Jagat Ram was looking at the patterns — they were for a size 7 winged brogue — with great interest. Just by looking at the flat pieces of thin cardboard that made up the patterns — the fine punched design, the shape of the toe, the vamp, the quarters — the whole shoe came to vivid, three-dimensional shape before his eyes.
‘Who is making these shoes?’ he asked, his forehead creased with curiosity. ‘They are somewhat different from the brogues you are wearing.’
‘We are, at CLFC. And if you do a good job, you may be too — for us.’
Jagat Ram, though clearly very surprised and interested by Haresh’s statement, did not say anything for a while in response, but continued to examine the patterns.
Pleased with the dramatic effect of his sudden production of the patterns, Haresh said: ‘Keep them. Look over them today. I can see that those lasts hanging there are non-standard, so I’ll send you a pair of size 7 standard lasts tomorrow. I’ve brought a couple of pairs to Brahmpur. Now then, apart from the lasts, what will you need? Let’s say, three square feet of leather, calf leather — let’s make that maroon as well—’
‘And lining leather,’ said Jagat Ram.
‘Right; suppose we say natural cow, also three square feet — I’ll get that from town.’
‘And leather for the sole and insole?’ asked Jagat Ram.
‘No, that’s readily available and not very expensive. You can manage that. I’ll give you twenty rupees to cover costs and time — and you can get the material for the heels yourself. I’ve brought a few counters and toe-puffs of decent quality — they are always a problem — and some thread; but they’re at the house where I’m staying.’
Kedarnath, though his eyes were closed, raised his eyebrows in admiration at this enterprising fellow who had had the foresight to think of all these details before he left on a brief out-of-town trip intended mainly for purchasing materials. He was, however, concerned that Jagat Ram might be taken over by Haresh and that he himself might be cut out. The mention of the Lovely Shoe Shop came back to worry him as well.
‘Now, if I came over tomorrow morning with these things,’ Haresh was saying, ‘when could you let me have the shoes?’
‘I think I could have them ready in five days,’ said Jagat Ram.
Haresh shook his head impatiently.
‘I can’t stay in town for five days just for a pair of shoes. How about three?’
‘I’ll have to leave them on the lasts for at least seventy-two hours,’ said Jagat Ram. ‘If you want me to make a pair of shoes which retain their shape, you know that that is a minimum.’
Now that both of them were standing up, he towered over Haresh. But Haresh, who had always treated his shortness with the irritation that befitted an inconvenient but psychologically insignificant fact, was not in the least overpowered. Besides, he was the one ordering the shoes.
‘Four.’
‘Well, if you send the leather to me tonight, so that we can start with the cutting first thing tomorrow morning—’
‘Done,’ said Haresh. ‘Four days. I’ll come over personally tomorrow with the other components to see how you’re getting on. Now we’d better go.’
‘One more thing strikes me, Haresh Sahib,’ said Jagat Ram, as they were leaving. ‘Ideally I’d like to have a sample of the shoe that you want me to reproduce.’
‘Yes,’ said Kedarnath with a smile. ‘Why aren’t you wearing a pair of brogues manufactured by your own company — instead of these English shoes? Take them off immediately, and I’ll have you carried back to the rickshaw.’
‘I’m afraid my feet have got used to these,’ said Haresh, returning the smile, though he knew as well as anyone that it was more his heart than his feet. He loved good clothes and he loved good shoes, and he felt bad that CLFC products did not achieve the international standards of quality that, both by instinct and by training, he so greatly admired.
‘Well, I’ll try to get you a sample pair of those,’ he continued, pointing at the paper patterns in Jagat Ram’s hands, ‘by one means or another.’
He had given a pair of CLFC winged brogues as a present to the old college friend whom he was staying with. Now he would have to borrow his own gift back for a few days. But he had no compunction about doing that. When it came to work, he never felt awkward in the least about anything. In fact, Haresh was not given to feeling awkward in general.
As they walked back to the waiting rickshaw, Haresh felt very pleased with the way things were going. Brahmpur had got off to a sleepy start, but was proving to be very interesting, indeed, unpredictable.
He got out a small card from his pocket and noted down in English:
Action Points—
1. Misri Mandi — see trading.
2. Purchase leather.
3. Send leather to Jagat Ram.
4. Dinner at Sunil’s; recover brogues from him.
5. Tmro: Jagat Ram/Ravidaspur.
6. Telegram — late return to Cawnpore.
Having made his list, he scanned it through, and realized that it would be difficult to send the leather to Jagat Ram, because no one would be able to find his place, especially at night. He toyed with the idea of getting the rickshaw-wallah to see where Jagat Ram lived and hiring him to take the leather to him later. Then he had a better idea. He walked back to the workshop and told Jagat Ram to send someone to Kedarnath Tandon’s shop in the Brahmpur Shoe Mart in Misri Mandi at nine o’clock sharp that night. The leather would be waiting for him there. He had only to pick it up and to begin work at first light the next day.
4.6
It was ten o’clock, and Haresh and the other young men sitting and standing around Sunil Patwardhan’s room near the university were happily intoxicated on a mixture of alcohol and high spirits.
Sunil Patwardhan was a mathematics lecturer at Brahmpur University. He had been a friend of Haresh’s at St Stephen’s College in Delhi; after that, what with Haresh going to England for his footwear course, they had been out of touch for years, and had heard about each other only through mutual friends. Although he was a mathematician, Sunil had had a reputation at St Stephen’s for being one of the lads. He was big and quite plump, but filled as he was with sluggish energy and lazy wit and Urdu ghazals and Shakespearian quotations, many women found him attractive. He also enjoyed drinking, and had tried during his college days to get Haresh to drink — without success, because Haresh used to be a teetotaller then.
Sunil Patwardhan had believed as a student that to get one true mathematical insight a fortnight was enough by way of work; for the rest of the time he paid no attention to his studies, and did excellently. Now that he was teaching students he found it hard to impose an academic discipline on them that he himself had no faith in.
He was delighted to see Haresh again after several years. Haresh, true to form, had not informed him that he would be coming to Brahmpur on work but had landed on his doorstep two or three days earlier, had left his luggage in the drawing room, had talked for half an hour, and had then rushed off somewhere, saying something incomprehensible about the purchase of micro-sheets and leatherboard.
‘Here, these are for you,’ he had added in parting, depositing a cardboard shoebox on the drawing room table.
Sunil had opened it and been delighted. Haresh had said:
‘I know you never wear anything except brogues.’
‘But how did you remember my size?’
Haresh laughed and said, ‘People’s feet are like cars to me. I just remember their size — don’t ask me how I do it. And your feet are like Rolls-Royces.’