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I have found this a regular pattern with her. She absolutely glows whenever she has found out something about her husband on her own.
Right now she even permitted herself to relax and smile. She settled back comfortably and told me in lingering detail the complete detective story. Subroto, it seemed, had gone to a friend’s house to return a few records and found a group of people playing cards there. Well, he sat down and played too. And, lost.
Rita was still jubilant at the idea that she had tracked Subroto down. They had a big row last night about it, but she had scored a point. A so-called feather in her cap.
I offered to make her some more tea. She followed me into the kitchen and commented upon the neatness of the house. I wondered whether the daily mess of the books and toys had escaped her notice. She asked me the blend we use for tea and praised it to heaven even before she had tasted it, and she frisked around the kitchen, opening tins and munching girlishly at some biscuits she had discovered in one.
All of a sudden the one of the conversation again became conspiratorial. Rita. Rita enthusiastically began telling me about another occasion when she had caught Subroto red-handed. I listened to it for perhaps the fourth time, mainly because I felt relieved that her crisis seemed to be over.
“You know, one evening he came home very late - I think it was in the first week of the last month - and told me that he had to rush over to Moorti’s for an important discussion. He didn’t even wait for dinner. And after some time I also went over to Moorti’s on the pretext of taking them some sandesh I had made. And there he was, sitting there playing cards and drinking. I made a scene then and there.”
Pouring out the tea, I felt faintly nauseated at her elation. She shook my shoulder and laughed gleefully.
“I told him what I thought of him then and there. I am not afraid of anyone. I told him that his habits were getting on my nerves, and I wouldn’t take it anymore. Once a week or so, fine. But day in day out, never. I told him what I thought of the Moorti’s too.”
All this in poor Moorti’s home! My heart bled for the unfortunate Moorti.
As we came back to the drawing room with the tea, Rita’s mood of despondency returned. I mentally cursed Subroto. Fancy leaving a hysterical woman like Rita all to herself so often. But probably that is why he left her alone. Not, I thought to myself, that she was alone most of the time. She had the Bengali Women’s Association, which met weekly and had a jolly good time by the sound of it. She had also joined a couple of kitty parties. Otherwise, she had so many casual acquaintances that most of the days she couldn’t be found at home during office hours... But what could she do - with all the housework loaded on her and her husband busy losing hundreds of rupees or away from home. I felt extremely sorry for her.
“What can I do?” wailed Rita. “If it weren’t for the Association, I would probably go mad or something. The children are also growing up and I cannot handle them alone. Actually it is the Moorti’s who has spoiled Subroto - even his wife is very fond of cards. They often sit up all nights, playing away.”
The Moorti’s were probably much happier than Rita and Subroto, I thought. And Subroto, who was thirty five, could not possibly be spoiled by anyone.
“Why don’t you try making fewer scenes, Rita,” I said in my best counselor’s voice. “Seeing that he will go out anyway, you might as well save your energy and his.”
Rita cut me short. “I don’t make scenes, he does,” she snapped. I shut up hurriedly, fearing a relapse of the suicidal mood. Rita started explaining, “Now look, last month I asked him to buy me a gold ring. Is it too much to ask for? All my sisters-in-law have at least ten to fifteen gold rings apart from their heavy jewelry. Don’t their husbands buy them things? I asked only for an ordinary gold finger ring, not diamond or emerald. All right, he looks after the house, pays for the children and me, gets things for us, and sometimes entertains us. But this is only expected of a husband. Everyone does it. It is nothing to his credit. If I asked him for a ring and he got me that, then it would be something. It would show my family that he cares about me even now. It is eleven years since our marriage, and all I can show for it is a pair of bangles. How am I supposed to hold my head up in family gatherings...?”
To my surprise she actually sounded bitter about it. I started to comfort her. “Listen Rita, gold is quite impossibly out of reach for people in government service. One must learn to settle for something lesser. He does get you a lot of saris, doesn’t he?”
“Saris, my foot. He insists on getting me those four-five hundred rupees saris for daily wear. I want costly saris which would impress my sisters-in-law. They never wear anything less than silk.”
What the hell, I thought.
