I repeated the age old maxim about a rose by any other name smelling as sweet.
“But a chrysanthemum by any other name would be easier to spell,” she quipped, offering me a plate of biscuits and taking two or three herself.
“I love biscuits,” she said worshipingly. I remembered her devotion to food and handed the plate back to her, encouraging her to tuck in.
“Rahul wanted me to talk to you people into seeing some sense,” I said, looking from one to the other.
“So you have come here inspired by duty, that stern daughter of conscience,” Meenakshi said, misquoting Shakespeare.
I said, yes. Meenakshi grinned like a kid of five.
Papa made the tea and handed us the cups. He absent-mindedly picked up Meenakshi’s handkerchief, which had fallen near her feet, and put it in the saucer of her cup. Meenakshi giggled. I thought that if Rahul had been here, he would have said that she should be ashamed to giggle at her age. Hence I said, “You should be ashamed to giggle at you age,” but I couldn’t suppress my smile.
Meenakshi roared with laughter. “You should be ashamed of correcting your elders and betters,” she muffled though her biscuit.
“I am,” I said.
Meenakshi was impressed by my respectful attitude, as she called it. She said I should be rewarded for it. I called her another Mrs. Be-done-by-as-you-did.
“I think we shall get along very well, Maya,” Meenakshi said. “Why don’s you come and stay with us? We will treat you to ice cream from Nirula’s...”
“Not to forget chaat from Satkar, Chinese food from HongKong, Iranian delights form Shahanshah, pizza from...” Papa continued for her, only to be cut short by an indignant Meenakshi.
“Okay,” she drawled, so you can cook. She can eat at home your burnt offerings.”
Papa laughed teasingly, while Meenakshi pretended to sulk. I breathed deeply and let myself relax. This was so refreshing after what I had left behind at Rahul’s. I still couldn’t believe this turn of the events. Last year when I had met Papa I had been depressed at his aloofness and irritability. The only time he appeared to relax and enjoy himself was with Arun and Arti. Otherwise he used to go off by himself for hours on end. He had even written to me once that now that all his responsibilities were taken care of, he was only waiting for death. He kept on postponing his plans to visit Prashant and me, and eventually his letters had also become extremely infrequent.
“I am learning to cook, Maya,” Papa said proudly, surprising me further. “It is very satisfying, and I can keep Meenakshi well fed for hours.”
I felt it was high time I put in a word for poor Meenakshi. She was having a very wholesome effect on Papa. her presence seemed to draw him out and make him more expressive than he had ever been in my memory.
“You look quite voluminous yourself, Papa,” I said provocatively. “Just look at that paunch! And where is the slim waistline we used to hear so much about?”
Papa patted his flat tummy. His figure had always been a matter of great pride to him.
But before he could say anything, Meenakshi said, “I like to have fat men around me, not the thin and hungry ones,” implying that my being on her side was not that crucial, one way or the other.
“Meenakshi and you are washing your clean linen in public,” I admonished. “You are making people jealous.”
“Jealousy, the green-eyed monster that doth mock the meat it feeds on. They had better be careful,” Meenakshi said.
I told them that I was going to lecture them about their immoral and asocial behavior.
“Go on, go on,” Meenakshi pressed, “I am consumed with interest.” “Look, Meenakshi, you are old enough to be my mother. And you are my father. Don’t you realize the strain this is putting on Rahul and Rama? Don’t you think about your grand children?”
“Thou too, Brutus,” Meenakshi observed sadly.
“Your own?” Papa inquired.
There was nothing I could do but to suspend my fiery speech in the defense of society. I had to admit that it was not my own, but Rahul’s.
After consuming vast quantities of tea and biscuits, I was allowed to go home for dinner. Papa offered to walk me back. Naturally, we took the longest route we knew of. Papa had changed back to his old self, now that Meenakshi was not there to cajole him into talking. It was the novelty of experiencing totally untried facets of life that they were enjoying together, I thought. Yet, Papa had lost none of his tranquillity. He, in fact, looked very much at peace with himself as he walked slowly along with me, prolonging the time we had with us together. The old bond still existed. he did not actually have to say anything to me, or I to him.
As the house came into view, Papa stopped short. he took my hand in his and looked down at me so a long time. “Maya,” he said, “we are thinking about our grandchildren. But can’t compromise on this point. Meenakshi is a very good friend of mine, and we have to stay together. It is best for everyone that we do so.” He ended rather abruptly.
I was choked with emotions. I wanted him to know that I loved him, and respected his decision. But words failed me as usual. I only pressed his hand very hard. We stood there for some minutes, holding hands and trying to avoid seeing directly into each other’s face, to hide our tears of affection.