Read Online East Into Upper East by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala - Free Book Online Page A

for it was in her nature to initiate and take the leading part. It made him laugh and pleased him—at that time—the way Sumitra took charge ofthings. It pleased his father too and was useful to him, for she became his hostess—a part few women at that time were qualified to play, for most of them were like Sumitra’s mother, and Harry’s, who spoke little English and spent their time in their prayer rooms or closeted with their spiritual advisers to ward off evil influences. But Harry’s father was entering a new, a wider world than any known to them before. He was a brilliant lawyer who had defended Indian leaders and kept or sprung them out of jail. He lived with his family in his own large New Delhi residence built many years before Independence with his own wealth and in the style of the surrounding residences of high-ranking British administrators.
    Before moving in with her boy friend, Kuku Malhotra had lived in this house, with her grandmother Sumitra and her mother Monica, who was Sumitra and Harry’s only child. By that time the other grand British-style villas around them had been requisitioned for ministerial residences or torn down for modern blocks of flats. Monica too would have liked to sell the house and land at huge profit, but this was impossible while her mother was still alive. Monica took over a plot of land at the rear—part of what had been extensive servants’ quarters—and here, under her supervision, a group of flats was built as rental units. Her mother Sumitra did not like this activity on her estate, and she squinted malevolently at the workmen trampling over her lawn. Monica, busy fighting with the contractor, ignored Sumitra’s resentment: now, at fifty, she felt free for the first time to do what she and not what her mother wanted.
    Monica had always been eclipsed by her mother, in looks and personality. Yet Sumitra herself had not been beautiful, not even in her youth—she was short and had always tended to be plump and her facial features too were rounded. But her gestures were as graceful as an Indian dancer’s, and like a dancer, she jingled with golden bangles and with the anklets that it had become fashionable to wear along with other traditional Indian jewelry (Sumitra also tried a diamond nose stud but it didn’t suit her). The blouses she wore under her saris were copied from Indian miniatures—it was all part of the cultural renaissance—and they were very short, just sufficient to support her breasts, leaving bare a large expanse of her midriff, as smooth as beige satin.
    As her father-in-law’s hostess, Sumitra had introduced an original style of entertaining, which was partly modern and partly derivedfrom the traditional refinements of an Indian royal court. Later, after he died, she was greatly in demand at the official parties to which foreign dignitaries were invited. At that time, many of the cabinet ministers and even the President in his palace were peasant politicians with village wives and no idea how to function in society. Sumitra became New Delhi’s semi-official hostess. The food she ordered to be prepared was mostly Indian but with the spices so cunningly blended that only their exquisite fragrance and none of their sharpness remained. Often a classical musician or dancer was brought in to entertain, their art also toned down to appeal to blander tastes; and though the guests were encouraged to immerse themselves in this cultured Indian ambience, they did not have to sit on the floor reclining against bolsters but were provided with chairs and sofas to support their stiff European spines.
    At first her husband Harry accompanied her to all these grand receptions. Tall and slim, handsome and educated, he was an asset to her, though all he did was talk to the second secretary of some embassy or a cultural attaché’s wife. This became very boring for him, and after a while he began to refuse to