Calcutta Chromosome by Amitav Ghosh

Author:Amitav Ghosh [Ghosh, Amitav]
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Modern fiction
ISBN: 9780330353311
Publisher: Picador
Published: 2010-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

'I'VE NEVER SEEN YOU here before,' Urmila said, kneeling beside the basket of fish. She began to examine the fish, pulling back their gills –

out of habit, for today she really didn't care what she bought or for how much.

The young fish-seller gave her a cheerful smile, bobbing his head.

'I'll be coming regularly now,' he said. 'Buy one and see: I have the best fish in the market, fresh out of the water.'

'Every fish-seller says that,' said Urmila. 'It doesn't mean a thing.'

The fish-seller bristled. 'If you don't believe me, go and ask around,'

he said. 'I sell to all the best houses. Why, do you know Romen Haldar's house, in the next lane?'

Urmila looked up, raising an eyebrow.

'Let me tell you,' he said proudly. 'They buy all their fish from me. Only from me: you can go and ask if you like.'

Reaching into the basket he moved a couple of fish out of the way.

'Here, let me show you something,' he said. 'Do you see this one here, this big ilish? I'm keeping that for them. I'm on my way there right now. I told them I'd bring them something special this morning.'

'I'll take it,' said Urmila.

The fish-seller shook his head. 'No,' he said, grinning. 'I can't give you that one: that's for them. But I'll give you this other one, it's just as good – here, look.'

Urmila gave him a perfunctory nod. 'All right,' she said, 'that one.'

She told him to cut it up and went in to fetch her purse. By the time she came back, the fish-seller had a packet ready for her: he had wrapped the fish in bits of paper and stuffed it into a plastic bag. Urmila clicked her tongue in annoyance when she saw the packet.

'You shouldn't have wrapped it up,' she said.

The fish-seller mumbled an excuse and began counting his money. Urmila went inside. She had no time to lose now. Hurrying into the kitchen she tipped the contents of the packet onto a plastic plate, in the sink. The chunks of fish fell out with a thump, scattering all over the sink. Urmila grimaced: the paper in which the fish was wrapped had turned into a soggy mess. She touched a piece of fish gingerly and the tip of her finger came away with a bit of paper attached. She had trouble shaking it off; it had dissolved into a wad of sticky glue. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she stole a quick glance out of the window. RashBehari Avenue was jammed with buses and minibuses, all belching thick clouds of smoke. She had no more than half an hour to spare if she was to get to the Great Eastern Hotel in time for the press conference. She began to scrub furiously.

After a few minutes she realized that her scrubbing was only making matters worse by working the paper deeper into the chunks of fish. She threw up her hands, thoroughly irritated now, and peeled a scrap of paper off her fingers.

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