A Fine Balance Part 46

Ishvar and Om usually set off on their housing hunt after dinner, and sometimes before, if they were not cooking that day. She wished them good luck, but always added "See you back soon," and meant it. Maneck frequently went along. Left alone, her eyes kept turning to the clock as she awaited their return.

And when the evening's wanderings were later reported to her, her advice was: "Don't rush into anything." It would be foolish, she said, to pay a premium for a place which might be demolished again because it was illegally constructed. "Better to save your money and get a proper room that no one can throw you out of. Take your time."

"But you don't accept rent from us. How long can we burden you like this?"

"I don't feel any burden. And neither does Maneck. Do you, Maneck?"

"Oh yes, I have a big burden. My exams are coming."

"The other problem is," continued Ishvar, "my dear nephew cannot get married until we have our own place."

"Now that's something I can't help you with," said Dina.

"Who said I wanted to marry?" scowled Om, while she and Ishvar exchanged parental smiles.

A tip about a possible half-room in the northern suburbs led them to the neighbourhood where they had searched for work on first arriving in the city. By the time they reached the location, the place had already been rented. They happened to be pa.s.sing Advanced Tailoring Company, and decided to say h.e.l.lo to Jeevan.

"Ah, my old friends are back," Jeevan greeted them. "With a new friend. Is he also a tailor?"

Maneck smiled and shook his head.

"Ah, never mind, we'll soon turn you into one." Then Jeevan waxed nostalgic about the time the three tailors had worked round the clock to meet the by-election deadline. "Remember, we made a hundred shirts and hundred dhotis, for that fellow's bribes?"

"Felt like a thousand," said Om.

"I found later that he had parcelled out work to more than two dozen tailors. He gave away five thousand shirts and dhotis."

"Where do these rascal politicians get the money?"

"Black money, what else from businessmen needing favours. That's how the whole licence-permit-quota raj works."

It turned out, however, that the candidate was defeated, despite distributing the garments among his most important const.i.tuents, because the opposition kept making clever speeches: that there was no crime in using empty hands to accept fine gifts, as long as wise heads prevailed at voting time.

"He tried to blame me for losing. That the voters rejected him because the clothes were badly st.i.tched. I said, bring it and show me. I never saw him again." Jeevan cleared his work from the counter and brushed fluff off his shirt front. "Come, sit, drink a little tea with me."

The invitation to sit was only a figure of speech. The clutter in the tiny shop made it difficult to take literally. Renovations had been performed since the tailors were last here, and the rear had been part.i.tioned to include a curtained booth for trial fittings. Ishvar accepted a saucer of tea at the counter; Jeevan sipped from the cup. The boys took theirs to the outside steps, to share.

It turned out to be a busy evening for Advanced Tailoring. "You have brought me good luck," said Jeevan. A family came to order outfits for their three little daughters, the mother proudly carrying the bundle of fabric under her arm, the father frowning fiercely. They wanted a blouse and long skirt for each child, in time for Divali.

Strumming his lips with one finger, Jeevan pretended to study his order book. "That's only a month away," he complained. "Everybody is in a hurry." He hummed and hawed, produced dentilingual clicks, then said it was possible, but only just.

The little girls hopped on their toes with relief and excitement. The fierce father snapped at them to stand still or he would break their heads. His family paid no attention to the excessive threat. They were used to this paternal aberration of speech.

Jeevan measured the cloth, a polyester design of peac.o.c.ks. He frowned grimly, measured again, and p.r.o.nounced, strumming his lips, that it was insufficient for three blouses and three long skirts. The children were ready to cry.

"The bowlegged b.a.s.t.a.r.d is lying," whispered Om to Maneck. "Watch now."

He measured a third time and said, with the air of a philanthropist, that there was another option. "It will be very difficult, but I can make knee-length frocks."

The parents desperately seized the alternative, requesting Jeevan to go ahead. He flapped his tape in the air and invited the children forward for measurements. They stood stiffly, like a puppeteer's dolls, turning, raising their heads, lifting their arms with frozen joints.

"The crook will swipe at least three yards from it, maybe four," murmured Om, vacating the steps to let the family depart. The three little girls complained softly that they wanted long skirts so, so much. Their father hugged them affectionately, threatening to knock their teeth out if they didn't behave themselves, and the happy family disappeared down the footpath.

Jeevan folded the cloth and tucked the page with the children's measurements inside it. "We tailors have to make a living, no?" He sought approval for his performance.

Ishvar nodded in a non-committal manner.

"These customers always expecting too much from us," Jeevan tried again, hiding poorly behind ba.n.a.lities.

He was plucked out of his awkward moment by the appearance of another client. The woman, scheduled for a trial fitting, was handed the preliminary framework of her silk choli. She disappeared into the booth, drawing the curtain shut.

Maneck nudged Om, and they turned to watch. The swaying curtain settled a few inches from the floor, where the woman's sari could be seen caressing her sandalled feet. Jeevan wagged a finger at them, then leered at the booth himself.

"A thinner curtain would put spice in my life," said Om. They could hear the gentle tinkling of her bangles.

"Shoosh!" warned Jeevan, snickering. "You will cost me a regular customer."

The woman's reappearance made them stumble into a guilty silence. They examined her surrept.i.tiously, glancing sideways with heads lowered. Her sari had been left off the shoulders to permit Jeevan to review the blouse-in-progress. "Arms raised a little, please," he said, slipping his tape measure under them. Now his tone was clinical, like a doctor asking to see the patient's tongue.

Between the choli and the waistline her midriff was bare. She was wearing a hipster sari, in the modern fashion, showing her navel. Maneck and Om stared as Jeevan recommended two tucks at the back and a slightly deeper plunge for the neckline. She returned behind the curtain.

Om whispered to Maneck that this was the part he missed the most in working for Dinabai from paper patterns. "It gives me no chance to measure women."

"As if you could do anything while measuring."

"You don't know how much is possible, yaar." Doing a blouse, especially a tight choli like this one, he said, was heaven, because the tape went over the cups. Pa.s.sing it around and reaching with the other hand to bring it to the front, you had to stand very close to her. This alone was exciting. Then your fingers held the tape in the hollow between the two b.r.e.a.s.t.s so you didn't touch her but it was always possible to graze a little. You had to be careful, and know when to press on. If she shrank as soon as the tape touched, it was dangerous to try anything. But some of them did not mind, and you could tell from their eyes and their nipples whether it was safe to move your fingers about.

"Have you ever done it?"

"Many times. At Muzaffar Tailoring, with Ashraf Chacha."

"Maybe I really should give up college and become a tailor."

"You should. It's more fun."

Maneck smiled. "Actually, I'm thinking of continuing college after my year is up."

"Why? I thought you hated it."

Maneck was silent for a moment, piano-playing on his knuckles. "I got a letter from my parents. Saying how much they are waiting for this year to finish, how lonely they are without me same old rubbish. When I was there, they said go, go, go. So I've decided to write that I want to stay for three more years, do the degree course instead of the one-year diploma."

"You're stupid, yaar. In your place, I would return to my parents as early as possible."

"What's the point? To argue and fight again with my father? Besides, I'm having fun here now."

Om inspected his nails and ran a hand through his puff. "If you're planning to stay, you should change your subject to tailoring, for sure. Because you cannot measure women for refrigerators." He chuckled. "What are you going to say? 'Madam, how deep are your shelves?'"

Maneck laughed. "I could ask 'Madam, may I examine your compressors?' Or 'Madam, you need a new thermostat in your thermostat cavity.'"

"Madam, your temperature control k.n.o.bs require adjustment."

"Madam, your meat drawer is not opening properly."

The customer left as they were getting uproarious, and Ishvar said, "Gome on, you two, time to go. What are you laughing so much about, hahn?"

"As if we don't know," grinned Jeevan, bidding them good luck and farewell. "Hope you soon find a room."

During reading week, prior to Manek's exams, the rent-collector paid an unscheduled afternoon call. The tailors silenced the sewing-machines at the sound of the doorbell.

"How are you, sister?" said Ibrahim, his hand rising fezwards.

"What is it now?" said Dina, barring his way. "Rent is already paid this month."

"Rent is not the problem, sister." Shrinking as he spoke, he blurted in one sentence that the office had sent him to deliver a final notice to vacate in thirty days because they had proof that she was using the flat for commercial purposes despite the warning months ago.

"Nonsense! What proof do they have?"

"Why get upset with me, sister," he pleaded, tapping the notebook in his pocket. "It's all here dates, times, coming-going, taxi, dresses. And more proof is sitting in the back room."

"Back room? You want to show me?" She stood aside and gestured him in.

The outright challenge startled him. He had no choice but to accept. Entering with his head bowed, he made for the sewing room. The tailors, frozen at the Singers, waited nervously, while Maneck watched from his room.

"This is the problem, sister. You cannot hire tailors and run a business here." He moved his anguished hands to include the other bedroom. "And a paying guest, on top of that. Such insanity, sister. The office will throw you out for sure."

"You are talking rubbish!" She started the counterattack. "This man," she said, pointing to Ishvar, "he is my husband. The two boys are our sons. And the dresses are all mine. Part of my new 1975 wardrobe. Go, tell your landlord he has no case."

It was difficult to say who she shocked more with the apocryphal revelation: Ishvar, blushing and playing with his scissors, or Ibrahim, wringing his hands and sighing.

Pressing home her advantage, she demanded, "You have anything else to say?"

Ibrahim hunched his shoulders till they looked sufficiently supplicatory. "Marriage licence, please? Birth certificates? Can I see, please?"

"My slipper across your mouth is what you will see! How dare you insult me! Tell your landlord, if he does not stop hara.s.sing my family, I'll take him straight to court!"

He retreated, muttering that he would have to make a full report to the office, why abuse him for doing his job, he did not enjoy it any more than the tenants did.

"If you don't enjoy it, leave it. At your age you shouldn't have to work anyway. Your children can look after you."

"I have to work, I am all alone," he said as the door shut.

The sweetness of her victory faded. She waited, hearing him panting outside, catching his breath before he could set off. In the moment of his brief words, her own life's lonely, troubled years came rushing back, reminding her how recent and unreliable was the happiness discovered in these last few months.

In the back room Ishvar had recovered from the matrimonial surprise. The boys were chortling away, teasing him about the look on his face. "You keep talking about a wife for me," said Om. "Instead you got one for yourself."

"That was an amazing idea, Aunty. Did you plan it in advance?"

"Never mind that, you better plan for your exams."

College closed for the three-week Divali vacation, and Dina encouraged Maneck to be a tourist. "All this time it's been home to cla.s.s and cla.s.s to home. But there is so much sightseeing in this city. The museum and aquarium and the sculpted caves will fascinate you. Victoria Garden and the Hanging Gardens are also worth visiting, believe me."

"But I've seen them before."

"When? Years ago, with your mummy? You were just a little baba then, you cannot remember anything. You must go again. And you must also visit your Sodawalla relatives they are your mummy's family."

"Okay," he said indifferently, and did not stir from the flat.

That week, the first fireworks of Divali were heard. "Hai Ram," said Ishvar. "What a bombardment."

"This is nothing," said Dina. "Wait till the actual date gets closer."

The noise delayed bedtime by roughly two hours each night, making Maneck's empty vacation days longer and emptier. To compensate he tried rising late, but the clamorous dawn, filled with clanging milkmen and argumentative crows, was always victorious.

Dina wrote down bus numbers and directions for him. "It's very easy to find these tourist attractions, you won't get lost," she said, thinking that perhaps that was what scared him. But Maneck did not budge.

Fed up with his moping about the house, she began scolding him. "All the time indoors, like a glum grandpa. It's not natural for a young man. And you're driving us crazy with your pacing up and down the whole day."

His idle presence now began to distract Om, who was once again taking extended tea breaks with him at the Vishram, or playing cards on the verandah, showing a general disinclination to work. Ishvar reproached his nephew, and Dina reprimanded him as well, to no avail.

At the end of the week they took a different approach; they decided it would be best to let Om have a vacation too. Expecting him to slog at the Singer while his friend waited around was unrealistic. After all, it was bad enough having to earn his living at an age when he should have been going to college like Maneck.

So Om was told he could reduce his hours and sew from eight to eleven in the morning. "You have worked very hard these last few months," said Dina. "You deserve a holiday."

Now there was no keeping them at home. The minute Om finished his short shift, the two were not seen again till dinnertime. Then it was non-stop talk through the meal and until bedtime, for they were full of the things they had done.

"The sea was so rough, the launch was jumping like a wild horse," said Om. "It was scary, yaar."

"I'm telling you, Aunty, your paying guest and half your tailoring factory almost drowned at the jetty."

"Dont say inauspicious things," said Ishvar.

"After that launch ride, even the aquarium made me dizzy all that water around us."

"But the fish were beautiful, yaar. And such stylish ways they have of swimming. As if they were out for a walk, or shopping in the bazaar, squeezing the tomatoes, or like police running after a thief."

"Some of them were so colourful, like the cloth from Au Revoir," said Maneck. "And the nose of the sawfish looked exactly like a real saw, I swear."

"Tomorrow, I want to get a ma.s.sage at the beach," said Om. "We saw them today, with their oils and lotions and towels."

"Be very careful," warned Dina. "Those ma.s.sagewallas are crooks. They give you beautiful chumpee till you are so relaxed, you fall asleep. Then they pick your pocket."

The next three days, however, were spent at the museum. Om came home and said that the builders must have modelled the domed roof after his uncle's stomach. "If only I could honestly claim such prosperity," said Ishvar. For three evenings he and Dina heard all about the Chinese gallery, Tibetan gallery, Nepalese gallery, samovars, tea urns, ivory carvings, jade snuff boxes, tapestries.

Particularly transfixing had been the armour collection the suits of mail, jade-handled daggers, scimitars, swords with serrated edges ("like the coconut grater on the kitchen shelf," said Om), bejewelled ceremonial swords, bows and arrows, cudgels, pikes, lances, and spiked maces.

"They looked like the weapons in that old film, Mughal-e-Azam," Mughal-e-Azam," said Maneck, and Om added they would be useful to arm all the Chamaars in the villages, conduct a ma.s.sacre of the landlords and upper castes, which made Ishvar frown disapprovingly till the boys' laughter rea.s.sured him. said Maneck, and Om added they would be useful to arm all the Chamaars in the villages, conduct a ma.s.sacre of the landlords and upper castes, which made Ishvar frown disapprovingly till the boys' laughter rea.s.sured him.

And so they devoured their holidays with youthful appet.i.tes. The wonders of the city tumbled from their tongues for Ishvar, who enjoyed their sightseeing vicariously, and for Dina, who, in the tide of their enthusiasm, rediscovered something of her own school-days.