Meenakshi was wearing those little gold horrors that never failed to upset Mrs Rupa Mehra. And what was Kakoli doing here during term-time? Really, thought Mrs Rupa Mehra, the Chatterjis impose no discipline upon their children. That is why they are all so peculiar.
Aloud she said: ‘Oh, Meenakshi, Kakoli, what a lovely surprise. Have you seen the baby yet? No, of course you couldn’t have. Just look at her, isn’t she sweet? And everyone says she has my nose.’
‘How adorable,’ said Meenakshi, thinking that the baby looked rather like a red rat, not at all as beautiful as her Aparna had looked a few days after birth.
‘And where is my sweetheart?’ demanded Mrs Rupa Mehra.
For a second Meenakshi thought Mrs Rupa Mehra was referring to Arun. Then she realized that it was Aparna whom her mother-in-law was talking about.
‘In Calcutta, of course.’
‘You didn’t bring her with you?’ Mrs Rupa Mehra could hardly conceal her amazement at this maternal callousness.
‘Oh, Ma, one can’t drag the whole world with one when one travels,’ said Meenakshi coolly. ‘Aparna does get on one’s nerves sometimes, and I’d be much less help here if she was with me.’
‘You’ve come to help?’ Mrs Rupa Mehra could hardly keep the astonishment and displeasure out of her voice.
‘Yes, Ma,’ said Kakoli simply.
But Meenakshi elaborated: ‘Yes, of course, Ma, darling. What a sweet little thing. Reminds me of a, of a — well, she’s unique, she doesn’t remind me of anything but herself.’ Meenakshi laughed a tinkly laugh. ‘Now where is Savita’s room?’
‘Savita is resting,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra.
‘But she’ll be so pleased to see us,’ said Meenakshi. ‘Let’s go and see her. It must be feeding time. Six, ten, two, six, ten, as Dr Evans recommended with Aparna. And it’s just about ten o’clock now.’
And they descended upon Savita, who was still fairly exhausted, and in quite a lot of pain because her stitches were pulling. She was sitting up in bed, though, and reading a women’s magazine rather than a law-book.
Savita was astonished, but pleased to see them. Lata, who had been keeping her company, was very pleased. She enjoyed Meenakshi’s attempts to beautify her; and Kuku’s flightiness would, she hoped, lighten everyone’s mood. Savita had met Kuku only twice since Arun’s wedding.
‘How did you get here outside visiting hours?’ Savita asked, looking rather warrior-like now, with bright lipstick on both her cheeks.
‘Oh, Kakoli and I were more than a match for the reception desk,’ said Meenakshi. And indeed, the dumbfounded clerk had not known how to prevent these glamorous, waist-bare ladies from breezing past him.
Kakoli had blown him a kiss with casual hauteur. He was still recovering.
13.16
Calcutta and Brahmpur news was exchanged rapidly. Arun was extremely busy with work, Varun showed no signs of studying seriously for the IAS exams, and there were lots of rows between the brothers, with Arun threatening periodically to throw Varun out of the house. Aparna’s vocabulary was increasing apace; a few days ago she had said: ‘Daddy, I’m in the doldrums.’ Meenakshi suddenly began to miss Aparna. Seeing the baby snuggling up to Savita’s breast, she thought of Aparna’s own babydom, the lovely feeling of closeness she had experienced when she was suckling her, the sense of ‘myness’ that she had had towards her before Aparna had grown into a clearly differentiated, and often contrary, individual.
‘Why doesn’t she have a name-tag?’ she asked. ‘Dr Evans always insisted on name-tags, in case babies got lost or exchanged by mistake.’ Meenakshi’s little earrings glinted as she shook her head at the frightful thought.
Mrs Rupa Mehra got irritated. ‘I am here to ensure that nothing happens. Mothers should stay with their children. Who can steal the baby when her cot is in this room?’
‘Of course, things are much better arranged in Calcutta,’ continued Meenakshi. ‘In the Irwin Nursing Home, where Aparna was delivered, there’s a separate nursery where the babies are kept, and you can only view them through glass — to prevent infection, of course. Here everyone breathes and talks above the baby, and the air is full of germs. She could easily fall ill.’
‘Savita is trying to rest,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra severely. ‘These are not very restful thoughts, Meenakshi.’
‘I agree,’ said Kakoli. ‘I think things are run splendidly here. In fact, I think it would be rather fun if babies got exchanged. Like in The Prince and the Gipsy.’ This was a romantic potboiler that Kuku had recently read. ‘In fact,’ she continued, ‘this particular baby looks rather too red and crinkled for my liking. I’d ask for a replacement.’ She giggled.
‘Kuku,’ said Lata, ‘how’s your singing and piano going? And how is Hans?’
‘I think I want to go to the bathroom, Ma — could you help me?’ asked Savita.
‘Let me help,’ said Meenakshi and Kakoli simultaneously.
‘Thanks, but Ma and I are used to things,’ said Savita with calm authority. It was difficult for her to walk to the bathroom; the stitches made everything more painful. Once she closed the door, she told Mrs Rupa Mehra that she was rather tired, and that Meenakshi and Kakoli should be told to return in the evening at visiting time.
Meenakshi and Kakoli, meanwhile, had been talking to Lata, and had decided that they would come and see that afternoon’s rehearsal of Twelfth Night.
‘I wonder what it must have been like to be married to Shakespeare,’ breathed Meenakshi, ‘and have him say such wonderful poetic things to one all the time — about love and life—’
‘He didn’t say much to Anne Hathaway,’ said Lata. ‘He wasn’t there most of the time. And according to Professor Mishra, his sonnets imply that he was interested in other people too — more than one.’
‘But who isn’t?’ said Meenakshi, then suddenly stopped, recalling that Lata was, after all, Arun’s sister. ‘In any case, I’d forgive Shakespeare anything. It must be so wonderful to be married to a poet. To be his muse, to make him happy. I was just saying so to Amit the other day, but he’s so modest, he only said: “I think my wife would have a hell of a time.”’
‘Which is nonsense, of course,’ said Kakoli. ‘Amit has a lovely nature. Why, Cuddles bites him less often than anyone else.’
Lata said nothing. Meenakshi and Kuku were being remarkably unsubtle, and their talk about Amit irritated her. She felt fairly sure that Amit could not have acquiesced in this mission. She looked at her watch, and realized that she was almost late for a class.
‘See you at three o’clock at the auditorium,’ she said. ‘Don’t you want to see Pran as well?’
‘Pran? Oh, yes.’
‘He’s in room 56. On the ground floor. Where are you staying?’
‘With Mr Maitra in Civil Lines. He’s a sweet old man, but completely senile. Dipankar stayed with him as well. It’s become the Chatterji hostel in Brahmpur.’
‘I wish you were staying with us,’ said Lata. ‘But you see how difficult things are at present.’
‘Now, don’t worry about us, Lata,’ said Kuku kindly. ‘Just tell us how to occupy ourselves between now and three o’clock. I think we’ve had our fill of the baby for the moment.’
‘Well, you could go to the Barsaat Mahal,’ said Lata. ‘I know it’s hot at this time of day, but it’s as beautiful as they say it is, and much more so than any of the photographs.’
‘Oh, monuments! — ’ said Meenakshi, yawning.