Postponing the decision of illustration, Mrs Rupa Mehra now looked for assistance in building up a rhyming text for her card. The rose-and-pewter card contained the following lines:
May the gladness you have scattered
Along life’s shining way
And the little deeds of kindness
That are yours from day to day
And the happiness you’ve showered
On others all life through
Return to swell your blessings
In this birthday hour for you.
This would not do for Parvati, Mrs Rupa Mehra decided. She turned to the card illustrated with grapes and apples.
’Tis a day for hugs and kisses,
For cakes and candles too,
A day for all who love you
To renew their love anew,
A day for sweet reflection
Along life’s shining way,
And a day for all to tell you:
Have the wonderfullest day.
This showed promise but there was something wrong with the fourth line, Mrs Rupa Mehra instinctively felt. Also, she would have to alter ‘hugs and kisses’ to ‘special greetings’; Parvati might very well deserve hugs and kisses but Mrs Rupa Mehra was incapable of giving them to her.
Who had sent her this card? Queenie and Pussy Kapadia, two unmarried sisters in their forties whom she had not met for years. Unmarried! The very word was like a knell. Mrs Rupa Mehra paused in her thoughts for a moment, and moved resolutely on.
The puppy yapped an unrhymed and therefore unusable text — a mere ‘Happy Birthday and Many Happy Returns’—but the sheep bleated in rhymes identical to but sentiment marginally distinct from the others:
It’s not a standard greeting
For just one joyful day
But a wish that’s meant to cover
Life’s bright and shining way—
To wish you all the special things
That mean the most to you
So that this year and every year
Your fondest dreams come true.
Yes! Life’s shining way, a concept dear to Mrs Rupa Mehra, was here polished to an even finer lustre. Nor did the lines commit her to any deep protestation of affection for her father’s second wife. At the same time the greeting was not accusably distant. She got out her black-and-gold Mont Blanc fountain pen, Raghubir’s present to her when Arun was born — twenty-five years old and still going strong, she reflected with a sad smile — and began to write.
Mrs Rupa Mehra’s handwriting was very small and well formed, and this presented her in the present instance with a problem. She had chosen too large a size of card in proportion to her affection, but the silver stars had been stuck and it was too late to change that parameter. She now wished to fill as much space as possible with the rhymed message so that she would not have to inscribe more than a few words in her own right to supplement the verse. The first three couplets were therefore laid out — with as much white space in between as would not appear too obvious — on the left-hand side; an ellipsis of seven dots spoored across the page in a semblance of suspense; and the concluding couplet was allowed to crash down with thunderous blandness on the right.
‘To Dear Parvati — a very happy birthday, much love, Rupa,’ wrote Mrs Rupa Mehra with a dutiful expression. Then, repenting, she added ‘est’ to the ‘Dear’. It looked a little cramped now, but only a careful eye would perceive it as an afterthought.
Now came the heartbreaking part: not the mere transcription of a stanza but the actual sacrifice of an old card. Which of the roses would have to be transplanted? After some thought, Mrs Rupa Mehra decided that she could not bear to part with any of them. The dog, then? He looked mournful, even guilty — besides, the picture of a dog, however appealing his appearance, was open to misinterpretation. The sheep perhaps — yes, they would do. They were fluffy and unemotional. She did not mind parting with them. Mrs Rupa Mehra was a vegetarian, whereas both her father and Parvati were avid meat-eaters. The roses in the foreground of the old card were preserved for future use, and the three sheared sheep were driven carefully towards new pastures.
Before she sealed the envelope Mrs Rupa Mehra got out a small writing pad, and wrote a few lines to her father:
Dearest Baoji,
Words cannot express how much happiness it gave me to see you yesterday. Pran and Savita and Lata were very disappointed. They did not get the chance to be there, but such is life. About the radiologist, or any other prospect for Lata, please pursue enquiries. A good khatri boy would be best of course, but after Arun’s marriage I am capable of considering others. Fair or dark, as you know, one cannot be choosy. I have recovered from my journey and remain, with much affection,
Your everloving daughter,
Rupa
The house was quiet. She asked Mansoor for a cup of tea, and decided to write a letter to Arun. She unfolded a green inland letter form, dated it carefully in her minute and lucid script, and began.
My darling Arun,
I hope you are feeling much better and the pain in your back as well as the toothache is much less. I was very sad and upset in Calcutta as we did not have much time to spend at the station together due to the traffic on Strand and Howrah Bridge and you having to leave before the train left because Meenakshi wanted you home early. You don’t know how very much you are in my thoughts — much more than words can say. I thought maybe the preparations for the party could have been postponed by ten minutes but it was not to be. Meenakshi knows best. Anyway whatever it all was the net result was that we didn’t have long at the station and tears rolled down my cheeks due to disappointment. My dear Varun also had to go back because he came in your car to see me off. Such is life one doesn’t often get the things one wants. Now I only pray for you to get well soon and keep good health wherever you are and have no more trouble with your back so that you can play golf again which you are so fond of. If it be God’s will we will meet again very soon. I love you lots and wish you all the happiness and success you well deserve. Your Daddy would have been so proud to see you in Bentsen and Pryce, and now with wife and child. Love and kisses to darling Aparna.
The journey passed peacefully and as planned, but I must admit I could not resist having some mihidana at Burdwan. If you had been there you would have scolded me, but I could not resist my sweet tooth. The ladies in my Ladies’ Reserve compartment were very friendly and we played rummy and three-two-five and had a good chat. One of the ladies knew the Miss Pal we used to visit in Darjeeling, the one who was engaged to the army captain but he died in the War. I had the set of cards that Varun gave me for my last birthday in my bag, and they helped to while away the journey. Whenever I travel I remember our saloon days with your Daddy. Please give him my love and tell him to study hard in the good traditions of his father.
Savita is looking very well, and Pran is a first-class husband except for his asthma and most caring. I think that he is having some difficulty with his department but he does not like to talk about it. Your grandfather visited yesterday and could have given him some medical advice but unfortunately only I was at home. By the way it is the birthday of your step-grandmother next week, and maybe you should send her a card. Better late than sorry.
I am suffering some pain in my foot but that is expected. Monsoons will be here in two three months and then my joints will play up. Unfortunately Pran cannot afford a car on his lecturer’s salary and the transport situation is not good. I take a bus or tonga to go here and there and sometimes I walk. As you know, the Ganges is not far from the house and Lata also goes walking quite a lot, she seems to enjoy it. It is quite safe as far as the dhobi-ghat near the university, though there is a bit of a monkey menace.