Love and Longing in Bombay by Chandra Vikram

Author:Chandra, Vikram [Chandra, Vikram]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780571267163
Publisher: Faber and Faber
Published: 2011-05-04T18:30:00+00:00

On the second floor of Daman, Sartaj found a boarding house, which was really a large flat, with thin partitions making tiny rooms let out mostly to trainees at the Taj. But, Mrs. Khanna said, there was a deluxe suite, on the floor above, next to her own rooms, which she hired out very rarely and only to people known to her. Mrs. Khanna wore a green caftan and smoked rapidly, and spoke in a no-nonsense style designed to intimidate tenants. She nodded at the photograph.

“Known them for years,” she said. “Regulars. Nice people. Paid in cash, advance.”

“For what?” Sartaj said. “Who came to see them?”

“I don’t ask questions. Not my business.”

“But you notice things.”

She shook her head, deliberately. “Not my business.”

“Let’s see the room.”

There was a long passageway from Mrs. Khanna’s flat to the suite, with a locked door on either end. The inner door opened into a small room filled up by a coffee table and four old chairs. On the wall there was a painting, ruins on a cliff, over a river.

“See,” Mrs. Khanna said. “With attached bathroom. Very nice.”

Sartaj followed her into the bedroom. The green curtains were drawn and it was very dark, and Sartaj felt his head swim in the sudden quiet. Over the bed, a village belle flashed dark eyes at him over the edge of her stylized yellow dupatta. He reached down to the cassette player perched on the headboard and popped out the tape. There was no label. Sartaj put it back in the player and pressed a button. Mehdi Hassan sang: Ranjish hi sahi…

“Is this his tape?” Sartaj said.

“Yes. Mr. Patel’s tape.”

“And the paintings?”

“Also his. He said the room was very sparse.” She looked around the room, gesturing with a cigarette. “He was, he was a very shaukeen type of person, you see.”

“Yes, a lover of the fabulous felicities.”

“What?”

But Sartaj was drawing back the curtains. Mrs. Khanna watched keenly as he went through the bedroom and into the small bathroom, which was sparkling clean. She was clearly amused as he bent over to look behind the commode.

“It’s cleaned every day. Or when it’s used,” she said. “Nothing left over. Nothing to find.”

“Very commendable,” Sartaj said. “Are you sure you never saw any visitors?”

“No. Separate door there, opens out in front of the lift. They come and they go.”

“And this boy in the picture? Mr. Patel’s son? Have you ever seen him? Did he ever come here?”

“No.”

“He’s dead, you know. Mr. Patel is murdered. You know?”

“I read the paper.”

“What is your idea about it?”

Mrs. Khanna was holding her cigarette carefully in two extended fingers. Nothing moved except the smoke. “I’m not curious,” she said. “Not my business. Don’t want to know.”

Sartaj searched the room. The mattress was clean, the floor underneath swept, every surface was clean and polished, and the rubbish bin empty. Mrs. Khanna was a good housekeeper. In a drawer in the bureau next to the bed there was an opened packet of Trojan condoms, “Ultra-Fine.”

“These? Mr. Patel’s?”

“Perhaps,” Mrs. Khanna said.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.