Prakash’s birthday. Shiv and I persuaded him to come out and celebrate with us, so we whizzed round on motorbikes to Rani Vilas, a garden restaurant on the far side of Fateh Sagar. Dimly-lit, and male-dominated, it buzzes with disrepute. The food was cheap and cheerful, and we ordered a banquet of meat dishes, veg dishes, eggs, rice and naan, washed down with Kingfishers. Shiv, ever the dutiful Brahmin, stuck to the veg and drank Fanta.
Prakash gave me a lift back to Vikas Samiti and we stopped at a juice bar en route, where he proposed that we take it in turn to list each other’s faults. I am beginning to see this character-flagellation in the name of self-improvement as a typical Indian pastime as my services have already been enlisted several times in this direction.
“Well,” I said, rather embarrassed after two attempts at demurral, “I think you’re great - intelligent, really interesting, but also very kind. And good fun, as well. Maybe... I don’t know how to put this. I think you can be quite shy, particularly with girls. I think this might be a problem in your romantic life?”
“Yes, you’re right, “ he said, as if he had been expecting this. “This is a problem for me. What about my other faults?”
“I can’t think of any right now. I’m sure you’ve got some more! What about me?”
“Actually, Jon, I think you’re a very great person.”
“Oh come on, tell me!”
“Well, I can say one thing. It is a small thing, but...”
“Arre! Sach bolo!”
“Well, this is it: when you come into the library at Vikas Samiti, you wander around like you’re totally lost. You’re looking like an idiot, actually.”
So he’d noticed. With unnerving precision he had located the symptom of my vice without, I trust, discerning its meaning. The truth is that I fancy someone in there. I choose my words deliberately, and “fancy”, with its connotations of teenage awkwardness and shy glances across a crowded classroom, is the right one in these circumstances. The object of my fancies is tall and slender with absurdly pale skin. It is the skin, far paler than mine, that marks him out and makes him the unlikely protagonist in my private melodrama. My natural inclination is towards the olive-, caramel- or chocolate-complexioned, but somehow this cream-faced enigma has defied these odds on his way into my daydreams. How exactly he has done this I am not quite sure, but I think I am responsible for most of the legwork. From the scant evidence presented by his attractive and unusual face, I have inferred that he is clever, charming, sophisticated and kind. Above all, I imagine him to be a little lonely and troubled - not enough to be a head case, but enough to make him a deeply sensitive and poetic soul.
I have never seen him outside the library - I imagine he must be a student of some kind, although he looks a little older than me - and every time I go in there, I involuntarily scan the tables for him. This, in Prakash’s eyes, is my lost idiot act and my major fault. I would love to approach him, but I have absolutely no idea what I would say. In the sepulchral quiet of the library the whole thing could be horribly embarrassing. So, for the time being, silent worship is the only thing on the cards.
Next Post - Tuesday 9th January 2007: Udaipur (will be posted Monday 9th January 2012)
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