We that are young by Preti Taneja

Author:Preti Taneja [Preti Taneja]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781910296837
Publisher: Galley Beggar Press
Published: 2017-01-10T05:00:00+00:00

Now the games room wants to punish her: see how the lamps gutter and flicker, the chair feels so hard? The boys slap cards onto the table, the sound like doors, open and shut. The hotel manager, R. Sethi Singh (a dark skinned, Gargi-quota local hire with a stooping sort of smile), comes in, all the way to the table. To tell them in person that Ranjit Uncle is waiting for Radha Madam, that Sri Bapuji wants her now.

She gets up.

—Where are you going? says Bubu.

There is a fire in Radha’s head, behind her eyes, scorching her tongue. She feels she might start shaking.

—Daddy has been travelling all day, Bubu. And Jivan – Ranjit Uncle is depending on you. You think he will support us, but against Bapuji? No question.

—I don’t think so, says Jivan, then Bubu cuts him off.

—Well, well, Madam Radha Devraj Balraj. Insubordination! What do you think Jivan? Shall we punish her?

Bubu slaps his hand on his own thigh, he leaves a red mark. His eyes are so wild as if he has been drinking, has passed through drunk and wild to drunk and calm, so calm, Radha thinks, that anything could happen next.

Jivan puts down his cards. He finds his shirt from the floor, puts it on.

—She’s right. I just got back in my Dad’s good books after fifteen years. I’m going down. Anyway, Gargi wouldn’t want Devraj and my dad plotting without us there, would she? And I’ve kind of had enough of this.

He gestures to the room. One of their friends, her ruby sandals winking under the jumble of shawls and coats, has passed out on the bed. She’s clutching her crocodile bucket-bag as if she might be sick into it. A sick-bucket bag, Radha thinks. Ho ho.

—Good advice, very wise, says Bubu. You’re pretty usefulji. But let’s eat, then go. No? OK, fine. Come on!

He pulls on his jeans, his shirt. He grabs Radha’s wrist, drags tens of her down the mirrored hallway, a brace of Jivans following after.

—Bubuji, let me at least get my shawl, she says.

—No. You want to go, chalo – let’s go.

He pushes the doorman aside and calls the lift himself.

—You look fine, baby, very sexy. Right? he says to Jivan.

Jivan ducks back into the suite. In a few seconds he reappears, waving a yellow pashmina: it is not Radha’s. She wraps it around herself: it gives her a borrowed glow.

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