found for me, Sunil—she doesn’t obey me.’ Kishan lodged his complaint before he even greeted his friend. Nila pulled up a chair from the dining table and sat down.
The matchmaker was now the judge, ‘What has she done?’
‘Why don’t you ask her?’ Kishan pointed his chin in her direction.
Before Sunil could ask her, Nila said, ‘I’m not doing anythingbad.’
‘She has taken up a job without asking me first—just look at her nerve.’
‘Is that so?’ Sunil looked at Nila inquiringly. Nila nodded in agreement.
‘She gets a pittance there; wouldn’t I give her that money if she wanted it? She doesn’t have to leave her home and hearth and work with some worthless black people for that.’ Kishan said all this in one breath and finally let out his breath, his fat stomach threatening to burst through the shirt buttons.
‘And are you white?’ Nila went into the kitchen to boil water for tea.
‘My prestige and honour, all are gone.’ Kishan heaved a huge sigh.
There was no alcohol in front of them, no TV, just a dry stillness as they sat there.
After a long time, Kishan asked miserably, ‘Sunil, why don’t you say something? This situation has to be resolved.’
Sunil looked at the blank wall absently and said, ‘What can I do? You are the married couple and you have to resolve it.’
‘Tell her to quit her job.’ Kishan growled like a tiger, his fingers impatient in the fist.
Sunil turned away from the wall and glanced at Kishan, ‘Why should I tell her? You do that.’
After a pause, Sunil spoke hesitantly, ‘I feel, in this foreign land, it is good for both to work and supplement a single income. Chaitali and I both work and we live well. If you think that you have a lot of money and you can afford to keep your wife in high luxury, that’s entirely up to you.’
Kishan got up, drank a glass of water and came back. ‘Yes, I know it’s good for both to earn and it improves the quality of life. But how can she know better than me about what kind of job to do, what will be decent work and also fetch some money?’
Sunil shook his head, that’s true.
Nila had never seen Sunil look so grave before. He spoke in English, the language they were all using, and said to Nila, ‘You shouldtake Kishan’s advice before you do something. After all, he is your husband and he wouldn’t wish you any ill.’
They both waited for Nila’s answer, expected her to say, all right, I was wrong and from tomorrow I won’t go to that job anymore. From now on I’ll do what my husband tells me; I’ll work from the day he tells me to and do the job which he suggests because he knows better than me about which job is better and which one isn’t. No one else cares more about me, etc. etc. etc.
Nila was silent.
Sunil broke the silence. ‘It’s possible for her to teach Bengali to the children here, start some classes at home.’
Kishan was sceptical, ‘She might as well become a professor of Bengali in Sorbonne. It’s not that easy. I had to wait for twelve years before I could open a restaurant.’
Nila spoke in Bengali, ‘It
would
take an ass like you twelve years.’
Nila turned to Sunil and began to speak, totally ignoring the fact that Kishan, her husband, had called this urgent meeting in a bid to get back his honour, ‘I am very impressed by the café culture of Paris. People sit around, drink coffee, read the newspaper, write, and literary groups also convene at the cafés—wonderful, isn’t it? I believe Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir used to frequent the Café de Fleur? There’s a bookstore opposite the Notre-Dame, called Shakespeare and Co. Do you know, Sunilda, that James Joyce’s
Ulysses
was first published from there?’
‘Who is James Joyce?’ Kishan asked Sunil.
She answered, ‘An Irish writer.’
Nila went on excitedly, ‘Hemingway also came there and he used to borrow books because he didn’t have the money to buy them.’ The moment she said it Nila was
The matchmaker was now the judge, ‘What has she done?’
‘Why don’t you ask her?’ Kishan pointed his chin in her direction.
Before Sunil could ask her, Nila said, ‘I’m not doing anythingbad.’
‘She has taken up a job without asking me first—just look at her nerve.’
‘Is that so?’ Sunil looked at Nila inquiringly. Nila nodded in agreement.
‘She gets a pittance there; wouldn’t I give her that money if she wanted it? She doesn’t have to leave her home and hearth and work with some worthless black people for that.’ Kishan said all this in one breath and finally let out his breath, his fat stomach threatening to burst through the shirt buttons.
‘And are you white?’ Nila went into the kitchen to boil water for tea.
‘My prestige and honour, all are gone.’ Kishan heaved a huge sigh.
There was no alcohol in front of them, no TV, just a dry stillness as they sat there.
After a long time, Kishan asked miserably, ‘Sunil, why don’t you say something? This situation has to be resolved.’
Sunil looked at the blank wall absently and said, ‘What can I do? You are the married couple and you have to resolve it.’
‘Tell her to quit her job.’ Kishan growled like a tiger, his fingers impatient in the fist.
Sunil turned away from the wall and glanced at Kishan, ‘Why should I tell her? You do that.’
After a pause, Sunil spoke hesitantly, ‘I feel, in this foreign land, it is good for both to work and supplement a single income. Chaitali and I both work and we live well. If you think that you have a lot of money and you can afford to keep your wife in high luxury, that’s entirely up to you.’
Kishan got up, drank a glass of water and came back. ‘Yes, I know it’s good for both to earn and it improves the quality of life. But how can she know better than me about what kind of job to do, what will be decent work and also fetch some money?’
Sunil shook his head, that’s true.
Nila had never seen Sunil look so grave before. He spoke in English, the language they were all using, and said to Nila, ‘You shouldtake Kishan’s advice before you do something. After all, he is your husband and he wouldn’t wish you any ill.’
They both waited for Nila’s answer, expected her to say, all right, I was wrong and from tomorrow I won’t go to that job anymore. From now on I’ll do what my husband tells me; I’ll work from the day he tells me to and do the job which he suggests because he knows better than me about which job is better and which one isn’t. No one else cares more about me, etc. etc. etc.
Nila was silent.
Sunil broke the silence. ‘It’s possible for her to teach Bengali to the children here, start some classes at home.’
Kishan was sceptical, ‘She might as well become a professor of Bengali in Sorbonne. It’s not that easy. I had to wait for twelve years before I could open a restaurant.’
Nila spoke in Bengali, ‘It
would
take an ass like you twelve years.’
Nila turned to Sunil and began to speak, totally ignoring the fact that Kishan, her husband, had called this urgent meeting in a bid to get back his honour, ‘I am very impressed by the café culture of Paris. People sit around, drink coffee, read the newspaper, write, and literary groups also convene at the cafés—wonderful, isn’t it? I believe Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir used to frequent the Café de Fleur? There’s a bookstore opposite the Notre-Dame, called Shakespeare and Co. Do you know, Sunilda, that James Joyce’s
Ulysses
was first published from there?’
‘Who is James Joyce?’ Kishan asked Sunil.
She answered, ‘An Irish writer.’
Nila went on excitedly, ‘Hemingway also came there and he used to borrow books because he didn’t have the money to buy them.’ The moment she said it Nila was
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