'No, Sir, I will need to ask your servants some questions, Sir. For the latest census they have introduced a long questionnaire. All kinds of weird things, such as which TV programmes you watch, which foods you eat, which cities you have visited, and even,' he sniggers, 'how often you have sex.'
Mrs Taylor whispers to her husband, 'Oh Charles, we don't want Ramu and Thomas wasting their time on this silly exercise. Can't you get rid of this drongo?'
Colonel Taylor pulls out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. 'Look, Mister whatever your name is, my servants really don't have the time to go through your full questionnaire. So why don't you accept this packet of Marlboros and move on to the next house? I am sure you can afford to exclude four people from your survey.'
The census man eyes the packet, then licks his lips. 'Well . . . Sir, you are very kind. But you see, I don't smoke, Sir. However, if you have some Black Label . . . or even Red Label whisky, I would be happy to oblige, Sir. After all, what difference does it make if we take out four drops from an ocean? No one will miss four people out of a billion!' He laughs nervously.
Colonel Taylor gives the census man a dirty look. Then he stomps off into the drawing room and returns with a bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label. 'Here, take this and rack off. Don't ever bother us again.'
The census man salutes Colonel Taylor. 'Don't worry, Sir. I won't bother you for the next ten years.' He walks off happily.
Mrs Taylor is also happy. 'These bloody Indians,' she smiles. 'Give them a bottle of whisky and they'll do anything.'
Bhagwati grins from the gate. He has no clue what is happening. But he smiles whenever Sahib and Memsahib smile. Ramu is also grinning. He smiles whenever he gets to see Maggie in her short skirts.
I am the only one not smiling. Granted, we servants are invisible people, not to be heard during parties and family occasions, but to be left out even from our country's head count is a bit too galling. And I do wish the Taylors would stop their snobbish references to 'bloody Indians'. This must be the fiftieth time I have heard them use this expression since I have been with them.
Every time I hear it, my blood boils. OK, so the postman and the electrician and the telephone repair man and the constable, and now even the census man, have a weakness for whisky. But it doesn't mean that all Indians are drunkards. I wish I could explain this to Mrs Taylor some day.
But I know I won't. When you live in a posh locality of Delhi in a nice house, get three hot meals a day and a salary of one thousand five hundred, yes, one thousand five hundred rupees a month, you learn to swallow your pride. And smile whenever Sahib and Memsahib smile.
To be fair to the Taylors, though, they have been very kind to me. Not many people would employ you if you turned up on their doorstep suddenly one day from Mumbai. Moreover, I gave all the wrong references. Colonel Waugh was Colonel Taylor's predecessor, twice removed. And the Taylors, being Anglicans, had nothing to do with Father Timothy's Roman Catholic Church.
It was pure luck that they needed a servant urgently, having just kicked out the previous domestic help.
In the fifteen months I have been with the family, five more servants have been dismissed. All because of Colonel Taylor. He is The Man Who Knows. Just as there is an omniscient God above, there is Colonel Taylor below. Jagdish, the gardener, stole fertilizer from the shed and Colonel Taylor knew. Result: dismissed the next day. Sheela, the maid, picked up a bracelet from Mrs Taylor's room and Colonel Taylor knew. Result: dismissed the next day. Raju, the cook, opened the liquor cabinet and drank some whisky at night. Result: beaten up and dismissed the next day. Ajay, the new cook, hatched a plan to steal some money and mentioned this to a friend on the phone. Result: dismissed the next day and both he and his friend arrested by the police. Basanti, the new maid, tried on one of Maggie's dresses. Result: yes, dismissed the next day. How Colonel Taylor gets to know these things that take place behind closed doors, in the dead of night, or on the telephone, with no one around, is a real mystery.
I am the only one who has survived. I admit, occasionally I am also tempted to pocket the loose change lying around on Mrs Taylor's dressing table or grab one of the delicious Swiss chocolates from the fridge, but I keep such urges in check. Because I know that Colonel Taylor is The Man Who Knows. And the family trusts me. The fact that I have a Christian name and speak English helps, too. Apart from Shanti, who was employed just two months ago, I am the only one to have exclusive access to the family's private quarters. I can enter all the bedrooms and I am the only one allowed to watch TV and occasionally to play Nintendo with Roy in the living room. But even I am not allowed to enter Colonel Taylor's office, known as the Den. It is the small room adjacent to the master bedroom. It has a sturdy brown wooden door, protected by a thick iron grille. The iron grille has three locks: two small ones and one huge golden padlock that says, 'Yale. Armoured. Boron Shackle.' On the wall next to the padlock is a small white electronic panel with a picture of a skull and two bones and numbers 0– 9 like on a telephone keypad. You can open the padlock only after punching in a code. If you try to open it forcibly you get a 440-volt current and you die. A little light on the panel burns red when the room is closed. Whenever Colonel Taylor enters the room, the light changes to green. No member of the household is allowed to enter this room. Not even Mrs Taylor, Maggie or Roy.
* * *
The time I have spent with the Taylors has helped me forget the traumatic events in Mumbai.
Shantaram and Neelima Kumari have become painful but distant memories. For the first few months I lived in constant dread, cringing whenever a police jeep with a flashing red light passed the compound. Over time, the feeling of being hunted began to dissipate. I often thought about Gudiya, too, and wondered what had happened to her, but it is difficult to sustain a memory if you don't have a face to associate with the name. Gradually, she disappeared into the dustbin of my past. But Salim I couldn't forget. I was often racked with guilt for having left him behind. I wondered how he was coping, whether he was still working as a dabbawallah, but I refrained from contacting him, worried that this might reveal my whereabouts to the police.
* * *
Living with the Taylors, I have learnt to do barbies and make fondue. I have become an expert at mixing drinks and measuring whisky by the peg. I have tasted kangaroo steaks and crocodile dumplings imported directly from Canberra. I have become a fan of rugby, tennis, and something called Aussie Rules, which I watch with Roy. But even after all this time, I still struggle with the Australian accent. Every evening I sit in my room and practise speaking like an Australian.
'G'day Maite, see you at aight at India Gaite,' I say, and burst out laughing.
I especially enjoy going shopping with Mrs Taylor. She gets most of her provisions from Australia. But from time to time she buys imported products from Super Bazaar and Khan Market. We purchase Spanish chorizo and Roquefort cheese and gherkins in brine and red chillies in olive oil. The best days are when she takes Maggie and Roy with her to Kids Mart, the biggest kids' store in the whole world. It has clothes and toys and bikes and cassettes. Maggie and Roy buy sweatshirts and jeans and I get to go on the free merry-go-round.
Roy and Maggie get a magazine every month. It is called Australian Geographic. I think it is the best magazine on earth. It is crammed with page upon page of photos of the most gorgeous places in the world, all of which are in Australia. There are beaches with miles of golden sand.
Islands fringed with lovely palm trees. Oceans full of whales and sharks. Cities teeming with skyscrapers. Volcanoes spewing out deadly lava. Snow-covered mountains nestling against tranquil green valleys. At the age of fourteen, my only ambition is to see these beautiful places.