A Fine Balance (60 page)

What a waste, he thought, what a waste of a life. Like watching a tragic play. Only, instead of three hours it had lasted almost three decades – a family estranged, Xerxes and Zarir growing up deprived of the love and attention of their Dina Aunty, she hardly knowing her two nephews. So much sadness and misery.

But perhaps there was still a chance of a joyful ending. There could be nothing better than becoming one happy, united family again. Soon it would be time for grandchildren in his own life. If Dina had abdicated as aunty, she could be a grand-aunty.

And this young man with her today, her boyfriend. If they were serious and got married, how wonderful. Even if the chap was only thirty, he should consider himself lucky to have Dina – so attractive that she could put women half her age in the shade.

Yes, that was it – she wanted to introduce the fellow and get her older brother’s approval. Or why bring him along? As to their age difference, there could be no objection, Nusswan decided reluctantly. One had to be broad-minded, in these modern times. Yes, he would give them his blessing, even pay for this second wedding. As long as the expenses were reasonable – one hundred guests, modest flower arrangements, a small band…

Reviewing a lifetime, brooding, regretting, revising, it seemed like ages to Nusswan since their arrival had been announced. He checked his watch – it had been less than five minutes. He put the dial to his ear: it was working. Astonishing, how time and mind conspired in their tricks.

He told the peon to send in the visitors immediately. He wanted to continue in reality the celebration he had begun in imagination.

“What?” said Dina to the peon. “So soon?” She whispered to Maneck, “See, already you have brought us good luck – he never calls me in so fast.”

Nusswan rose and shot his cuffs, ready to extend a warm greeting to the man who would be brother-in-law. When he saw Maneck’s youth enter the office, his knees almost gave way. His crazy sister had done it again! He clenched the edge of the desk, pale with visions of shame and scandal in the community.

“Are you turning into a European, Nusswan? Or are you sick?” asked Dina.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he answered stiffly.

“How are Ruby and the boys?”

“They are well.”

“Good. I’m sorry to trouble you when you are so busy.”

“It’s all right.” Not two seconds in his office, and she was at him. Stupid to have raised his hopes. Where Dina was concerned, it was wiser to despair. Not one paisa would he spend on this wedding. If child marriage was a terrible ancient scourge, child-and-adult marriage was a modern madness. He wanted no part of it. And the doctor telling him to watch his blood pressure, to curtail his activities on the Share Bazaar – while here was his own sister, doing her share to shorten his life.

“But where are my manners,” said Dina. “Talking on without introductions. Maneck, this is my brother, Nusswan.”

“How do you do?” said Maneck.

“Plea… pleased to meet you.” Nusswan fell back in his chair after shaking hands. A typewriter pounded away in the next room. The ceiling fan hiccuped discreetly. Under a paperweight, a sheaf of papers fluttered like a bird in trouble.

“Maneck has heard a lot about you from me,” said Dina, “and I wanted the two of you to meet. He came to live with me a few months ago.”

“Live
with you?” His sister had gone mad! Where did she think she was, in Hollywood?

“Yes, live with me. What else would a paying guest do?”

“Oh yes! Of course! What else?” The relief was so keen, it was unbearable. He wanted to fall to his knees. Oh, thank God! Saved! Thank God Almighty!

Then, hiding behind the sunshine and rainbow that had burst on the horizon, Nusswan discovered his pot of sludge: there would be no wedding. He felt cheated. Just like her. Cruel, unfeeling, leading him on with false hopes. To think how genuinely happy he had been for her a few minutes ago. Once again she had mocked him.

“The prices keep going up,” she said. “I couldn’t manage, I had to take a boarder. And I was so lucky to find a wonderful boy like Maneck.”

“Yes, of course. Very nice to meet you, Maneck. And where do you work?”

“Work?” said Dina indignantly. “He is just seventeen, he goes to college.”

“And what are you studying?”

“Refrigeration and air-conditioning.”

“Very wise choice,” said Nusswan. “These days only a technical education will get you ahead. The future lies with technology and modernization.” Filling the silence with words was a way of dealing with the tumult of emotions his sister had exploded in him. Empty words, to carry away the foolishness he felt.

“Yes, the country has been held back for too long by outdated ideologies. But our time has come. Magnificent changes are taking place. And the credit goes to our Prime Minister. A true spirit of renaissance.”

Dina didn’t mind his rambling, relieved that at least the matrimonial topic had not been revived. “I have a boarder, but I have lost my tailors,” she said.

“What a pity,” said Nusswan, slightly confused by her interruption. “The main thing is, now we have pragmatic policies instead of irrelevant theories. For example, poverty is being tackled head-on. All the ugly bustees and filthy jhopadpattis are being erased. Young man, you are not old enough to remember how wonderful this city once was. But thanks to our visionary leader and the Beautification Programme, it will be restored to its former glory. Then you will see and appreciate.”

“I was able to finish the last dresses only because Maneck helped,” put in Dina. “He worked so hard, side by side with me.”

“That’s very good,” said Nusswan. “Very good indeed.” The sound of his own voice had made him loquacious as usual. “Hardworking, educated people like Maneck is what we need. Not lazy, ignorant millions. And we also need strict family planning. All these rumours of forced sterilization are not helping. You must have heard that nonsense.”

Dina and Maneck shook their heads in unison.

“Probably started by the
CIA –
saying people in remote villages are being dragged from their huts for compulsory sterilization. Such lies. But my point is, even if the rumour is true, what is wrong in that, with such a huge population problem?”

“Wouldn’t it be undemocratic to mutilate people against their will?” asked Maneck, in a tone that suggested total agreement rather than a challenge.

“Mutilate. Ha ha ha,” said Nusswan, avuncular and willing to pretend it was a clever joke. “It’s all relative. At the best of times, democracy is a seesaw between complete chaos and tolerable confusion. You see, to make a democratic omelette you have to break a few democratic eggs. To fight fascism and other evil forces threatening our country, there is nothing wrong in taking strong measures. Especially when the foreign hand is always interfering to destabilize us. Did you know the
CIA
is trying to sabotage the Family Planning Programme?”

Maneck and Dina shook their heads again, again in perfect unison and with straight faces. There was the subtlest touch of burlesque about it.

Nusswan eyed them suspiciously before continuing. “What’s happening is,
CIA
agents are tampering with consignments of birth-control devices and stirring up trouble among religious groups. Now don’t you agree that Emergency measures are necessary against such dangers?”

“Maybe,” said Dina. “But I think the government should let homeless people sleep on the pavements. Then my tailors wouldn’t have disappeared and I wouldn’t have come here to bother you.”

Nusswan lifted his index finger and waggled it like a hyperactive windshield wiper. “People sleeping on pavements gives industry a bad name. My friend was saying last week – he’s the director of a multinational, mind you, not some small, two-paisa business – he was saying that at least two hundred million people are surplus to requirements, they should be eliminated.”

“Eliminated?”

“Yes. You know – got rid of. Counting them as unemployment statistics year after year gets us nowhere, just makes the numbers look bad. What kind of lives do they have anyway? They sit in the gutter and look like corpses. Death would be a mercy.”

“But how would they be eliminated?” inquired Maneck in his most likeable, most deferential tone.

“That’s easy. One way would be to feed them a free meal containing arsenic or cyanide, whichever is cost-effective. Lorries could go around to the temples and places where they gather to beg.”

“Do many business people think like this?” asked Dina curiously.

“A lot of us think like this, but until now we did not have the courage to say so. With the Emergency, people can freely speak their minds. That’s another good thing about it.”

“But the newspapers are censored,” said Maneck.

“Ah yes, yes,” said Nusswan, at last betraying impatience. “And what’s so terrible about that? It’s only because the government does not want anything published which will alarm the public. It’s temporary – so lies can be suppressed and people can regain confidence. Such steps are necessary to preserve the democratic structure. You cannot sweep clean without making the new broom dirty.”

“I see,” said Maneck. The bizarre aphorisms were starting to grate on him, but he did not possess the ammunition to launch even a modest counterattack. If only Avinash were here. He would straighten out this idiot. He wished he had paid more attention when Avinash talked politics.

Still struggling with the earlier maxim, about breaking democratic eggs to make a democratic omelette, Maneck tried to formulate a variation by juggling democracy, tyranny, frying pan, fire, hen, hard-boiled eggs, cooking oil. He thought he had one: A democratic omelette is not possible from eggs bearing democratic labels but laid by the tyrannical hen. No, too cumbersome. And anyway, the moment was past.

“The important thing,” said Nusswan, “is to consider the concrete achievements of the Emergency. Punctuality has been restored to the railway system. And as my director friend was saying, there’s also a great improvement in industrial relations. Nowadays, he can call the police in just one second, to take away the union troublemakers. A few good saltings at the police station, and they are soft as butter. My friend says production has improved tremendously. And who benefits from all this? The workers. The common people. Even the World Bank and the
IMF
approve of the changes. Now they are offering more loans.”

Keeping her expression as grave as she could, Dina said, “Nusswan, can I make a request please?”

“Yes, of course.” He wondered how much it would be this time – two hundred rupees or three?

“About the plan to eliminate two hundred million. Can you please tell your business friends and directors not to poison any tailors? Because tailors are already hard to find.”

Maneck smothered a laugh before it broke. Nusswan spied the facial effort as he said to her disgustedly, “It’s useless talking to you about serious things. I don’t know why I even bother.”

“I enjoyed listening,” said Maneck gravely.

Nusswan felt betrayed – first her, now him. He wondered what sort of mockery and ridicule took place at his expense when the two were alone.

“I had fim too,” said Dina. “Coming to your office is the only entertainment I can afford, you know that.”

Glowering, he began moving papers on his desk. “Tell me what you need and leave me alone. There’s a lot of work to do.”

“Be careful, Nusswan, your eyebrows are doing funny exercises.” She decided not to press her luck further, and got down to business. “I haven’t given up the export work. It’s just a matter of time before I find new tailors. But till then I cannot accept more orders.”

The moment of asking, the moment she hated, did not become less unpalatable with the brisk matter-of-fact explanation or the levity leading up to it. “Two hundred and fifty will be enough to get me through this month.”

Nusswan rang for the peon, and filled out a cash voucher. Dina and Maneck were treated to a vehement display of penmanship, the ballpoint scratching savagely across the form. He crossed his t’s and dotted his i’s with heavy blows, as though competing with the typewriter being battered in the next room.

The peon carried the voucher to the cashier across the corridor. The run-down ceiling fan laboured like a noisy little factory. So much money, thought Dina, and he still hadn’t air-conditioned the office. She lowered her eyes, fixing them on a sandalwood paper-knife stuck strategically inside a half-opened envelope. The peon delivered the money and retreated.

Nusswan began, “None of this would be necessary if only –” He glanced at Dina, unable to reach her downcast eyes, then at Maneck, and abandoned the thought. “Here,” he held out the notes.

“Thank you,” she accepted, eyes still averted.

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’ll return it as soon as possible.”

He nodded, picking up the paper-knife, and opened the rest of the envelope.

“At least he spared me his favourite speech today, thanks to the Emergency,” said Dina when they got off the bus. “That’s something to be grateful for. And what is so terrible about marrying again?’“ she imitated in a sanctimonious voice. “ ‘You are still good-looking, I guarantee I can find you a good husband.’ You won’t believe the number of times he has said this to me.”

“But I do, Aunty,” said Maneck. “It’s the one thing on which I agree with your brother. You
are
good-looking.”

She smacked his shoulder. “Whose side are you on?”

“On the side of truth and beauty,” he pronounced grandly. “But it must be quite funny when Nusswan and his business friends get together and talk their nonsense.”

“You know what I was remembering, in his office? When he was a young boy. He would talk about becoming a big-game hunter, about killing leopards and lions. And wrestling crocodiles, like Tarzan. One day, a little mouse came into our room, and our ayah said to him, Baba look, there is a fierce tiger, you can be the hunter. And Nusswan ran away screaming for Mummy.”

She turned the key in the lock. “Now he wants to eliminate two hundred million. His big talk never stops.”