The Grammarian by Annapurna Potluri Read Free Book Online Page B

moments. He was grateful at last to have some moments of his own, and he splashed cool water from the stainless steel bowl on the desk onto his face and changed into a suit, unsure of what dress was expected of him and wanting to err on the side of formality.
    The servant child was waiting outside his room. Prithu’s eyes were large and dark and he seemed younger than Matthieu. He led Alexandre in silence to the dining hall.
    From the interior, the home was even more exquisite. The marble was cool to the touch and swirled in whites, creams, pinks and blues. It was wide and airy, the outside and inside not as distinct as in European homes. Still lizards clung to the walls. Rose and wisteria vines crept up the outer walls, palm trees yielding bananas and coconuts lined theproperty. The gardens were lush and fragrant. The home was furnished in a way that was at once minimal and decadent: all the pieces were exquisite, and so well fit their purpose as to leave need for little else. Mahogany and silk, a marble birdbath, the quiet and dutiful meandering of stewards and maids, some as young as Prithu, some as old as Kanakadurga . . . as dusk fell, the maids went about the estate lighting small candles in terra-cotta cups and swept small swells of dust off the marble floors and out into the garden with little, straw brooms held together with twine.
    The long dining room opened to the inner garden on one end, the kitchen on the other. It was manned by more red-suited servants, all of whom seemed to be under the authority of a white-clad chef in the European costume. The family was standing, waiting for him, the elder daughter leaning forward on her chair for support. Silver dishes from which emanated rich scents sat covered on a cart, over which the chef stood guard, waiting, Lautens presumed, for him to take his place at the end of the table opposite Adivi.
    When he stood there, Adivi said congenially, “May this be the first of many meals in which my humble family is graced by your presence, Dr. Lautens.” And with a sweep of his arm, Adivi motioned them all to sit. Immediately upon sitting, Lalita hissed short words at one of the dining stewards, who quickly returned with a gleaming tray of silverware and made a quick turn around the table, hastily setting a fork, knife and spoon alongside the dinner plates. Lalita smiled at Lautens apologetically, “You must excuse us, Dr. Lautens. No matter how many times you instruct these servants, they can’t seem to remember simple directions.”
    Alexandre colored, “Please! Don’t apologize.”
    Adivi took up his knife and fork and with that everyone else took their cue also to begin eating. The food was served formally; Adivi and Alexandre were served larger portions of rice and meat. There was a stew of lamb, eggplants stuffed with dry spices, pickled mango in hot oil, puffed breads, lentils and spinach, a clear, red soup of oil and onions eaten with rice.
    For the briefest second, Adivi’s eyes widened, aghast, as his mother ignored the silver utensils in front of her and began eating with her right hand.
    “Amma!” he said, in a barely audible hushed whisper.
    Adivi’s mother looked at him with a look so sharp that Lautens looked down into his plate in a feeble attempt to exclude himself from the tension.
    He noted that the food was markedly milder than the food of the train, and wondered if this had been done in polite concession to his foreign taste buds. The water was poured from stainless steel jugs and its cold, metallic taste reminded Alexandre of sucking on icicles when he was a boy.
    The servant came around with the ghee, warm, clarified butter, ladling small spoonfuls into each diner’s plate, over the rice and curries. Not wanting to appear rude but warned by his friends in Cambridge against the rich excesses of Indian cuisine, Alexandre smiled and waved the servant away as he hovered over Alexandre’s shoulder with a full spoon.
    “What is that?” Kanakadurga