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

impulsively went up and grabbed Bhabo by the waist and gave her a hug. She too was dominated by his charm.
    ‘Stop this nonsense,’ she said laughingly. ‘And promise me.’
    Karan did not say anything; everyone knew that he was heavily involved in the nationalist movement of Gandhi.
    ‘Bhabo, I am tired of always getting ready to live, but never living,’ he said.
    ‘You’ve got a big future before you, boy. Don’t lose it over this silly business,’ warned Bauji.
    ‘What makes you think I would do anything so patriotic? It’s certainly not part of the family tradition,’ said Karan with a mischievous smile.
    ‘Don’t you insult us, boy!’ said Bauji pretending to be angry.
    ‘What does one say to someone who insists on going to the DC’s party?’ said Karan.
    ‘One does not say anything.’
    ‘Will someone still go, even after Gandhiji’s resolution?’
    ‘All the more. Someone has to tell the English, after all.’ Bauji smiled.
    ‘Are you taking Bhabo with you?’ asked Karan.
    Before he could answer, Bhabo interrupted, ‘Karan, he never takes me with him.’
    ‘Oh Bauji, take her with you!’ pleaded Tara.
    ‘The invitation clearly says “Mr & Mrs”,’ added Big Uncle.
    ‘Out of the question. She doesn’t know enough English and she will be quite lost,’ said Bauji.
    ‘See that, Karan. And he believes he is a modern sahib,’ said Bhabo.
    ‘What do you plan to wear to the party, Bauji?’ asked Karan.
    ‘Come and see for yourself.’
    Although Bauji sometimes wore Western clothes, he used to say to Karan that when an Indian abandoned his own dress for the shirt and trouser of the West, he gave away a little bit of himself. He entered an unknown path, where he had few to guide him. The Englishman certainly did not accept an Indian more for that. On the contrary, the English had contempt for the Indian who was educated in Western learning. And Indians too were suspicious of their countrymen who gave up their traditional ways. Thus a Westernized Indian risked losing entry in his own world, without gaining admission into the Englishman’s. He had to be unusually brave and make his own rules, since the rules of the white man did not yet apply and the brown man’s rules had ceased to apply.
    ‘Bauji, must you go to the DC’s party?’ asked Karan.
    ‘Karan, the new DC is an inexperienced man, but he is sincere. He is trying. He is not a
pukka
sahib as yet. And before he gets that way, isn’t it worth our while to set him on the right way? There is no point in boycotting his party.’
    ‘But he is also a white skin and a ruler. Why should he listen to a brown skin of a subject race? Even the friendliest white cannot forget that. Deep down he scorns and despises us. This party is a gesture, a condescension. And Bauji, you want to go there and alleviate his guilty imperial conscience.’ Bauji reddened and Karan looked at his watch to hide his own embarrassment. ‘Oh, I must go, I’m late,’ he said after a pause.
    ‘Oh Karan, don’t go away so soon!’ said Tara. ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘Boy, you be careful,’ said Bhabo as Karan was leaving.
    ‘Won’t you at least stay for a cup of tea?’ implored Tara.
    He turned around at the gate, smiled, picked up his bicycle which was leaning against the gate, and was gone.
    ‘See, you have driven him away,’ said Tara accusingly to Bauji. After a pause she asked, ‘Why doesn’t he come here like he used to?’

4
    As usual the house was left in a daze after Karan’s departure. Bauji’s family had still not got used to his contradictory moods which oscillated between light-hearted bantering and sudden moments of extreme seriousness. Karan was the son of a spendthrift father who had married Bauji’s sister, squandered his whole fortune and then died. The family’s ruin had been total and included the linen Bauji had given his sister as part of the dowry. Since that day Bauji had taken on the responsibility of educating his