Nimmi collects flowers early in the mornings to sell on the Shimla Mall immediately afterward. Then she comes to the Community Clinic with Rekha and Chullu. She stows her empty flower basket in the toolshed, and while she hoes or plants or waters seedlings, Chullu and Rekha play in the clearing next to the shed. The children are used to sitting quietly by themselves and keeping each other company. Nimmi is a calm, patient mother. If Chullu tries to eat the soil or Rekha starts to pull up shoots, a few soft words from her in their dialect makes them listen. When it’s time for Nimmi to feed Chullu and for Rekha and me to start our Hindi lesson, Nimmi sits near us so she can also see the pages of the Panchatantra book. The stories are short and beautifully illustrated. Radha and I grew up with these very fables, and now Rekha and Chullu are growing up with them, too. (I wish Radha were here to see us! Like me, she loved teaching the small children at our father’s village school in Ajar.)
Our first story is the tale of the monkey and the crocodile, who start out as friends. But the crocodile’s wife decides she wants to eat the monkey’s heart, so the crocodile invites his friend to dinner. The monkey readily hops onto the crocodile’s back. But on the river, the crocodile confesses that he means to kill him, so his wife can eat his heart. The monkey tells the crocodile he always leaves his heart on his tree and they will have to go back to get it. Of course, as soon as they reach land, the monkey climbs his tree, saving himself, and the crocodile loses a friend.
When we get to the end of the story, I hear Nimmi cough. But when I look over at her, I realize she’s laughing, the corners of her eyes creased with delight! More of a cackle, really, but no matter. It’s the first time I’ve heard Nimmi laugh, and soon enough I’m laughing with her. She moves closer to us and says, “Read it again, Ji.”
Another first! Until this moment, she has never called me Ji—a term that’s meant to show respect. Relief floods me. I’m pleased, as I know Malik will be, and smile at her to let her know it. But she’s not looking at me. Chullu has fallen asleep, and she is fashioning a harness for him with her chunni. She slings him across her back.
I start again, at the beginning of the story. Rekha learns quickly. She and I sound out the words together and trace the written words with our fingers. Nimmi holds back, afraid of making a mistake, but her daughter helps her, and she joins us.
Already I’m thinking about the next book I’m going to check out of the Shimla library: a children’s book of Himalayan flowers: blue poppies, purple water lilies, yellow irises. The drawings are colorful and large, and both Rekha and Nimmi are sure to recognize the flowers.
As we read out loud, Chullu continues to sleep on his mother’s back, soothed by the sounds of his mother’s and his sister’s voices.
Now when Nimmi comes to my house to have me read Malik’s letters, she brings the children. She even eats the treats I make for her. I can tell the sugared fruits I serve are lifting her spirits. The loneliness is leaving her, little by little. Sometimes she brings treats to share: a basket of wild ghingaroo berries or a handful of Indian figs or sweet Himalayan apples she’s picked on her way here.
When I begin reading the latest letter from Malik, Rekha sidles up next to me to get a closer look. I think she’s pretending that she’s reading it along with me.
Dear Nimmi and Auntie-Boss,
Now I’ve seen everything! Manu asked Ravi Singh to show me the Royal Jewel Cinema. That’s the big project Singh-Sharma has been building for the palace. Ravi says there’s nothing else like it in all of Rajasthan. It’s a two-story building that takes up the entire city block between two of the busiest streets in Jaipur. He told me he would have liked to model it after the Old Vic in Bristol (as if I’ve seen that!), but the Maharani Latika had just been to America and she wanted more of an art deco design like the Pantages (hope I spelled that right) Theatre in Los Angeles (that’s in California). Architecture of the 1930s in America is still news here in India, I guess. (Boss, aren’t you proud I learned something in my art history classes at Bishop Cotton?)
Here’s what was happening the day we visited the cinema house: two men were installing the name of the theater over the entrance in three-foot high gold letters; others were painting the outside walls pink, like the color of the old city walls. Then there were masons creating the stone mandala in the front of the building with a blue-and-green peacock at its center—not nearly as good, of course, as the mosaic you designed on the floor of your house in Jaipur, Auntie-Boss.
Then we entered the lobby... Waa! Waa! First, it goes on forever. Second, it’s carpeted in plush red wool and silk. I bet Chullu would love to slobber all over that carpet (ha ha). I looked up at the ceiling and saw the largest chandeliers—different from anything we ever saw at the Maharanis’ Palace—dangling from huge concave circles. Inside each circle are millions of tiny twinkling bulbs. It’s like looking at a sky that’s glittering with stars and planets and galaxies!
Then we walked inside the theater where the seats are. It’s bloody brilliant! Ravi is really proud of the fact that he managed to squeeze in eleven hundred seats—it’s that large! He designed the theater so the seats are tiered and keep rising as you get farther from the screen—like those Greek amphitheaters we also studied in art history class (and you thought I learned nothing there, Boss!).
There’s a balcony (where the rich people sit) from which you can look down onto the stage and the seats below. The screen is almost as tall as the Hawa Mahal in Jaipur! And here’s something I’d never heard of: surround sound. The Royal Jewel Cinema has it. Apparently, it was recently invented in America. So in this cinema house, everybody can hear and everybody gets a good seat.
I was imagining all of us in the theater together. How you would both marvel at this building! (Chullu would marvel at that carpet.) Rows and rows of stone arches carved into the walls of the theater and inlaid with flowers and leaves (don’t ask me which flowers and which leaves—that’s your department).
Have to go! My other boss is calling me. Give my best to Dr. Jay!
Yours,
Malik
6
MALIK
Jaipur
As part of my training, Manu asked some of the larger contractors of the Jaipur Palace to show me around their construction sites. It was Singh-Sharma’s turn today. At the behest of his father, Ravi Singh is showing me around the Royal Jewel Cinema.
The building is splendid, indeed an amazing accomplishment, and I tell Ravi so. Drapes the color of the red hibiscus Nimmi loves are being hoisted on both sides of the screen. Workmen are bolting red mohair seats to the floor of the final row. Electricians are testing the recessed lights along the perimeter, which turn the walls from yellow to green to orange periodically.
I whistle. “How long did it take to build all this?”
“Not as long as you would think. Would you believe that what was supposed to take us five years only took us three?”
“How did you manage that?”
He smiles at me. “Ah, old chap, that’s the advantage Singh-Sharma Construction has over every other builder. It’s why Manu keeps hiring us for these showcase projects.” He taps his index finger against the side of his nose, meaning, It’s a secret.