There are little decorative objects displayed on a mantel with geometric precision. Everything is painfully neat. Even the kitchen looks so sanitized that I can almost imagine the soot from her chulha being white rather than black. Shankar and I sit on chairs; Lajwanti sits on the bed, wearing a pink sari. She seems very excited and tells us that she has started searching for a suitable bridegroom for her sister, Lakshmi, who is now nineteen years old.
'But what about you?' I ask her. 'Shouldn't the elder sister get married first?'
'Yes, she should,' she replies. 'But I am not just a sister to Lakshmi, I have been her father and mother ever since our parents died five years ago. That is why I cannot act selfishly and think only about myself. Once I have married off my sister, my responsibilities will be over and I can then look for my own prince.'
'So how are you going about searching for suitable grooms?'
'I placed an ad in Dainik Ujala, the Hindi newspaper, two months ago, and due to the blessings of Goddess Durga the response has been very good. See how many letters have come.' She holds out a bundle of letters and envelopes. From these she extracts six photographs and shows them to us. 'Tell me, which one of these boys will be suitable for Lakshmi?'
Shankar and I examine the prospective grooms. We find fault with almost all of them. This one looks too old. This one has a wicked smile. This one is ugly. This one has a scar. This one picture looks like a prisoner's mugshot. That leaves only one photo. It shows the face of a handsome young man with stylish hair and a thick moustache. 'Yes, this boy looks to be the best of the lot,' I tell Lajwanti. Shankar also nods his head in fervent approval. 'Q Gqfz Pdz Wku,' he says.
Lajwanti is delighted with our selection. 'He is my choice too. Apart from being the best looking, he is also the most qualified and comes from a very respectable family. Do you know that he is a very high-ranking government officer?'
'Really? What does he do?'
'He is the Assistant Sugarcane Officer in the District. Lakshmi will live like a queen with him. So should I commence negotiations with his family? Take Goddess Durga's blessings to move the process forward?'
'Of course, without any delay.'
Lajwanti serves us an excellent meal that evening, of puris, kachoris, potatoes, lentils and muttar paneer, on steel plates so clean they could double up as mirrors. I feel almost guilty eating off her spotless crockery, worried that it might get scratched. I cannot resist asking her, 'Lajwanti, how come your house is so neat and clean? Do you keep a maid?'
She appreciates my noticing. 'Don't joke with me. How can a maid employ a maid? I am the one who keeps this house in tip-top order. This has been my habit since childhood. I cannot live in an unclean house. My fingers start itching the moment I see a speck of dirt on the floor, a piece of food sticking to the dining table or a crease on the bed cover. My mother used to say, "Lajwanti cannot tolerate even a leaf sticking out wrongly from a tree." That is why Rani Sahiba is so happy with me. I overheard her telling Commissioner Sahib's wife the other day that Lajwanti is the best maid she has ever had and she will never let me go.' She beams with pride.
'Yes, I agree, you must be the most efficient maid in the whole world. But you'd better not visit my room, otherwise you will get sick.'
Shankar also agrees that Lajwanti is the greatest. 'Q Gkrz Gxesxipq,' he says with a wide happy grin.
* * *
My last patrons today are a group of four rich college students from Delhi. They are a young, boisterous lot in designer jeans and imported sunglasses who make flippant remarks about the Taj Mahal, rib each other incessantly and crack vulgar jokes. At the end of the guided tour they not only give me my fee but a fat tip as well. They then invite me to join them on a night out in their chauffeur-driven minivan. 'Raju Guide, come with us, we will give you the time of your life,' they implore. I decline at first, but they are insistent and I am so beholden to them for their generous baksheesh that I cannot say no. I hop into the vehicle.
First we go to the Palace Hotel. This is my first-ever visit to a five-star hotel. I sit in its air-conditioned restaurant and take in the gleaming, softly lit chandeliers, the liveried waiters, the light instrumental music and the well-dressed clientele exuding wealth and influence. The men speak in confidential low tones, the women are like delicate dolls. The food is mouth-watering.
One of the boys passes me the menu. 'Here, Raju. Order whatever you fancy.' I take a look at the menu and almost choke on seeing the prices. A plate of butter chicken costs six hundred rupees!
At the roadside stall near the outhouse I can buy the same thing for a mere fifty-five rupees. But I realize that here you do not pay simply for the food, you pay for the ambience as well. The boys order practically everything on the menu and two bottles of Scotch whisky.
