afraid Kishan would ask who Hemingway was. Good thing he didn’t because she had the answer ready, ‘Hemingway is my cousin brother.’
That evening nothing happened. Sunil started about the Puja donations, leaving Nila’s issue unresolved. Nila brought tea and biscuits on a tray. She asked Sunil about his friend who was supposed to go to Calcutta. He had gone and reached the Chanel to Nila’s house and he was scheduled to return very soon. Nila wanted toknow when he would go again and if he wasn’t going this year, who else would go. This year Sunil himself was supposed to go, after the Puja. When would Nila go? Oh, Kishan knew that, of course.
That night Kishan woke up the sleeping Nila and his dark, hairy hands reached for the buttons on her dress. Nila shoved his hand away. Kishan gripped her hands in steely fists and said, ‘I want a child, Nila.’
She said, ‘Let me sleep.’
She had almost said, ‘Why, didn’t Immanuelle give you one?’ But she didn’t utter that name because she was afraid if she did, Kishan would bring up Sushanta and whether she had slept with him or not. Yes, she had. The guilt that Nila used to feel because she wasn’t a virgin, had disappeared since she came to know about Immanuelle. Instead, she felt rather relieved. In a way, Immanuelle saved her.
At her work Nila found that most of the workers had black, brown or yellow skin. Only a handful were whites. On the very first day Monsieur Gigout described her job and what it entailed in great detail in French. Nila heard him out without following a single word. After Gigout left the room, out of the handful of whites one girl came forward and asked her if she understood anything.
Nila sat with a glum face; she hadn’t understood a word.
Danielle explained it to her.
Since then it was Danielle who always translated Gigout’s words from French to English for Nila. Danielle took her to the nearby café for a cup of tea and Nila talked to her about her arrival in Paris, about her life with Kishan.
One day, Catherine, another white girl, asked her in faltering English, ‘You are from India, aren’t you?’
Before Nila could say yes, Catherine explained that she’d love to go to India the moment she could save enough money. She did this job and saved the money to travel to faraway places. Last year she had gone to Malta and the year before that to Martinique. Catherine had studied Indology and her subject was the bauls of Bengal. Before she wrote her thesis she even went and stayed in a baul’s house in some tiny village of Bengal for two months. She was yet to submit herthesis and she wanted to go again, to that village.
With the baul topic between them, Nila felt close to Catherine very quickly. That afternoon they had lunch together at the brassérie. Over lunch Catherine described how she had eaten with her fingers at the baul’s house and walked for miles through mud and slush. She hadn’t stayed in Calcutta and she hadn’t wanted to. She’d preferred to see the lives of the bauls in villages. The one thing that she liked the most, and she even brought it with her, was . . .
Nila stopped chewing to hear her better.
‘Bidi.’
For a long time Nila forgot to chew the food in her mouth.
After the meal Catherine carefully brought out a packet of bidis from her pockets, extracted one even more carefully and began to smoke it. In her entire life Nila had never smelt a bidi that close. She had seen labourers or beggars smoking it. She had never known that something could smell that disgusting.
That evening Nila went into a café with Danielle and Catherine. They asked for coffee and Nila tea. Nila said, ‘Look there are empty seats there. Let’s go and sit.’ They said no, you were supposed to have your drink standing.
Nila didn’t know that there were three kinds of prices in a café. For example tea: if you stood and drank it was seven francs, if you sat down it was eighteen francs and if you took it out in the
That evening nothing happened. Sunil started about the Puja donations, leaving Nila’s issue unresolved. Nila brought tea and biscuits on a tray. She asked Sunil about his friend who was supposed to go to Calcutta. He had gone and reached the Chanel to Nila’s house and he was scheduled to return very soon. Nila wanted toknow when he would go again and if he wasn’t going this year, who else would go. This year Sunil himself was supposed to go, after the Puja. When would Nila go? Oh, Kishan knew that, of course.
That night Kishan woke up the sleeping Nila and his dark, hairy hands reached for the buttons on her dress. Nila shoved his hand away. Kishan gripped her hands in steely fists and said, ‘I want a child, Nila.’
She said, ‘Let me sleep.’
She had almost said, ‘Why, didn’t Immanuelle give you one?’ But she didn’t utter that name because she was afraid if she did, Kishan would bring up Sushanta and whether she had slept with him or not. Yes, she had. The guilt that Nila used to feel because she wasn’t a virgin, had disappeared since she came to know about Immanuelle. Instead, she felt rather relieved. In a way, Immanuelle saved her.
At her work Nila found that most of the workers had black, brown or yellow skin. Only a handful were whites. On the very first day Monsieur Gigout described her job and what it entailed in great detail in French. Nila heard him out without following a single word. After Gigout left the room, out of the handful of whites one girl came forward and asked her if she understood anything.
Nila sat with a glum face; she hadn’t understood a word.
Danielle explained it to her.
Since then it was Danielle who always translated Gigout’s words from French to English for Nila. Danielle took her to the nearby café for a cup of tea and Nila talked to her about her arrival in Paris, about her life with Kishan.
One day, Catherine, another white girl, asked her in faltering English, ‘You are from India, aren’t you?’
Before Nila could say yes, Catherine explained that she’d love to go to India the moment she could save enough money. She did this job and saved the money to travel to faraway places. Last year she had gone to Malta and the year before that to Martinique. Catherine had studied Indology and her subject was the bauls of Bengal. Before she wrote her thesis she even went and stayed in a baul’s house in some tiny village of Bengal for two months. She was yet to submit herthesis and she wanted to go again, to that village.
With the baul topic between them, Nila felt close to Catherine very quickly. That afternoon they had lunch together at the brassérie. Over lunch Catherine described how she had eaten with her fingers at the baul’s house and walked for miles through mud and slush. She hadn’t stayed in Calcutta and she hadn’t wanted to. She’d preferred to see the lives of the bauls in villages. The one thing that she liked the most, and she even brought it with her, was . . .
Nila stopped chewing to hear her better.
‘Bidi.’
For a long time Nila forgot to chew the food in her mouth.
After the meal Catherine carefully brought out a packet of bidis from her pockets, extracted one even more carefully and began to smoke it. In her entire life Nila had never smelt a bidi that close. She had seen labourers or beggars smoking it. She had never known that something could smell that disgusting.
That evening Nila went into a café with Danielle and Catherine. They asked for coffee and Nila tea. Nila said, ‘Look there are empty seats there. Let’s go and sit.’ They said no, you were supposed to have your drink standing.
Nila didn’t know that there were three kinds of prices in a café. For example tea: if you stood and drank it was seven francs, if you sat down it was eighteen francs and if you took it out in the
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