Polite Society by Mahesh Rao

Author:Mahesh Rao
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-08-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE FAMILY TROOPED into the Khurana dining room but had to pause to adjust to the dim light after the glare outside. The room’s décor was inspired by a Hammershøi that hung in their Manhattan town house, the painting divided by thin streams of light, shadows in pewter and slate and oyster. A woman in a black dress was seated at a table; the door behind her was ajar; the floor shone. This room had the same sense of space and texture. Its brightest point was the pale yellow ceramic bowl on the ebony dresser.

“Can’t we eat on the patio or in the kitchen? Sitting around this table is like being at a board meeting,” said Ania.

“It’s much cooler here,” said Renu, “and it’s all been laid. Plus Dev has just dropped in so I asked him to stay for lunch. It’ll be easier to add a place there next to the colonel.”

“Interesting how you always drop in around meal times,” Ania said to Dev as he walked into the room.

“Ania, don’t say such things, he might think you’re serious,” said Renu.

“Not to worry, Renu, this is how we always talk to each other,” said Dev, “although I’m always defeated by Ania’s rapier wit.”

“Now we’re just waiting for Nikhil,” said Renu.

The grays of the room seemed to affect the family’s behavior whenever they took their meals there. Conversation was muted. Heavy foliage blocked much of the light from the windows, and the room had a somber and stately aspect. A clock ticked, cutlery clinked. The door to the kitchen would open and close as a servant passed through. Every so often water would glug into a glass.

Nikhil’s entrance meant today would be different. He bounded in, went around the table greeting everyone, and then rushed out again to get something from the car. When he returned, he sat down with a great deal of bluster, commenting on the food and the delicious coolness of the room and offering a protracted explanation for his slight delay. Then he addressed a remark or two to each person, as though he were hosting a conference. All the while, Dev barely looked at him.

Dileep’s special meal was being served in small china bowls next to his plate: chunks of tuna in a seaweed marinade, dehydrated broccoli, a baobab fruit salad. His attitude to his food was unpredictable. He would either spend an hour evangelizing about his latest superfood discovery or sink into a cold sulk if he read any interest in his current diet as an attempt to mock him. The others had learned to maintain a cordial silence with only the occasional peek at his plate.

The rest of the family were being treated to a special Kashmiri lunch, Dina having managed to engage a cook originally from Sonamarg for the day. The lunch would allow the Khuranas to feel that they were doing their bit for national unity, given the conflict in the troubled state. And it would also ensure that they

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