He translated, without much interest, “Janaki made them.”
Janaki, in embarrassment, wiped her mouth on her napkin, and then gazed in surprise and alarm at the pink smear on the linen.
“How clever you are,” I said to Janaki. “I wish I could cook”
“It is very easy to learn,” she replied diffidently.
“There never seems to be any time for it.”
Entirely without sarcasm or envy she said, “That is true for someone like you who leads such a busy and interesting life.”
I felt ashamed of myself, for no reason I could quite put my finger on.
We continued to talk banalities, and Janaki kept up her end admirably, managing to seem interesting in the most ordinary comments and still keeping a watchful eye out see that cup and plates were filled. The conversation gradually fell entirely to Janaki and me, because Anand retreated into a sulky silence. I remember thinking that one couldn’t really blame him. It must have been maddening to have a face this sweet and vapid politeness every day after work. At least he jumped up and said abruptly that he had some papers to go through. I left soon after.
Janaki saw me to the front door and, with an expected spontaneity, put her hand on my arm. “Please come to tea again.” She said. “I mean, if you are not too occupied. I should so much like it. I have no friends in Bombay.”
“I’d be delighted, and you must come to tea with me.”
“Oh, no, thank you very much. Perhaps later on, but I must learn the ways of this house first. You see that, don’t you?”
I walked home, wondering at her mixture of nervousness and confidence, at the fact that she already felt certain she had a permanent place in that house.
At our next lunch date, it was Ananda ho asked the eager question. “Well? What did you think of her?”
And I replied noncommittally, “She seems very pleasant.”
“You should like my mother. She says, ‘A good-natured girl, You should count yourself fortunate.’ I suppose she asked you to be her friend?”
“How did you know?”
she's not as stupid she looks. She said the same to me. Will you not allow us to be friendly, Anand?'" He attempted a saccharin unconvincing falsetto. He frowned. "The thin end of the wedge, don't you see? It would be funny if it weren’t so sad."
"Well, at least she's very good-looking, "I said defensively.
"She's too far."
"I think it rather suits her."
"A strong point in her favor, my mother says, to make up for my puniness." Anand was sensitive about his height. He said, in a touchy voice, Darling one to sympathize with him, "Eugenically very sound. Strong, healthy girl like Janaki married to a weakling like me, and we have chance of strong ,healthy children that take after her. The children, you see, are the whole point of this stratagem. I'm an only son must produce some. My mother has rather sample approach to this things."
"You must admit, "I said rather uncomfortably, 'That she'd make a very good mother."
"Not a doubt in the world, She’s a natural for the part of the Great Earth Mother. But I rather resend being viewed in such an agricultural light."
IN THE WEEKS that followed, Janaki dominated our conversation at lunch time, and I had tea with them quite frequently. Sometimes, if Anand was kept late at his office or had to attend board meeting, Janaki and I would have tea alone, and she would ask hundreds of question about America, trying I thought, to build up a picture of Anand's life there and the background that seemed to influence him so much. She claimed to be uniformly enthusiastic about everything American, and for me it was rather fun, because it made me feel to superior in experience.
She would question me, sometimes openly and sometimes indirectly, about Anand's tastes and preferences. We had a long session, I remember, her looks. Should she wear makeup? Should she cut her hair? What about her clothes? I told her she was fine the way she was, but insisted, "Has he never said anything? He must have made some remarks?"