(Pause.)
Mamu, I want to go away. Away from this drab life. All we ever do is talk and talk. And we eat, and we sleep, get up in the morning and do the same again. I want to do something.
MAMU: Are you tired of me?
ANSUYA: I’m tired of the life we lead.
MAMU: I thought maybe … maybe I had said something that offended you.
ANSUYA: You always twist everything.
MAMU: Well, it is just you and me here. So I thought …
ANSUYA: It’s got nothing to do with you. Don’t be so touchy, Mamu. I want to get out. I am getting old.
MAMU: I’m the one who is old, and of no use to anyone. Look at me. Don’t I look old?
ANSUYA: No.
MAMU: Doesn’t this … grey and this bald patch suggest that I am old? Don’t I sort of fade into the background, like old furniture?
ANSUYA: No, you look fine.
MAMU: (Eagerly.) Do I?
ANSUYA: Yes.
MAMU: (Eagerly.) Really? Tell me that I’m still young.
ANSUYA: (Impatiently.) Yes.
(Pause.) Shall I tell you what I really want? (He nods.)
You’ll laugh at me.
MAMU: Tell me.
(She goes and takes a book from the fireplace.)
ANSUYA: (Whispering.) I want to go far, far away, to a place where no one knows me. I want to work … and … work where everyone is busy and no one asks questions.
(Pause.)
Mamu, there’s something bursting out of me …
MAMU: What’s that book?
ANSUYA: This? Oh, it is a guidebook. On Bombay. Deepak sent it to me.
MAMU: (His eyes widening.) You want to go and work in Bombay!
(She nods.)
MAMU: Deepak, Deepak! All you do is talk about Deepak.
ANSUYA: (Defiantly.) So what?
MAMU: I … I don’t like him.
ANSUYA: Why?
MAMU: I don’t know … he’s selfish … and I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.
(Pause.)
ANSUYA: Well, he’s coming tomorrow.
MAMU: I know he’s coming tomorrow. Why is he coming tomorrow?
ANSUYA: Because Amma invited them and … and I want him to come.
(Defiantly.)
So?
MAMU: Now, look here, Ansuya.
ANSUYA: Yes, Mamu?
MAMU: (Checks.) You’re grown up now. Do you have to keep calling me ‘Mamu?’
ANSUYA: But you are my Mamu.
MAMU: Nothing. Just that when we talk, I completely lose myself in our world. Then you say ‘Mamu,’ and I suddenly wake up and there’s a gap.
ANSUYA: A gap?
MAMU: I begin to feel old and responsible and your uncle. It was different when you were little, and you held my finger when we went for a walk.
ANSUYA: All right. I’ll try, Mamu.
MAMU: There you go again …
ANSUYA: (Laughs.) Oops! But what am I to call you?
MAMU: Call me by my name. Call me ‘Karan.’
ANSUYA: (Self-consciously.) All right, I’ll try, K … Kar … (she cannot say it.)
Mamu, I can’t help it. When I see you, ‘Mamu’ comes out.
MAMU: I see. So I’m nothing more than a ‘Mamu’ to you?
(She looks embarrassed. He tries to hide his own embarrassment.)
ANSUYA: Dear Mamu, you are fond of me.
MAMU: More than my life.
ANSUYA: (Laughing.) You’re so dramatic.
(Sound of footsteps.)
(Vivaciously.) Oh, she’s come! She’s come!
(She opens the door.)
Amma, is that you?
(She stops herself as she sees Rai Saheb ahead of Amrita. Rai Saheb—‘Bunty’ to his friends—man of the world, handsome, and a successful member of the Indian Civil Service (the ICS). He is in his mid-fifties (but could pass for a younger man), sports an ascot, a tweed jacket, and a pipe. The sort of person who speaks Hindustani with an Oxford accent. He has a distinguished look, helped in part by his silver grey hair at the temples. Amrita, Ansuya’s mother, is a year older than her brother, Karan. She wears an elegant silk sari.)
RAI SAHEB: Ansu, I say, you owe me ten chips.
ANSUYA: Oh, hello, Bunty Uncle! Why do I owe you ten chips?
RAI SAHEB: Because Dinky finally ditched Sushma.
ANSUYA: No! Poor Sushma!
AMRITA: And they were so much in love!
ANSUYA: Indian boys are spineless.
RAI SAHEB: (Gloating.) As I predicted … Dinky’s mother did not approve.
AMRITA: And they made such a lovely pair.
ANSUYA: But didn’t Dinky put up a fight?
RAI SAHEB: Worse, Dinky’s got engaged to some rich ‘bhenji’ from Amritsar.
ANSUYA: Someone he’s never met?
MAMU: It’s the old story. Boy meets girl. Boy conquers girl. Boy abandons girl.
(Pause.)
RAI SAHEB: Which reminds me have you heard? Our troops have abandoned Tawang. Biji Kaul is lying sick in bed in Delhi and the Chinese are just going to walk right in. I told them in Delhi that this would happen; but, of course, Mr Krishna Menon has to have his own way.
ANSUYA: It’s all so frightening.
AMRITA: The wind is blowing again.
ANSUYA: (Goes to the window.) It looks like it’s going to rain.
AMRITA: Simla will be nicely washed and cleaned for Chitra and Deepak tomorrow.
ANSUYA: Amma, I’m so excited that Deepak is coming. We’re going to have Diwali after all.
MAMU: We don’t need Deepaks to have a Diwali.
ANSUYA: Mamu!
AMRITA: Why don’t you come over tomorrow evening, Bunty, and meet our guests?
RAI SAHEB: If there is good whiskey and pretty women, I never say no.
AMRITA: Good!
(To Ansuya, enthusiastically.)
Ansu, Rai Saheb is taking the young people to a picnic on Friday. Of course you’ll go?
ANSUYA: No.
AMRITA: I know—you can take Deepak with you.
RAI SAHEB: There will be Dinky and Nina, and Bubbly and Flukey and … I say, do you know that the Khannas’ ayah is pregnant?
ANSUYA: (Fascinated.) What? Who is the father?
RAI SAHEB: (Smiling.) Naughty, naughty! When I mentioned it to Colonel Khanna this evening, he, of course, went red.
(He laughs.)
And if the Colonel hadn’t been in his best third peg, bum bum ho ho mood …
AMRITA: Shame on you, Bunty, gossiping like this.
RAI SAHEB: (To Ansuya.) Well, my dear?
ANSUYA: What?
RAI SAHEB: The picnic.
(Clearing his throat.)
I’ll manage the Governor’s Rest House, in case it rains.
(Uncomfortable pause.)
ANSUYA: No, thank you, Bunty Uncle.
RAI SAHEB: I say, come to think
