After breakfast the next morning Piyush and Anand met in the hotel lobby. Jackson’s Hotel was quiet. There was no sign of the polite Japanese guests, and their breakfast of steamed rice and miso soup awaited them in the dining room. Piyush had contented himself with coffee, fresh fruit and yoghourt, although he could have chosen from a variety of English-style dishes such as scrambled eggs, toast, marmalade and even Marmite. He found that the hot climate diminished his appetite, and on his previous visit to India he’d struggled to maintain his weight at a level that allowed his clothing to fit properly. “I have called a taxi,” Anand said. “We will step outside and wait, it should arrive very soon and the day is not yet too warm.” As the stepped through the hotel door and onto the marble steps Piyush smiled, the wall of heat that confronted him, even at eight in the morning, was already hotter than a very good summer day in England, and almost instantly he felt perspiration begin to form on his forehead. “This is very pleasant, is it not? A good time of day to be outside. I hope breakfast was to your liking.” Every morning Anand hoped breakfast was to his liking, every morning Piyush’s answer was the same. “Breakfast was very good, Anand. You are so lucky to have such a variety of wonderful fruits in your markets.” “Oh, you did not have the scrambled eggs or the Marmite. You English so love Marmite. I always remember how my father pretended to like it. He thought it was so very sophisticated because it came from England. He made a big show of making sure it was available for breakfast each morning. But that was a long time ago. He stopped using it eventually and admitted that he thought it was horrible. When he told me I knew that India, not very long since given it’s independence by your country, had finally gained freedom from its colonial past. Being comfortable with not liking Marmite, that was true independence.” Piyush chuckled and Anand chuckled with him. “He always loved the English, and my fondness for your countrymen comes from him—but I know that you are Indian too. Father was never happy in the post-colonial world.” “I find it odd that you think of India as a post-colonial nation.” “Why is that, my friend?” “You are an educated man, you know that India was never colonised by the British. It was an imperial possession that largely came under British rule because of political and trade deals done with ruling families. Later there were a few small scale wars with the few ruling families who were anti-British, but by then British rule was a fact and a unified nation was being created. India, as a nation, didn’t exist before the British.” Anand didn’t immediately respond to Piyush’s words, he’d said things most Indian people didn’t like to hear. “You are right, my friend. India was never colonised by the British... but all our politicians, our teachers, our historians talk about our colonial past and one voice talking about our imperial past and our post-imperial present will not change that... Ah, here is our taxi.” Piyush realised that Anand was right, he also realised that it would be many years before India came to terms with the nature of both its history and the important role it would one day play in the world. Seated in the rear of the Ambassador for the short ride to the Delight Talkies cinema gave Anand a chance to complain about the men he’d hired to clean the place. “They are lazy...” “I have to pay them far too much...” “I must check that they are working several times a day... otherwise they drink chai and do nothing...” Piyush heard the words but didn’t really pay attention to them, by now he was accustomed to Anand’s constant complaints about how the ordinary people should know their place and work for almost nothing. His attention was on the street, thronged with tuk-tuks, bicycles, motor vehicles and the ever present stream of pedestrians weaving their way from here to there through the dust and fumes. Hooting impatiently, shouting through the car window and thumping angrily on the steering wheel, their driver was becoming more and more impatient. Piyush noted that Anand’s impatience was also growing, it was aimed at the driver, of course, who he blamed for their lack of progress. “We might be quicker walking,” Piyush suggested. “I cannot walk through this,” Anand responded, spreading his arms to include the street and everything in it in his implicit opprobrium of the world outside the Ambassador. “If this man knew his job we would be at the Delight Talkies by now.” Piyush saw the driver’s eyes fix on Anand through the rear-view mirror. Anand had spoken in English, but it was obvious that the man understood the criticism that had been sent his way. He banged the steering wheel again, several times, and through the window he shouted angry abuse at no one in particular. Little by little the taxi made progress. At the end of the street it turned left into more of the congestion that appeared to be city-wide. Ten minutes later it took another left and they were in the street where Delight Talkies was. Piyush knew there were but two or three hundred metres to go, but he didn’t dare again suggest to Anand that they walk the remaining distance. By the time the taxi pulled up outside the cinema the short journey had taken them forty minutes. There was some discussion between Anand and the surly, sweating driver as to what the fare should be. Both men had stepped from the Ambassador and were gesticulating at each other by the roadside. Anand knew the going rate for the distance, but the driver expected more because of the time the journey had taken. Voices were raised and Piyush smiled; he knew Anand would win, because he always did. Feeling sorry for the driver Piyush surreptitiously dropped a one-hundred rupee note onto the driver’s seat—he might return to his vehicle angry, but he would feel happier once he saw the extra money. “That man... that man...” Anand said in an apoplectic way. “Do you know that he expected extra payment because he took so long to get us here. They are all the same these people, they all want money for nothing.” ******** In the foyer of Delight Talkies, Piyush’s disappointment was quickly detected by Anand. Piyush listened to his reassuring words and hoped he was right. Dust and confusion were everywhere. To what he had seen on his previous visit had been added stacks of paint-cans, plaster mixing buckets, ladders, scaffolding and a huge mound of soiled, paint splattered sheets that might have once been white. It dawned on Piyush that all this paraphernalia was either evidence of work done, or of work yet to be done. Anand held open the door to the auditorium, and gestured to Piyush to enter. “Come, come, Piyush. I hope you will find it most wonderful here what I have done. It is most beautiful now and will be a very fine place for you to sing.”
Posted on: Sun, 26 Oct 2014 13:32:56 +0000
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