The Monsoon Rain (8 page)

Her mum had gone with her to the airport to see her off, and it was a very sentimental parting, which was quite understandable. Mother and daughter had never lived apart. Molly and she both had shed a tear or two. Finally they’d shared one last big hug, and Molly pushed her toward security. Molly waited until she could see her
daughter no more, and after a final wave she was off toward home to put a call through to India to let her sister know that Miranda was on her way!

The sudden exposure to the afternoon heat caught her unawares and came as a shock. A blast of hot air hit her full in the face as she stepped off the plane. She had arrived at the height of summer. Her aunt and uncle had tried to talk Molly into sending Miranda when the temperatures were milder, but Molly was insistent.

After clearing customs and immigration, Miranda was finally out. She made her way toward the baggage claim. The only thing left to do was to collect her suitcase, which she had bought especially for this journey. The hall was thronging with people. Thank God it was cool inside; the heat had literally swamped her when she stepped off the plane. Well, she thought, she had better start getting used to it. After all, this would be the norm for the next few months.

She made her way toward the exit. Her aunt and uncle were there, simply beaming. Her aunt was so much like her mum that for a brief moment Miranda stood still. Was she seeing things? The small, rather dumpy figure, short, and on the heavy side! The same smile too. This was a homecoming! She was quickly smothered in Dolly’s ample bosom. Uncle stood a little apart, tall with a military bearing. His handlebar mustache was his pride and joy. According to family legend, Tom had been in the army and had fought in the Second World War. After being demobilized he had opted to go to Assam with Aunt Dolly in tow.

He was letting the girls have their sentimental reunion in their own way. Once Miranda was released from Dolly’s clutches, Uncle Tom stepped in with a sober and gentlemanly peck on the cheek, saying how wonderful it was to have her visit them and then leading the way to the car.

Everything was hot, and everyone looked hot. If the car windows were rolled down, the dust would clog your nostrils. And if the windows were up, it was hot and steamy. You could not win either way.

The Ambassador, a car very much in vogue in India, made its way across the dusty roads, meandering in between cows, humans, cars, and chickens. Miranda sat in the back, enthralled by what she saw: the street hawkers, the rickshaws, the small roadside shops. She lapped it all up. So many people! The car could not go very fast as people and traffic clogged the roads. There was so much color, she mused. Everywhere she looked was color. No matter how poor the people were, still they wore colorful clothes and smiled.

Dogs, cows, and people! Even the cows, considered sacred animals in India looked happy, sitting under whatever tree was there beside the dusty roadside and swatting flies lazily with their tails. Miranda noticed that many of the cows had vermillion marks on their heads. She made a mental note to ask her uncle about this.

“We will be staying on in Calcutta for the next couple of days,” Tom said, turning around in his front seat. Miranda did not reply, she was busy soaking up her new experience. New country, new sky—it was all so different. The sky was so blue, so bright.

The car stopped for a brief moment as a policeman directed traffic. He must be awfully tired, she mused. In no time at all, a few children had surrounded the car with their little hands outstretched.

“Memsahib, memsahib!” they cried in unison. At the same time they were looking in wonder at the people inside the car. They looked different!

So this was India, she kept thinking to herself, most intrigued and fascinated.

The people were smiling, laughing. They did not have much, one could see that. But they had laughter in them. She noticed they spoke with their hands and their heads, nodding from side to side. People were cooking on the pavement, sleeping on the pavement, washing their clothes on the pavement. It was so hot that the pavement was radiating heat. It was as if the air itself was so thirsty it was crying out for water. How strange it all was! Never in her life could she have fathomed India to be like this.

“Lord, they are cooking on the pavement!” Miranda said, appalled.

“The people you see, dear girl,” said Uncle Tom as he turned around in his seat to address Miranda, “most of them have lost their
homes in the partition of India. It is very sad as many had to flee from their place of birth overnight with only the clothes on their backs. All this happened in the name of religion.”

“What do you mean religion?” Miranda was very curious.

“When India was divided into India and Pakistan, the Muslims left for Pakistan, though not all, and Hindus, most of them, fled to India. It was decided by a handful of people to divide India. So Jinnah became the prime minister of Pakistan, and Nehru became the prime minister of India. Many rich and wealthy landowners lost all and came over and of course vice versa. So where we are based at the moment, Assam, is sandwiched in between East Pakistan and Burma. We fly over East Pakistan and in their airspace to reach home. It’s all rather complex,” he added, chewing on his pipe.

Miranda was taking time to absorb all this information. What a complex country, and how sad for all these people. They must have had homes and places to live. To leave all and never to see their homes again—Miranda could not comprehend the complexity of the situation. They were approaching the hotel by this time, and as usual in India, so many people came out to help.

She wondered if it was always like this.

The hotel was a very modern hotel, set apart from the humdrum of the city. When the car turned into the hotel enclave the noise of the city was visibly dulled. What she needed was a cool bath and a nap. It was already late afternoon, so there was plenty of time before supper. She followed her aunt and uncle to the third floor, where they were in adjoining rooms. Dolly was so very happy to see her niece. There was so much to talk about. She was loath to let her go, but let go she must. So very reluctantly she managed to say good-bye to her niece only until the evening.

“See you later, dear, for supper,” she said sweetly. “Ask room service for tea, darling. If you want any,” she added as an afterthought.

Miranda’s room was a lovely, big single room. Miranda had never seen such a big single room in any hotel she had stayed in. Of course she had not traveled very much or stayed in many hotels, so a connoisseur of hotels she was not. Everything fascinated her about the enchanting and intriguing East. She suddenly remembered
Derek—the thought simply smothered her, coming upon her like a wave. She felt excited simply at the thought of seeing him again, though she did not know where and when that would be.

The only thing she knew was that he was at that moment somewhere in a place called Assam and that they would be flying there. She was curious to see where Derek lived and worked. And how did he live? Did he live the way he did when he was London or did he live like the people here? She lay down; thankfully the heavy drapes were drawn and the ceiling fan was on full swing.

She woke when the room telephone started to ring. Lazily she stretched her hand to answer the phone. For a brief moment she felt slightly disoriented. Where was she? She was in such a deep sleep. It was Dolly, inquiring if she had had her bath and if she was ready to go down to the bar for a drink before dinner.

“I will be ready in two minutes,” she replied, breathless and ashamed of herself for having slept for so long! A quick bath and Miranda felt ready to face the world. She wore the sleeveless printed cotton dress that she had bought especially before leaving London. She added a touch of rouge to her cheeks and put on a light shade of pink lipstick. She put her hair up in a chignon; it was hot, and this hairstyle suited the East, she reckoned.

It was a very pleasant evening. Miranda felt quite merry after two gin and tonics. She was a very pretty girl, and the two dimples in her cheeks accentuated her prettiness. Men looked at her, and at the hotel bar there were a few men who came and introduced themselves to her uncle and aunt and her, of course. The men then joined them for a drink, and addresses were exchanged. And so the evening passed very pleasantly indeed. Miranda felt extraordinarily happy, almost elated—maybe the heat, she thought. The heat was making her feel very happy or was it that she knew in her heart of hearts that she would definitely be meeting Derek? Oh God, she felt so carefree, without a care in the world.

Her uncle and aunt decided to give Miranda a tour of Calcutta. She had come so far, and instead of whisking her off to Assam, they figured, she may as well see Calcutta and get a real taste of India. After all, once she got to Assam, life would be very different.

So after breakfast, they piled into the car and drove toward Park Street, which was Calcutta’s version of the West End in London. They parked the car and got out to walk around.

Park Street was full of people. There were so many restaurants that Miranda could hardly believe her eyes.

Aunt Dolly was busy showing her everything. “Here we get lovely pastries,” she told in Miranda. “Your uncle and I used to come to Trincas restaurent for afternoon tea dances!”

Dolly smiled, remembering when she’d first come first to India as a young bride. Not knowing anything, India had frightened her at first. But the more time she spent there the more she was in love with the country. She did not want to leave India. This was her home. She loved it—the easy life, the help, everything being done for you, servants running to help at the snap of a finger. This life, this luxury, was unthinkable in England. But it was inevitable that they would have to leave. Tom had confided in her that the gardens were being bought up by the Indian companies, and they in turn were not very keen on keeping the Europeans on as managers or assistant managers in the gardens. Dolly pushed the thought of leaving as far away from her mind as possible. What would they do in England? It was cold, damp. And Tom would not have a job. All of it was very depressing. However, she did not want any of these issues to dampen Miranda’s visit in any way. Let her enjoy herself, Dolly thought, she’d come this far. Tom and Dolly had decided beforehand not to speak of their own worries and the mental turmoil and anguish they both were going through. This was their home. To resettle in England, though it was their country, was simply a mind blowing proposition. It would be entirely different and difficult. The East had spoiled them, and it was not only them being affected. Most of the planters were experiencing the same anxieties.

“Oh, the food in there!” Aunt Dolly clutched her hands to her ample bosom as they passed a restaurant called Mocambos. “The chef was trained in France,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

“Shall we show Miranda the Turf Club, Tom?”

“Why not?”

The building had been built at the time of the British Raj, and it still held its splendor. Huge white stately columns graced the
building. The color had become beige with time, but the exotic and majestic building still held onto its grace. You had to stand and look up to appreciate the massive structure.

Her aunt and uncle took her around other parts of Calcutta, and the more she saw the more she was enthralled. The hubbub of it all captivated her.

They went back to the hotel for lunch, which was another novelty for her. People sat down to have a proper lunch, and it ran into a few courses. They had gin and tonics before lunch, the waiters moving silently among the guest with their trays, taking drinks to some and collecting the empty glasses from others. The luxury of it enthralled her, as it had enthralled many a European before her.

However, the morning expedition had tired them, so a siesta was a very welcoming suggestion after the sumptuous meal, followed by an evening bath in cold tepid water.

Later she met her aunt and uncle for drinks at the bar and then dinner.

“Oh, this is sheer bliss,” she thought to herself. “If only life could always be so wonderful and cozy.”

The next morning after a large breakfast, they journeyed back to the airport for another plane journey, though a smaller plane this time, a Dakota. They were flying to Assam.

“Where is Assam actually?” Miranda asked her uncle.

“The eastern part of India between East Pakistan and Burma, a very lush and fertile area. There is a saying that anything grows in the soil of Assam.” Uncle Tom smiled. He could not wait to see her reaction once they got to their bungalow. He loved the bungalow and all the trimmings that went with it. The more he thought about leaving India the more depressed he became. But Tom had a knack for brushing the unpleasantness of life aside. He invariably presented a happy and smiling face to the world. What was churning inside his mind was anybody’s guess.

The journey went off very smoothly; it was late afternoon when the plane taxied along the small runway. As usual a car was waiting for them. Miranda could not believe that her aunt and uncle lived in such style and luxury. Everywhere they went there was a chauffeur-driven
car waiting for them. It was all very enchanting and luxurious, a world she knew nothing about, a world she had never had a taste of except the time when she visited Paris with Derek. She was filled with wonder and expectation.

They left the little airport and started driving along the road heading toward the tea garden. It was so hot; the roads were clean and practically empty. As far as the eye could see were lush green paddy fields lining both sides of the road. A slight breeze was blowing that caused a ripple in the water and consequently was making the tall thin paddy plants sway. Miranda didn’t have the slightest idea what sort of plants they were.

Before she could ask, her uncle turned around in his seat where he was sitting near the driver and said, “You see those tall green reed-like plants in the water? That is paddy. They are usually grown in fields surrounded by water.” Miranda was listening extremely carefully. Then her uncle proceeded to tell her that the rice was first sowed in the nursery and then after a short while, say within a month or so, the seedling was transferred to the field. “Now that,” her uncle said, “is a back-breaking job.” It was mostly women who stood in knee-high water and planted each seedling, one by one in a row.