Mr Sampath-The Printer of Malgudi, the Financial Expert, Waiting for the Mahatma by R. K. Narayan Page A

do you show them?’
    ‘I’ve given them a water-tap which they have not learnt to use without tearing each other. I sometimes feel so sick of seeing all these crudities that I blame God for keeping me in this world so long.’
    ‘If it makes you so sick, why don’t you put up a couple of taps more?’
    ‘Give them twenty more taps, they would still behave in the same manner,’ he said irrelevantly. ‘I have known days when people managed without any tap at all; there used to be only a single well for a whole village. It doesn’t depend upon that, but people have lost all neighbourliness in these days, that is all.’ He went on with further generalizations. Srinivas felt that it would be useless to remain in bed any longer; he got up, rolled up his bed, and picked his green-handled toothbrush and paste from a little wall-shelf and unscrewed the toothpaste top. The old man remarked: ‘What is the world coming to? Everybody has taken a fancy to these toothbrushes; they are made of pig’s tail, I’m told. Why should we orthodox, pure Aryans go in for these things?Have you ever tried Margosa or Banyan twigs? They are the best and they were not fools who wrote about them in the
shastras
. They knew more science than any of us today – you see my teeth.’ He bared his teeth. ‘How do you like them?’
    ‘Most of them are missing,’ Srinivas said.
    ‘Never mind the missing ones, but they stayed long enough when they did. And do you know what I’ve used?’ Srinivas didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence, but made his way towards the bathroom.
    He stayed in the bathroom just a little longer, hoping that the old man would have left by then. But he found him still there when he returned, sitting just as he had left him. He came rubbing a towel over his face, and the old man asked: ‘What are these towels, looking like some hairy insect? Must be very costly.’
    ‘H’m, yes, if you are still thinking of your own days,’ said Srinivas.
    ‘You are right. Do you know, I used to buy twenty towels to a rupee, the Malayalam variety? I’m still using some of them I bought in those days.’
    ‘It was due to bargains like yours that no industry ever found it possible to raise its head in our country.’
    ‘You are right,’ said the old man without comprehending the other’s statement. ‘They should not try to rob us of all we have with their prices.’ Srinivas moved to the window-sill, on which was fixed a small looking glass; there was a small wooden comb beside it. He ran it through his greying hair mechanically as by immemorial custom, wondering what comment this was going to provoke in the old man. It was not long in coming. He said with a cynical leer: ‘Fancy men parting and combing their hair like women! How beautiful and manly it was in those days when at your age you had only a very small tuft and shaved off the head. That’s why people in those days were so clear-headed.’
    ‘Yes, but we don’t get the same amount of co-operation from our barbers these days. That is the worst of it,’ said Srinivas. ‘And so we are compelled to go from stupidity to stupidity.’
    ‘The old man laughed at the joke and said: You have not yet asked my purpose in visiting you today.’ ‘Just a minute,’ Srinivassaid and went into their small kitchen. His wife was at the little oven, frying a rice-cake. Her eyes seemed swollen with smoke. But she seemed to be in great spirits. She was sitting with her back to him, humming a tune to herself as she turned the cake. The place was fragrant with the smell of burning ghee. Srinivas stood in the doorway for a moment and listened. ‘That is a nice bit of singing,’ he said. She turned to him with a smile. ‘I’m making these cakes for you. Don’t drink up your coffee yet.’ He had never been given tiffin in the morning except today, and he understood that she was celebrating his holiday. He was disturbed for a moment by the thought that his holiday pleased her so