answering in rhyme. Though all that’s over now. It’s one thing to live in your father’s hotel—but working in your father’s office is rigorous imprisonment. Mother wanted me to stay outside Calcutta for some more time; she feels your work improves if you’ve had your training elsewhere. Father had considered calling me over, but Mother held him back. Now he thinks it’s time for me to get familiar with Madhab Industries. Big industrialists have two major enemies you know, the public sector and coronary thrombosis, as my father often says.’ Glancing at his watch, he said, ‘Time to go. My mother’s orders, have to go to the club and play some tennis.’
I remember even today that both of us were silent for some time after Anindo left. His nickname ‘Kajol’ may have signified black, but in the stale corrupt air of Shahjahan, he came across as a whiff of scented mountain breeze. Eventually, Karabi said, ‘How could Mrs Pakrashi keep someone like him away from her for so many years?’
‘Like the mother of the future king, the mother of the future managing director also has to make sacrifices,’ I answered.
Almost involuntarily Karabi said, ‘Let’s hope so.’
I was very happy that day. At last I had seen someone good—not everything about a hotel was bad. Good people came by too.
I woke up early the next morning. Someone was already sitting on the terrace like a statue. Prabhat Chandra Gomez. The empty cup beside him revealed that Gomez, following in the footsteps of Brahms, had been drinking the bitter black coffee he had brewed himself. Who knows what he was waiting for in the corner of the terrace?
He beckoned to me. ‘This is the only luxury in my life—looking at the eastern horizon and waiting for the sun. This is when I find food for new thought.’
‘You might catch a cold,’ I said. ‘All you’ve got on is a vest.’
He paid no attention, muttering to himself, ‘If I catch a cold and die, the world won’t be the poorer for it. A long time ago someone paid no heed to the cold and paid for it with his life. That day the world indeed became poorer, and that loss hasn’t been made up yet.’
The melancholy harmony in his words moved even a tuneless person like me.
‘He was the Shakespeare of music—his name was Beethoven,’ he explained. ‘If I had the means, if I had a record library worth its name, I would have played Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony for you. It’s the most awe-inspiring musical work in existence.’
‘May you have everything one day, by the grace of God,’ I said.
‘His grace? His judgement?’ A pleasant smile flitted across Gomez’s face. ‘Then how could Handel and Bach have gone blind? How could Beethoven go deaf? In the long history of human civilization there hasn’t been another Beethoven. If you want to hear the sweetest symphonies in the world, you’d have to listen to the nine left behind by him. If you want to listen to a piano sonata that’s unparalleled, you’ll have to choose one of the thirty-two he wrote. And string quartets? There, too, you’ll have to fall back on his seventeen compositions. If you want to unravel the mystery of how to create extraordinary harmony through ordinary means, lock yourself in your room and pay homage to Handel. He may not answer your prayers at first, but you mustn’t lose heart. Be patient and one day, at just such a time, at the confluence of light and darkness, you’ll understand why Beethoven had said, go and learn from Handel how to achieve greatness through simplicity.’
Gomez fell silent, and, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings, turned his gaze back upon the eastern horizon, as though the key to grasping the extraordinary through ordinary means was written with invisible ink in one corner of the sky.
I went back to my room without another word. Everyone else in the hotel was still wrapped in deep sleep, but my work had begun, and so had Karabi’s. She and Agarwalla had spoken to Marco Polo. I was to be on special duty for the special guests for a few days.
As I went down the stairs, I could think only of Gomez. All of us seemed to be sitting like beggars by the roadside, trying to grasp the extraordinary through ordinary means.
Karabi opened the door as soon as I knocked. Her suite was almost ready for the guests. She had placed lovely bunches of flowers in the corners and on the table—every shade matching the room.
‘Sometimes I think I should work as an interior decorator. How do you like it?’
‘Wonderful,’ I said.
‘I made poor Nityahari slave yesterday,’ she said. ‘I rejected every shade he showed me for the curtains.’
Eventually, Nityahari had been forced to say, ‘Forgive me for saying this but I’ve made the Governor’s bed; when a member of the royal family came to India, I was summoned to provide his bedclothes and pillows. Lord Reading was so comfortable in the bed made by my unworthy self that he overslept by an hour—all the morning programmes had to be postponed. And now...I can’t get approval for curtains for a room for two Germans. Such is my fate!’
Karabi had told him, ‘Someone’s future depends on these arrangements—if anything goes wrong he’ll lose face before his father.’
Nityahari had assured her, ‘If it’s so serious, let me tell you something: it’s no use worrying your head off over the curtains and table linen; focus all your attention on the bed. Forty years of experience in the linen department tells me that the bed is the most important item. If the bed is comfortable, nobody will say anything even if the food is bad—the bed must be made in such a way that the person feels he is sleeping in his own bed at home. It is, after all, the most important thing in life. It is where we laugh, where we lie down and cry, where we are born, where we die. And yet, you don’t pay any attention to it. Heaven knows what will happen to this hotel when Nityahari isn’t there any more.’
Then he had brought a sample of every shade of curtains he possessed to Karabi’s room, and she had chosen one.
‘How does it look?’ Karabi gave me a cup of tea and asked once again.
I was still thinking of Handel. I said, ‘Simple, and yet beautiful.’
Karabi smiled. ‘That’s the secret of all beauty. Anindo Pakrashi, for example. Why are the two of us slaving so hard on his behalf? Because he’s simple and yet beautiful—isn’t that so?’
A little before breakfast that day, the huge Chrysler belonging to Madhab Industries drove up to Shahjahan Hotel from Dum Dum Airport with the important guests Dr Reiter and Herr Kurt.
Karabi was dressed in a Murshidabadi silk sari, her hair bedecked with flowers. How lovely she looked! Simple and elegant. She was at our counter when the guests arrived, and greeted them in the traditional manner. Anindo transferred the responsibility for their luggage to me and went ahead with Karabi.
W
hen I arrived at suite number two with the porters bearing the luggage, I was in for another surprise. Sometime between now and when I had met her at dawn, Karabi had had traditional Indian patterns painted on the floor of the suite.
‘What’s this?’ the visitors asked.
‘Alpana. Traditional decorations,’ said Anindo. ‘Our housewives paint these patterns to welcome respected guests.’
‘Wonderful!’ said Dr Reiter and focused his camera on the floor. After he had finished, he said, ‘You mean ordinary housewives do such artwork—it’s not done by professional artists?’
‘That’s right,’ said Anindo. ‘Of course, you could call Miss Guha a talented artist.’
Tapping his foot, Kurt said, ‘May I have a glass of beer?’
‘Certainly,’ said Anindo.
I had to remind him reluctantly, ‘It’s dry day.’
‘What?’ Kurt said sharply.
‘I’m extremely sorry,’ Anindo explained, ‘you’ve arrived on a bad day. One day every week, selling liquor is prohibited in our state—bar and restaurant managers have to keep all spirits locked up that day.’
Kurt had never heard of such a thing in his life. ‘You mean to say you’re completely dry for a whole day?’ he exclaimed. ‘You deliberately cripple normal life in India for a day? And you mean to tell me that your country is going to start an industrial revolution in this manner, with leftover ideas from the last century?’
I realized from Anindo’s face that he was dismayed with this inauspicious beginning. If only he knew what was to follow.
Assuming full responsibility for his country’s transgressions he stood with his head bowed before his foreign guests, and begged their forgiveness.
Dr Reiter tried to calm his friend down. ‘Calcutta is still the best among the worst. I believe, in Bombay every day is dry. I’ve heard you need a permit for even a bottle of beer.’
Disgruntled, Kurt sat down. I thought Karabi had discreetly disappeared so that Anindo wouldn’t feel embarrassed in front of her, but I soon realized my mistake. She came back to the drawing room shortly. The guests looked at her in surprise. The bearer stood behind her, with two tender coconuts in his hands. The Germans had never seen such a strange fruit before.
‘What’s this?’ Kurt asked.
Karabi laughed. ‘Nature has arranged this drink for us in India—the daab.’
‘Daab? Never heard of it!’ Reiter said.
Karabi held the coconuts out to them. ‘Indians drink a lot of this,’ she said.
Anindo felt a little reassured at seeing the change in his guests’ expressions.
A bewitching smile spread across her face as Karabi said, ‘Drinking daab is also an art. I could have poured the juice into glasses for you, but I want you to drink it the way our villagers do.’
Kurt looked intrigued. ‘Tell us how to drink it,’ he said.
‘We put our mouths to the holes cut on the top and tilt it in such a way that not a drop is spilled. But that’s quite difficult.’
Kurt took this as a challenge. He wanted to prove that he too could drink the same way. He handed the fruit to Karabi while he took off his jacket.
‘Wait, Mr Kurt,’ Karabi told him. ‘If you try to drink it that way you’ll get your clothes stained and our country’s reputation, too. I’ve arranged for straws for you.’
‘Give me the straw,’ said Reiter. ‘I have no objection to taking know-how from your country on subjects I have no experience about.’
Kurt, however, was not going to give up easily. ‘We’re Germans, o lovely Indian lady—very stubborn. Now that you’ve got me interested I’m going to try it.’
Karabi said, mimicking him good-naturedly, ‘O foreigner, thank you for the compliment, but for your stubbornness you have only my admonition.’
Kurt insisted on trying it out. But the liquid splashed on to his clothes; then, he drew in his breath too quickly and started coughing. Karabi snatched the coconut out of his hands, while he laughed and coughed at the same time.
‘That’s enough,’ she said, ‘no more. Eventually it will be rumoured that there was a plot to kill you in India.’
Kurt finally gathered himself. Looking down at his wet clothes, he realized his mistake and said, a trifle embarrassedly, ‘I’m really sorry, Miss Guha, I shouldn’t have lost my head over a drink.’
Reiter said gravely, ‘You’ve already been punished enough for bad behaviour—maybe Miss Guha has some more punishment in store for you.’
Everyone laughed and then Kurt and Reiter went into their rooms.
Anindo’s grateful eyes, as he looked at Karabi, are still etched in my memory. ‘Really, you’re one of a kind,’ he said, unembarrassed by my presence. ‘Our relationship would have soured right at the beginning, but you miraculously saved the situation.’
Karabi blushed for a moment and, plucking at the end of her sari, said, ‘Would you like something to eat? They’re going to rest for some time.’
Anindo said, ‘Yes, but on one condition. You must accompany me.’ He looked at me. ‘You come too...we can chat over breakfast.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘but I have a lot to do.’
In his naiveté Anindo may have believed me, but Karabi let the cat out of the bag. ‘That’s not true. He belongs to the hotel staff...how can he eat at the same table with guests?’
‘So what?’ said Anindo. ‘He’s my guest.’
‘The management doesn’t like employees hobnobbing with guests.’
He said with his typical childishness, ‘What nonsense! I’m going to talk to the manager at once.’
Pleading urgent duties, I excused myself while they went down for breakfast.
Who knows where that Anindo, who got upset at a hotel employee’s inability to share a table with him and wanted to protest against it, has disappeared. His speeches today give the impression that he’s lost all respect for ordinary people. He now thinks that everyone is conspiring to cheat Madhab Industries; that workers are interested only in their salaries, their overtime payments and their bonuses, but give nothing in return. He believes that the entire state is hell-bent on destroying industry with the indulgence of the government and the encouragement of the communists.
The Anindo I knew had once recited lines from one of his favourite poets to Karabi and me:
Men have been born and in their time on earth
Gathered at ever-new confluences of history
But still, where is the fulfilment of that unique dream
The fresh dawn of virgin humanity?
‘Just you wait,’ Karabi had said, ‘I’m going to call your mother and tell her that her son is roaming around with volumes of poetry instead of concentrating on work.’
Anindo had replied, ‘I’m going to give you some poems and then I’ll see how you can stop yourself from becoming an addict too.’
After having his breakfast with Karabi, Anindo came to our counter. ‘Both of them are snoring their heads off,’ he said. ‘Whatever we have to do can wait, meanwhile I have some time to kill.’
He wasted a lot of it standing around after that, watching us as we worked. ‘Really, what an interesting job you people have. You get to meet so many different kinds of people...now I understand why English novels are so absorbing when they’re set in hotels.’
‘Why don’t you start a new hotel, Mr Pakrashi,’ said Bose-da. ‘A unique hotel, in a completely Indian style, with Indian dances instead of cabarets, and popular Indian musicians to entertain guests. I have spoken to many well-known artistes who stay at our hotel...they would all be willing to help.’
Anindo shook his head. ‘My father has his eye on the electrical and mechanical industries now,’ he said glumly.
He might have said more, but Karabi appeared suddenly in the lounge. ‘Nice man you are,’ she said to him, ‘I go to my room for a moment and you come away without a word!’
‘But you need some rest too,’ he said.
‘Me? In the morning?’ she
exclaimed. ‘And you needn’t stand outside—you can always use the suite like your own room.’
‘That’s why you are so renowned as a hostess.’
I had no idea that Anindo’s response would offend Karabi so much. Her smile disappeared. Raising her eyes slowly, she said, ‘You think I’m asking you in only because I’m a hostess?’
He didn’t understand, but from her face I knew she was hurt. The ever-smiling ‘welcome’ girl of the firm had forgotten for a moment that she was on duty. But it doesn’t take long for girls on duty to remember their obligations. ‘Your guests are ready,’ she said. ‘You’re probably going out with them now, but will you be back for lunch?’
‘There’s no need for lunch,’ he said. ‘Father will be coming to the club too, I’ll take them there.’
After they left, Bose-da told me, ‘In the olden days it used to be kings—these days it’s trade representatives, and they merit better treatment than kings even, because they come with the crown jewel: know-how.’
I didn’t quite understand what he meant. He started laughing. ‘You don’t get it? The key to Alibaba’s treasure trove. We don’t have the initiative to use our brains and brawn to fabricate this key, so we’re trying to open doors by borrowing the keys from someone else. Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It’s good news for the hotel. All the rooms will be occupied. We’ll be able to raise our rates again, we’ll be able to put more money into belly dancers.’ Pausing, he added, ‘Remember to send the police reports today.’
Anindo returned with his guests late in the afternoon. They’d probably had plenty to drink somewhere, which meant that they were in no condition to stand or even sit; they tottered off to their rooms.
I went up to Karabi’s suite with Anindo to discuss the police reports.
‘How was business?’ she asked him.
‘Couldn’t have been better,’ Anindo replied. ‘They were taken to our office and then to Mrs Chakladar’s flat within half an hour. I had no idea that so many households in Calcutta are converted into bars on dry days. I knew nothing about this; it was my uncle Phokla Chatterjee who told me—he phoned Mrs Chakladar to let her know. She doesn’t entertain unknown parties. I daren’t ask, but may I have some tea?’
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