‘The sad thing is, you people talk of poverty, but we can’t get girls for our business. I can tell you as a Bengali, everybody wants Bengali girls. They have the opportunity, they have the edge, but they refuse to sign up. I’ll be damned for telling the truth—but it should be survival first, ethics later. What’s the point of all this chastity when the average Bengali girl is dying of TB and malnutrition? But what a race! They will break but not bend. Tagore and Bankim and Vivekananda, these are the people who’ve ruined the race. This is a different era, you need practical people. What can Phokla Chatterjee do all by himself? Agarwalla’s looking for a full-time hostess—good salary and lots of extra money to be made—but I can’t get a suitable local girl. Rosie’s after my life to get her a job. The woman claims she desperately needs a lot of money. I think I’ll set it up for her. After all, poverty knows no caste. You have to look after people when they’re in trouble, no matter what their caste, isn’t that so?
‘Let me see what I can do. It’s Sadashivam who’s creating problems—the bugger likes Rosie and doesn’t want to let go of her, and we can’t afford to antagonize him either. I keep telling him, why not try a disposable cup instead of using the same cup and saucer for your daily tea?’
Before leaving, Phokla Chatterjee added, ‘Let me give you some good news. I’m going to be a director in Agarwalla’s company. Just proves one can still be successful through sincere effort, without resorting to dishonesty.’
Bose-da, meanwhile, had arrived at a remarkable crossroads in his life. We now waited eagerly for the bus carrying airline employees. Any moment now, Sujata Mitra would appear in her all-blue sari at our counter. Shrugging off the leather bag hanging from her shoulder, she would smile sweetly and ask, ‘All well?’
‘How’ve you been?’ Bose-da would respond.
Keeping her true feelings in check, she would reply, ‘Fine—no worries, no anxiety. It’s great fun having breakfast in one country, lunch in another and going for a film in the evening in a third.’
Whether anyone else sensed it or not, I knew that a few exchanges along these lines had wrought a revolutionary change in Bose-da. Despite all his efforts he could not control his runaway heart. He was wracked by anxiety all the time. He probably felt reluctant to share those thoughts with me, which is why he had no option but to stay imprisoned, as it were, within himself.
It was at the counter that I got an inkling of his turmoil. One day, after being on duty all night, as he handed over charge to me, I saw he had been scribbling the same sentence over and over again on the notepad. He had been so distracted that he had even forgotten to tear off the sheet he had been scribbling on. It wasn’t difficult to decipher—he had said as much to me several times: The wise receptionist always keeps the counter between him and the other side, in both letter and in spirit. Bose-da was cautioning himself repeatedly because the dam of the reception could hold the flood no longer.
I felt very happy—I cannot say why. The thought that someone like Bose-da would live an unfulfilled life at Shahjahan depressed me. That is how it is in life. The inevitable does not pay heed to individual preferences. Thus it was that Sujata had started visiting Calcutta frequently in the course of her duties. I had not noticed at what point Miss Mitra had become Sujata. She loved to chat and she could not only laugh heartily herself, but also made others laugh, which was why it didn’t take long for us to become close friends.
She had come to know our duty roster, too. After a bath, she abandoned formalities and came directly up to the terrace. To me she said, ‘Shut your eyes.’ I shut them. ‘Open your mouth,’ she ordered. I did so, whereupon she unwrapped a chocolate or a lozenge and popped it into my mouth. She withdrew her fingers just as I closed my mouth and snapped, ‘You nearly bit my fingers off—what a greedy boy!’
‘Me greedy?’ I said, feigning innocence. ‘Well, since I’ve been damned, give me another.’
Ignoring me, she looked at Bose-da. ‘Your turn now.’
He shook his head and said, ‘I’m not going to eat anything without knowing what it is—I can’t put such a valuable life in danger.’
‘Very well then, since you don’t trust me, you needn’t have any.’
I said immediately, ‘Since you’re fighting over it give me his share too!’
‘There you go, taking advantage,’ said Bose-da. ‘No, Sujata, give the chocolates to me.’
Our terrace would be transformed during Sujata-di’s visits. She once forced her way into Bose-da’s room and, after a thorough examination, remarked, ‘He’s so neat and organized, he’d put many women to shame.’
‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘Since you’re so pleased, you might as well pay for the tickets to the cinema tonight.’
‘Gladly.’ She was about to take the money out of her purse, but Bose-da said, ‘Trust you to be so gullible. Since he knew you would be here tonight, this fellow bought three tickets for the night show four days ago.’
‘But then, I’m the older one, shouldn’t it be my treat?’ she said.
‘If only today’s young fellows respected tradition,’ sighed Bose-da.
The film ended a little after twelve. Outside Metro Cinema, we saw Chowringhee in a new light. I was about to hail a taxi when Bose-da suggested that we walk.
I had seen Calcutta by night in different guises on different occasions. Most of them were frightening, but that night it was different. We paused before the statue of Sir Ashutosh at the crossing of Chowringhee and Central Avenue. A scooter sped by; there weren’t many scooters on Calcutta roads in those days. ‘If only I had a scooter like that,’ said Bose-da wistfully.
Whoever imagined that Sujata-di would take that casual statement seriously and buy a scooter for Bose-da?
Aware that Bose-da might create a scene, she said by way of preamble, ‘There’s something I’ve done—and I’ll be really upset if you scold me.’
Not having a clue, Bose-da said, ‘To err is human—why should I scold you for it?’
Whereupon she handed him the papers for the scooter, informing him that she wouldn’t be in Calcutta when the scooter was delivered in a couple of days. She wouldn’t be back for a week or so, so he should use the time to master the art of riding it, though she did feel rather anxious about his riding a scooter in Calcutta’s traffic. Handicapped by his pledge, Bose-da seethed in anger, but said nothing. Finally he admonished, ‘How impulsive can you get!’
She merely smiled. ‘Be careful what you say about how you got it. It might boomerang on you. Nobody in the hotel needs to know of my hand in getting the scooter.’
‘If they did, both of you would find it difficult to survive here,’ I said.
We kept chatting on the terrace that night. Mesmerized by his new bride, Gurberia had been tempted to extend his leave. So another telegram had arrived, informing us of his mother’s continued illness. In his absence I was working as the bearer, saluting and asking, ‘Can I get ma’am anything?’
Ma’am said, ‘Don’t get cute—just sit down, or else you’ll get your ears tweaked.’
I turned my ear towards her, saying, ‘Go ahead, it’ll be a world record—the first responsible hotel receptionist to have his ears tweaked by a lady guest!’
I insisted on getting some tea nevertheless, and, placing the tray before her, said, ‘Now we’ll sit still and let you pour.’
Bose-da sipped his tea and said, ‘It was very silly of you, really—now what am I going to do with this scooter? Where shall I park it?’
‘You mean there’s no room for a scooter in such a big hotel, where dozens of cars are parked? I don’t believe you. As for what to do with it, use it to get out of this prison occasionally and get a taste of freedom under the maidan’s open skies. Don’t have the hotel on your mind morning, noon and night.’ Bose-da continued to look grim till finally she said, ‘If I’ve committed a crime, how may I be pardoned for it?’
‘Your punishment is to sing a song, the tune you were humming in the park the other day
. This will also be a sort of record for you—the first guest to sing in a hotel instead of listening,’ I said.
She wasn’t unwilling, but Bose-da stopped her, saying, ‘There are other people on the terrace; there’ll be a scandal if anyone comes to know.’
Sujata-di glanced at her watch and rose. She had to leave, but Bose-da and I kept sitting. Bose-da said to me, ‘By the way, I forgot to tell you, Byron had telephoned—he wants to meet you today, it seemed very important. I don’t like it. I can sense a major change round the corner. I don’t like the way Marco’s behaving. He’s frequently been away from the hotel spending nights at Chhatawala Lane. And Jimmy’s trying to take advantage and form cliques.’
‘Maybe Byron will throw some light on the matter,’ I said.
‘I hope so. After all, Marco is a decent chap. I’ll feel bad if he suffers in any way.’
Byron came to meet me the same night. As I write, after all these years, I can’t hold back my tears. Perhaps it doesn’t befit a man to cry. But how can I explain how often the unsought love of a stranger has given me a fresh lease of life? I am woefully aware of my shortcomings as a writer. If only I could really express what I feel, if only I could convey some of what I really want to say, my happiness would know no bounds. If any unknown reader finds in this narrative a ray of hope at a moment of great personal crisis, I will have done justice to Byron, expressed my heartfelt gratitude to him.
He sat down in my room and said with a smile, ‘I had taken an advance from Marco, and I used to feel bad that I probably wouldn’t be able to help him. We did manage to find out about Susan after all, but it was of no use. She’s well out of reach. But see how God showers his blessings on unworthy souls.’
I looked at him, puzzled. ‘It’ll be public knowledge some day,’ he said, ‘but you probably have the right to know beforehand.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘You people say the Ramayana was written even before Rama was born. It’s turned out to be the same with Marco. Once upon a time he had paid Lisa to act as his lover so that he could use her as a co-respondent in his divorce case. But now, all this time later, he’s in love with her. Lisa didn’t believe it at first, but when she realized that he had no ulterior motive, she wept. If only you could see how Marco looks after Lisa! I saw him the other day cleaning up her vomit. What’s left of her body? She has nothing to offer Marco, but who knows what he sees in her now!
‘They’ve decided to live together. Lisa has improved a great deal after the treatment over the past few days. You’ll be amazed to see her. She wanted to visit Shahjahan, but Marco wouldn’t agree to that. He has no illusions about Jimmy—after all, it doesn’t take long for the manager’s reputation to reflect on the reputation of the hotel.’
Byron said that we’d be informed of Marco’s departure in a few days. The law here did not permit him to marry Lisa—and he wasn’t inclined to live with her without marrying her. So he had chosen a different path. He had got a job in the Gold Coast in Africa. A long way from enlightened Europe and civilized Asia. In an insignificant hotel in an insignificant, poor town, the ever-unfortunate Marco Polo and the lifelong sufferer Lisa would spend their remaining days as husband and wife.
Byron hesitated, and then, placing his hand on my shoulder, said, ‘It’s worked out well for me too. Because I’d taken money from him, I couldn’t make a move all this time, but now that my responsibility has been discharged, nothing prevents me from taking my leave.’
‘What do you mean?’
He said in a pained voice, ‘As long as I was in the profession, I never said it, but today I can tell you. There’s no hope of our being appreciated here in Calcutta. People are willing to admire private detectives in novels and films and theatres, but no one wants them in real life. But it’s not that way in Australia—private detectives have plenty of opportunities there. I can even get a salaried job at a detective agency. In fact, I’ve been offered one, so I’m sailing on the strength of that offer. If I ever get the chance, I’ll go back to private practice.’
I took both his hands in mine and said, ‘I am very happy that God has been kind to you at last. You’ll be really happy now.’
‘How do you know?’ he asked with a sad smile.
‘How do I know? To put it in legal terms, there’s a precedent.’
‘Precedent?’ He looked at me curiously.
‘Someone who desperately needed peace and happiness, someone whose suffering had caused us pain, too, had many years ago found peace in that continent.’
‘Who was he?’ Byron couldn’t keep himself from asking.
‘He wasn’t a man of flesh-and-blood, but I refuse to believe that he was merely a character in Dickens’s David Copperfield. His name was Mr Micawber.’
18
On a lazy, leisurely afternoon, in a lonely corner of your home, deprived of the company of your near and dear ones, have you ever thought of the people you loved and lost a long time ago? It is quite possible that in the comfort that we draw from our memories of loved ones, it might occur to us that it is infinitely better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. But often when the heart is heavy with the weight of memories, the pain of having loved and lost seems to outweigh all others. I had no idea that some day I would lose everyone I had come to know and love in the strange environs of Shahjahan.
The day I saw Byron off at Howrah station, I experienced the real pain of loss. Byron shook hands with Bose-da and me, for the last time, through the windows of the train. He wasn’t a relative, I hadn’t even known him for very long, but still, I felt an emptiness. How was I to know that this was just the beginning?
Looking at the clock, I told Bose-da, ‘Let’s go back quickly. We left the hotel a long time ago.’
But he showed no inclination to hurry, saying instead, ‘William and Jimmy are there—they’ll manage. I feel like having a cup of tea.’ I was surprised. How could he prefer tea at Howrah Station to what we got at Shahjahan?
Even as we walked into the restaurant I had no idea of what was to come. Taking a chair, he said, ‘I have something to tell you. Look at what I used to be and what I am now. All this time, I used to think of myself as made of steel, but now I realize how wrong I was. You’re like a brother to me, and also my only friend in Shahjahan. I need your advice.’
I was very pleased that he had thought of me in his hour of need.
He picked up an empty plate lying on the table. ‘It’s time for a decision. I can’t postpone it any longer. I’ve promised to let Sujata know today. I never thought that my heart would play tricks on me after so many years of an easy existence.’
‘What’s wrong with that? You’re not committing a crime, are you?’ I said.
Playing with the dish, Bose-da smiled. He appeared to be trying to forge a compromise with his reflection on the shiny glass tabletop. Almost to himself he said, ‘I’ve heard Nityahari say love is like measles—natural in youth, but cause for anxiety in old age. Now I can see he isn’t wrong.’
I looked closely at him.
‘I know it’s difficult to find someone like her,’ he mused. ‘She has a job, she works hard, and yet she’s a child at heart. I like the sense of a wild breeze about her—haven’t you noticed it?’
‘It’s impossible for me to see any flaw where she’s concerned. She’s ruined my ability for impartial judgement by making me gorge on her chocolates!’ I replied.
Bose-da tried to laugh, but his anxieties had conspired to choke the laughter in his throat. ‘I have to decide whether I want to have the cake or eat it—my job or Sujata.’
Despite everything, Bose-da loved Shahjahan Hotel. We all knew that. Who could have foreseen that one day he would have to consider giving it up because of a doe-eyed beauty of recent acquaintance!
‘Sujata thinks I’m wasting myself at the reception desk here,’ he said. ‘It’s still not too late to get away. The experience that I’ve gained will get me a good job with the airlines. I haven’t spoken to Sujata about our future,
nor is it time yet. But if I have to make a choice, I won’t be able to work at Shahjahan.’
‘Why not?’
‘An air hostess can’t work after marriage, the manager here won’t permit the terrace rooms to be converted into family quarters, and what I earn won’t get me even half a room on rent in Calcutta. You must have seen Captain Hogg—he stays with us quite often. He’s well known in the airlines world and is very influential. Sujata’s spoken to him. He likes me quite a bit and is willing to give me a good job at the airport or the booking office. I don’t know where I’ll have to go—Dum Dum, Willingdon or Santa Cruz, but Sujata thinks I’ll do much better with a lot less effort than I do here!’
Bose-da paused, probably waiting for some sort of response from me. What could I say, especially when he couldn’t work it out for himself. Pushing away his cup of tea, he said, ‘I can’t imagine myself away from Shahjahan and still alive. So what if it’s not an important job, so what if I don’t earn a great deal? I’m very happy. Where else would I enjoy such freedom, such excitement, the romantic thrill of meeting so many people?’
I wanted to say ‘Nowhere.’ My selfish heart refused to let him leave our close-knit family. But how could I keep him away from happiness and fulfilment?
‘No, Bose-da,’ I said, ‘you must go. Opportunity doesn’t knock twice—even if it has knocked late, open the door.’
He took my hands in his warm ones and said, ‘You must have been my brother in my previous life. I’ve spent many years at Shahjahan, but I’ve never been as fond of anyone.’
I could say or do nothing. How could I explain to him how much of my life he had shaped? What would be left of my Shahjahan days if he weren’t a part of them?
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