The Pleasure Seekers by Tishani Doshi Read Free Book Online

Exotic Can You Be?’ Christmas party at the Finchley Road flat, Babo had leaned into Siân while dancing to Otis Redding’s ‘The Dock of the Bay’ and said, ‘Charlie Girl,’ (for he’d taken to calling her that), ‘I hope you know that I love you very much, and that I intend to marry you.’
    Babo was dressed as a prince from the Arabian Nights – moustache and beard grown especially for the occasion, and a proper turban borrowed from a Rajput boy at the hostel. Siân had come as a belly-dancer in billowy red pants and a glittery boob tube with smoky black kohl around her eyes. They made a fine picture: Babo and Siân, starkly contrasting with each other, their features neither blunt nor sharp; their full lips and soft skin.
    For New Year, Fred had invited them to his club in Surrey for a dinner-dance casino night, where Babo made a killing on the one-armed bandit. It was exactly like in his dreams – money spluttering out of the machine, ka-chink ka-chink – except these were only pennies, not enough to buy himself a property in London, but enough to give his travel fund a substantial boost. ‘Well, you can’t stop now, Bob,’ Fred had said, ‘You’ve got to keep going. Maybe move on to Black Jack?’ ‘No, no,’ said Babo hurriedly, collecting the coins and taking them to the exchange counter like a good Gujju boy, ‘I’ve had enough now. I know when to stop.’
    All through the New Year, Siân and Babo made plans for what they would do that summer when Babo was finally free of his Polytechnic classes. They were planning to hitchhike all over Europe, starting with Germany, because Babo had found out through his extensive network of friends at the YMCA that to get the best youth hostel discounts and cheapest train fares, you had to join the German Association. Siân found an old Baedeker’s in a second-hand bookstore, which for a while became their most treasured possession. Babo and Siân spent most weekends canoodling on the couch saying Ich liebe dich to each other, dreaming of all the places they were going to explore together, and how they were going to be changed by these places.
    On the Saturday before the telegram arrived, Babo and Siân bumped into Nat and Lila at the Everyman Theatre in Hampstead at a showing of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? ‘Well, hello, hello,’ said Nat, trundling over and planting his arms around Babo’s neck. ‘You’ve become a stranger to us these past months, Babo, and I can see why,’ he said, looking appreciatively at Siân. ‘Is the lovely lady a work colleague or a college friend?’
    ‘We work together,’ said Siân, extending her hand to Nat and then to Lila. ‘And you are Babo’s cousins?’
    ‘Yes yes, all in the family. So, what are you doing after the film? Why don’t you come over to our house? We are only nearby.’
    ‘OK,’ said Siân, ‘That’s very nice of you to offer,’ even though Babo was squeezing her hand desperately, trying to signal otherwise.
    ‘Didn’t you want your cousins to know about me? Is that what this is about? Am I supposed to be a secret?’
    ‘Of course not,’ said Babo miserably. ‘You just don’t understand. Things are so different in my family. These people are supposed to be my cousins, but they’re just waiting for me to do something wrong. They revel in it – other people’s miseries. Anyway, now they know, so there’s nothing to do but go along with it.’
    ‘Oh, I see. So there’s something “wrong” with me now, is there? Some cause of misery. Tell me exactly what it is, because I can try to rectify it, really.’
    ‘It isn’t that. It’s not about you at all. Well, OK, maybe it is. You see, I’m expected to do certain things as the oldest child of my family, as the son. My parents have huge expectations of me. One of the things I’m expected to do is marry this girl they’ve chosen for me . . .’
    ‘Ah, ah, ah,’ Siân interjected, because Babo had already revealed to her in great