The Weary Generations Read Online Free Page A

‘Take it off then.’
    Naim took his tarboosh off and began to stroke its tassel with his thumb.
    â€˜Here, you look much better without it, don’t you think?’
    For the first time, Naim had the presence of mind to answer, ‘I don’tknow, I can’t see myself.’
    Azra smiled. ‘Undo these,’ she said, pointing to the top buttons of his sherwani.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Come on. Open up.’
    As Naim undid the top three buttons, Azra suddenly blushed. ‘Don’t you feel hot bundled up like this?’
    â€˜No,’ Naim said.
    â€˜Look, our sweet peas, they are already wilting. Well, I have to go in the house. Go and talk to some people, won’t you? See you later.’
    She was still red-faced as she walked away from him. Beautifully wrapped in the sari, she seemed an altogether grown-up, simple young woman after all, and for the first time since stepping into this house Naim felt comfortable. He reached out and plucked a flower that had dried up on its stem. He looked at it for a moment and let it drop to the ground.
    The talk among the guests had now started in earnest. The Englishman with a huge head was talking animatedly, a finger raised above his head as if in admonition, to the man sitting next to him, while two others, leaning forward, listened intently. Next, in a four-seater, damask-covered couch, sat the Maharajkumar, flanked on one side by the Chief Commissioner, on the other by Nawab Ghulam Mohyyeddin and another British gentleman. In his hands the Maharajkumar had a deck of playing cards which he was trying to organize in a certain order.
    â€˜This is not the time or place for a game of cards,’ he was saying, ‘my apologies, nawab sahib. But I want to show you a fantastic trick I learned from a lady on my last trip to Paris.’
    The Maharajkumar couldn’t set up the cards as he wished and handed the deck to his secretary, who had stood behind him all along, to do the job.
    â€˜It is not strictly a trick,’ he said to the Chief Commissioner, ‘not a one-off, but a “game” of tricks. I’ll tell you the basic rules …’ An Englishman, sitting on the other side of the Chief Commissioner, was showing great interest in the intricacies of what the Maharajkumar was explaining, while his secretary shuffled and rearranged the cards like a professional. Waiting for the cards, the Maharajkumar began nervously to reminisce. ‘You know, in the hotel in Paris where I was staying, I saw a strange sight. As I came out of my room one morning, a man, stark naked but for a towel thrown across his shoulders, passed me in the corridor. I said, “I am sorry.” The man paid no attention to me. He went down the passage and into his room. Next morning, as I stepped out at the same hour, I was confrontedby the very same man, once again in the altogether, coming down the veranda from God knows where. Loud enough for him to hear, I said, “I am sorry,” and withdrew from his path. He appeared not to have seen me at all, much less respond to my apology.’
    The Englishwoman blushed. ‘Few of them understand English,’ she said apologetically.
    â€˜Surprising,’ the Maharajkumar said, ‘considering that the French coast is only a few miles from England.’
    â€˜Correct,’ replied the woman. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’
    â€˜But that is not all,’ the Maharajkumar continued. ‘As the man passed me the second day, I turned back to look. And what do I see but a lady coming up from the opposite direction. This lady, would you believe, appeared to notice neither the naked man nor me, and passed us both as if nothing existed in front of her but the ground beneath her feet. Well, after that,’ he paused, ‘I got used to Paris.’
    The Chief Commissioner smiled. The Englishman sitting next to the nawab, leaning forward, spoke in a tone of exaggerated importance.