by Ruskin Bond
As Nurse couldn’t hear a thing he said, she smiled serenely, quite unconscious of this left-handed compliment.
Tota very angry. He’s been living on old chillies and an apple core for three days! I give him fresh water and a large, fresh capsicum.
The ginger cat is back, sunning himself on the balcony.
10 SEPTEMBER
Someone else is back too.
I could hardly believe my eyes. It was late afternoon on a Sunday, and nothing much was happening in school. A few boys were kicking a ball about on the field, others were wrestling or pillow fighting in their dormitories, some were basking on the hillside, making plans for the winter holidays.
At first I thought it was my imagination. Then, as she came nearer, strolling across the flat in my direction, I recognized her from her gait and graceful figure. Anjali Ramola! What was she doing here? She was supposed to be in Bangalore, getting married.
I wanted to run down the steps and take her in my arms, but—the boys were watching! They had stopped their game in order to stare, entranced, at the return of their favourite teacher.
So I waited patiently till Anjali had come up the steps. She stood in front of me, smiling a little ruefully.
‘I’m back,’ she said simply.
‘I’m so glad,’ I said. I wasn’t going to ask too many questions. Obviously something had gone wrong in Bangalore.
I opened the door and she followed me inside. Tota let out a squawk of recognition.
‘It’s all over,’ she said. ‘He had changed, and so had I. We had waited too long, I suppose.’
‘Better a long wait than a shortcut to misery.’
‘Dear, wise old Olly.’
‘Am I too old for you, Anjali?’
‘I’ve decided I like older men.’
‘I was planning to leave too.’
‘But now you’ll stay. And so will I.’
‘Together,’ I said. And I took her in my arms.
‘Kiss, kiss!’ shrieked Tota.
We kissed, kissed.
And kissed again.
The door flew open and Mirchi’s head appeared.
‘Excuse me, sir. Sorry, sir. I can see you’re busy.’
‘What is it, Mirchi?’
‘Well, sir, the boys want to know—when is the party?’
‘What party?’
‘Engagement party, sir. Fair and lovely to wed dark and handsome!’
‘Out with you! There’s time enough for parties.’
‘Quite right, sir. First party tomorrow. Shall I tell the others?’
‘Tell them what you like. Now be off!’
Mirchi ran down the steps to convey the glad tidings to everyone.
‘I think Mirchi will have to be your best man,’ said Anjali.
‘And Miss D’Costa yours.’
‘And don’t leave Tota out of the celebrations,’ said Anjali, going up to the cage and putting her face to the open door.
‘Kiss, kiss,’ she said.
‘Bottoms up!’ said Tota.
And as Grandmother used to say, ‘He who waits, wins.’
POSTSCRIPT
Following his engagement to Anjali Ramola, Mr Oliver was too busy to keep up his diary. However, it is reliably learnt—courtesy of young Mirchandani—that they were duly married in Simla at the end of the year, and that they are currently enjoying their honeymoon in Goa. They fully intend to return to the prep school in the new term, and it is strongly rumoured that Mr Oliver will take over as headmaster once the present incumbent retires.
Mr Oliver had no intention of publishing his diary, but it inadvertently fell into the hands of young Mirchandani, who passed it on to your friendly neighbourhood author, who thought it too precious to be consigned to oblivion.
THE BEGINNING
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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.
This collection published 2010
Copyright © Ruskin Bond 2010
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Jacket images © Devangana Dash
ISBN: 978-0-143-33479-8
This digital edition published in 2016.
e-ISBN: 978-8-184-75387-5
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