The Cambridge Curry Club Read Online Free Page B

centre of the living room, Bob stood on the patio, a large, bluff man like a farmer without his wellingtons. He thought again of Heera’s wounded glance. Charlie (Chandru) and Barry (Bhagat) called out goodnaturedly for whisky refills as they admired his artificial Japanese garden. A few minutes earlier, Bob had slipped upstairs, crossed over to the window and looked out onto the street, deliberating before he dialled. ‘Adam Russell,’ answered a man’s voice. Bob replaced the receiver without speaking. His palms were sweaty as he descended the stairs to serve apple juice to the owner of a London frozen food company who urged his sympathetic listeners, ‘We need more burial sites in this country, and we must have burial within twenty-four hours.’
    ‘Have I ever introduced you to Lord Bijlani?’ asked Heera, linking her arm in Bob’s, guiding his reluctant feet across the room.
    ‘A peer?’
    ‘
Arre
no,
jaan,
his first name is “Lord”. What clever parents – why didn’t they call him “Lakhu”? This way, everyone thinks he’s an MP sitting in the House of Lords. Anyway, he’s in the manufacturing business, he makes leather seats for luxury cars. He was also in some insurance scam. His bossy mother lives with him and everyone knows she sits on his head, so he can’t find a wife,’ whispered Heera in a tumble of words.
    Lord Bijlani wore a black leather jacket and tight leather jeans; his fitted shirt was unbuttoned to displaya gold chain. He squealed and kissed Heera soundly and roundly on both cheeks. Was the leather of his jacket the same as the fabric of his car seats? wondered Bob, as he offered him a drink, aching to hear the cool voice at the other end of the telephone. On his way upstairs, he was stopped by a man with greasy hair and piercing eyes. ‘I am Dr Sridhar T. I cure incurable illnesses ,’ he announced, thrusting a visiting card into Bob’s hands. He moved away, but returned an instant later. ‘Slight spelling mistake in card. Printing was done in India, but do read.’
    Bob read obediently:
People loose valuable things in life. Without Health life is nothing. Patient cured includes many Business magnets, many M.PS, M.L.A’s. Successful treatments by Dr. Sridhar T for Intestine disc’s, gynaecological disc’s, sexual disc’s, baby of choice.
    Dr Sridhar was a ‘world-renowned miracle doctor’ visiting England. His previous surgery had been conducted three evenings a week at a school hall in his Indian hometown. A new patient entering the hall was presented with a token and seated among a few hundred people in perpetual motion. The newcomer was then sent to men and women in white coats in a tiny room, and Dr Sridhar stepped forward. As the patient opened his mouth for a mandatory inspection, several heads peered in as one, notes were taken, glances exchanged and little white pills prescribed by Dr Sridhar, to be taken twice a day after meals. Despite the fact that only the tongue was on display, the patient came away feeling undressed.
    Dr Sridhar’s wife, Manjula, was a tall woman with a face the shape of the full moon. Placid and calm, she bore her sister-in-law’s harassment with equanimity.Radiant in her third month of pregnancy, she initially dismissed a mound of curly human hair, red chillies and a doll stuffed with pins on her pillow as a childish prank. When she gave birth to a deformed child, Manjula shrieked it was the hand of voodoo, but remained unsupported in her conviction. The baby died within days, and a year later Manjula became the wild-eyed mother of a healthy boy, but still slipped into postnatal depression, a condition that remained undetected by her husband. She attempted suicide, mistakenly swallowing the pills he prescribed to his patients instead of the sleeping pills purchased for the overdose, but survived, recovering the calm of thin ice. Manjula was living testimony to both the failure and success of her husband’s little white pills.
    Bob slipped