Read Online A Fine Family: A Novel by Gurcharan Das - Free Book Online Page B

misery of those who had come under Nazi, Fascist or Japanese domination.
    ‘For pity’s sake, Dewan Chand,’ said Chachi one evening, ‘the Quit India Movement is the outcome of British stubbornness. We were all frustrated and we needed this symbolic act of defiance.’
    ‘Hardly symbolic, Chachi?’ said Bauji.
    ‘Gandhi made it clear from the beginning that the Quit India Movement would be non-violent,’ said Karan.
    ‘How could it be, Karan?’ said Bauji.
    ‘It is the fault of English,’ said Tara. ‘It is they who put Gandhi in jail and there was no one to control the crowds afterwards.’
    The disturbances lasted for several weeks. At the end about a thousand people lost their lives throughout the country; over sixty thousand were arrested. However, calm was restored quickly in Lyallpur. Bauji had been deeply distressed by the violence but he was secretly pleased that at least the DC’s party had been cancelled because of the trouble. He wouldn’t have to tiresomely defend himself before Chachi, Karan and the others. Bhabo was also happy. Because of the curfew there was peace in the house from unwelcome callers and Bauji’s clients.
    After it was all over, Bauji matter-of-factly asked Big Uncle one day, ‘Tell me son, why did you have to go out in the middle of the curfew? Remember that evening when you were arrested?’
    ‘I went to the bazaar to get a haircut,’ replied Big Uncle.
    ‘Haircut?’ Bauji could not believe his ears.
    ‘I needed a haircut.’
    Bauji tried to control his temper. ‘In the middle of a curfew, he needed a haircut.’
    Big Uncle nodded. Tara giggled.
    ‘What is wrong with our family barber? He comes every day. Why do
you
have to go to the bazaar?’ asked Bauji.
    ‘He cuts hair too closely, and he doesn’t know how to make a puff. It’s the fashion these days,’ said Big Uncle.
    There was an uneasy pause. Bauji tried to hold himself but he did not succeed. ‘Bhabo!’ he roared, ‘This is not my son. He must have got exchanged in the hospital.’
    A week later, while the family was having lunch, a telegram came from the ashram saying that Tara’s marriage proposal had been accepted. There was immediate excitement, and everyone started to talk of Tara’s forthcoming marriage. Bauji felt relieved but Bhabo was not.
    ‘We shall finally have spirituality in this house,’ Bauji said jovially. ‘Now I shall get someone to tell me about this meditation business.’
    ‘You don’t need a son-in-law for that. Go and get initiated by the guru,’ said Bhaboji.
    The conversation was suddenly interrupted by a chorus of school boys at the gate. They were reading aloud the inscription on the newly installed letterbox outside: ‘Varma Billa, Dewan Chand Barma, BA, LL B, Advocate, Punjab High Court, Lahore, Punjab.’ Everyone smiled, except Bauji, who was visibly angry at his name being abused by every street urchin who wanted to test his command of the English language.
    The letterbox had been Big Uncle’s brainchild. Thinking it the fashionable thing to do, Big Uncle had got a letterbox made by the carpenter and inscribed by a sign painter. Unfortunately the sign painter had written ‘Billa’ instead of ‘Villa’, and ‘Barma’ instead of ‘Varma’. Big Uncle had not bothered to have the mistake corrected, and hung it up on the main gate. Thus Bauji’s home had joined the small fashionable group of Lyallpur houses that had a letterbox with an English name. There were many admiring ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the younger set, in whose eyes Big Uncle was a big hero. Everyone was encouraged to write letters to each other to ‘try out’ the letterbox. A number of ‘trial letters’ were written in fact. But the mailman had to be repeatedly instructed to put the letters in the mail box, rather then delivering them personally. He was not too happy about the box, since he stood to lose a glass of buttermilk which he received when he delivered the mail