By Saleha Chowdhury
Translated by Sabreena Ahmed

AS SHE prepares to start from home, Mostafa says, ‘Piyali, take an umbrella. It’s raining.’
   She will walk five minutes’ way to reach the bus stop. Then she will get on the train and after that she will have to take another five minute’s walk to reach her office. It is a business firm. The owner is Chandrakanta Patel of Gujrat. Piyali does the works of a secretary, a filing clerk, a receptionist and sometimes even the works of a helper or an assistant. This includes the duties of making tea or coffee. She completes all of her work with care. Her main responsibility is to receive orders on the phone and send things accordingly to the right places. Piyali is one of the numerous working women of London.
   ‘I have it in my bag,’ Piyali replies. She leans out from the doorway and says, ‘Is there any harm to get a little wet? It’s summer time!’
   ‘Aha! That’s why you’re wearing the sky-blue chiffon sari. The cardigan is in the big bag and you haven’t yet put it on. If you get soaked now, you’ll look like Ajanta’s Cave prints. I heard that your boss Chandrakanta Patel is a carnivore.’
   Piyali frowns at him, ‘And what are you? Swami Narayan’s follower – a pure vegetarian?’
   ‘No, I am not. I get limited supplies. Am I as lucky as your Chandrakanta Patel? My office sometimes feels like a synagogue or a chapel. Only two female colleagues are there in the office. You cannot guess one’s age – maybe she is almost 70years old. And another one weighs twelve and a half stone. So, —’
   ‘You don’t have the luck to beat on the side.’
   ‘Not at all. I only have this chunk of flesh standing in front of me. At times she is pure protein and some other times she is not.’
   ‘Stop talking rubbish, will you?’ Piyali knows her husband very well. He can win with his witty talks all the time. But in reality, he is a docile and good-natured gentleman. She says, ‘Do you think that Ajanta’s Cave print doesn’t know how to protect herself?’
   ‘Okay, I agree that you have. But why would you get wet?’
   ‘Do you know how old I am?’ Piyali unfolds the umbrella.
   ‘Yes, you’ll be reaching the age of my grandmother very soon. But Piya, Piya, Piya…the dangerous curves of your body don’t have the littlest sign of my grandma.’
   ‘I have a university going son.’
   ‘But you’re still very attractive.’
   ‘Why don’t you spit it out? You want me to leave that carnivore Chandrakanta Patel’s office and get some other job.’
   ‘But just now, you’ve said that you know the techniques of self-defence like karate specialists.’
   ‘Issh! I’m late already. We have a board meeting today, so I’ll be home late.’
   ‘See you, Piyali.’
   ‘See you, Mostafa.’ She unfolds the umbrella and steps up to the main road. The sky overshadowed with dark clouds.
   The heavy rain sprinkles on her body. Entering the ladies’ room she observes herself in the mirror. She dabs some compact powder and darkens the kajal on her eyes. She is wearing a quarter sleeve blouse and a chiffon sari. She lets the sari face sunlight once or twice a week in summer. Usually she comes to the office in trouser-top, salwar-kameez or long skirt and top. Mostafa had made this Piyari Ali change her name on the first night of their wedding.
   ‘What an ancient name! My wife can’t have such old-fashioned name. As Bhabatarini had become Mrinalini, I turn “Piyari” into “Piyali”.’
   Like her name, she also has a soft and tender diffidence in her nature that pulls everyone to near. Three voluptuous and glamorous girls work in this office under the supervision of Chandrakanta Patel. Mitty and Musty are in charge of supplying orders to houses. They also deliver singing messages to people. Hot and sizzling Emily’s attractive breasts can easily make her a page 3 girl of The Sun. There is also Bhanu of Mauritius and Priyanka of Goa in the office.
   Mr Patel has lunch with all of them and spends special time with Priyanka. She is not like a helpless doe. Instead of climbing the stairs of her career, she has leaned on to Mr Patel’s shoulder to reach the 2nd floor by the elevator. No one can really say what they are up to. Both Priyanka and Mr Patel have flats of their own. Do they have only lunch together in the office? Or is there something more to it? It would also be wrong to think that Mr Patel has not tasted the warmth of Emily. But no one has ever seen any obscene behaviour in the rooms or corridor of the office. Piyali thinks all this while looking at the mirror, a soft and tender woman with a lovely smile. Maybe, today is pay day. Is a bit of Narcissism natural in every human being? Maybe, it is. She gets out of the wash room and goes towards her table. Then she enters Mr Patel’s room.
   He looks at her with a hazy look. He is sitting in a drowsy position and seems not to have any power to win over the opponent with his witty talks.
   ‘Hello, Mr Patel.’
   ‘Hello, Piyali.’
   Chandrakanta’s clear eyesight glistens intensely. He looks at Piyali standing under the neon light. Her body wrapped in a chiffon sari, a touch of kajal on the eyes, lipstick on the lips and the twist and turns of her body.
   ‘You look very pretty today, Piyali.’
   They are conversing mostly in English and Hindi. Mr Patel can speak in half a dozen of languages.
   ‘Will you have some tea or coffee?’ Usually, Emily, Bhanu and Priyanka don’t get to work for another hour.
   ‘Black coffee, Piyali – as deep and dark as your eyes. Ghastly feeling! It’s because of last night’s party. Yesterday was Jibon Mehta’s stag night. I think you’ve seen him.’
   ‘Yes. Full of life, he is.’
   ‘An absolute fool! Or else, who would want to get married nowadays?’
   The smell of coffee has filled the whole room.
   Piyali asks, ‘What’s wrong with getting married?’
   ‘Slavery. I am a dedicated faithful slave. And that “faithful” word I’m very much allergic to. Faithful is a word for dogs and cats but not for men. You’re married, aren’t you?’
   ‘Yes.’
   ‘Giving your heart and life to one man – how many years have you spent like this?’
   ‘24 years.’
   ‘Dead boring.’
   Piyali does not respond to his remark and arranges files.
   Mr Patel asks, ‘Why do you work all the time? Just take the seat in front of me and relax.’
   Piyali sits on the chair. The office has not become alive yet. In half an hour the scenario will change as everyone becomes very busy.
   ‘You Bengalis cook very well. Invite me to your house someday. Don’t make it a weekend.’
   ‘Will you take a half-day’s leave?’
   ‘I will.’ The coffee of his cup spills on the saucer – just like his untamed heart. He does not have to worry about those who come to him whenever he calls or wish to be near him willingly. Today, the wave of this lady in chiffon has shaken him.
   He says, ‘Have lunch with me today.’
   ‘Won’t Priyanka come today?’ asks Piyali.
   ‘Yes, she will. Let me give you a treat for once. You’re seeing the same old face and listening to the same words for 24 years. Look at me for a change. We have been working here for two years and I haven’t noticed that you are also good enough to be given a treat.’ Chandrakanta Patel laughs.
   ‘Thank you. But I don’t want to throw the lunch I’ve brought from home into the bin.’
   ‘Okay then. When are you inviting me to your home? All that stuff you cook! Chocchori, potato with postodana, bori, khichuri, etc. I have lived in the Bengal in my childhood. I still remember those foods with a homely touch. Now I live on the boring meals of the restaurants or takeaway from the shops.’
   ‘I’ll definitely invite you.’ Piyali stands up.
   ‘I’ll be waiting.’
   Piyali gets ready to leave the room and laughs to herself as the last words of Mr Patel echo in her mind, ‘Just a peck on the chest, Piyali, don’t be afraid.’
   It seems that he wanted to tell Piyali – ‘Oh! My lady, you’re also very attractive.’ After that, Piyali’s face loses the last touch of powder of the morning. It bears strong traits of her personality. The 48-year-old Piyali, who has a university-going son, wears her usual serious mask again in Chandrakanta Patel’s office. Today when both of them were alone in the office, Piyali could have asked, ‘Who’ll get the post of Dispatch Clerk?’ or she could have said, ‘I would be delighted to have lunch with you.’ But Piyali did not say that. She was happy to be able to hold her personality.
   When she next enters into Mr Patel’s room to give him a file, she does not forget to wear a cardigan. But Mr. Patel is also an expert businessman. His was able to set up this business in the west end because of his brains. At the tea time of 4 o’clock he acts as if nothing has happened.
   ‘How long have you been here, Piyali?’ he asks while taking the cup in his hand.
   ‘26 years.’
   ‘26 year! And you’ve been working here as a pure clerk?’
   ‘I can understand what you mean.’
   ‘Listen, success never comes the straight way. If you were a bit tactful in the morning, I would’ve looked after your promotion before completing my tenure in this office. An unimaginable success could have been all yours.’
   ‘Aren’t you happy with my work?’
   Mr Patel laughs, ‘A Bengali gentleman will be sitting here in my seat in 7 days. He is nearly 60 years old. A spiritual man who is into meditation and Yoga. I think you feel safe with him.’ He looks into Piyali’s eyes and says, ‘Just loosen up a bit. You don’t have to be so stiff all the time.’
   Jibon Mehta enters the room at that moment. Mr Patel relaxes by placing his feet on to the table and takes out a bottle of wine from the last drawer. Priyanka walks in the room flaunting her hair. Piyali has heard that Emily will accompany Mr Patel to Manchester. He believes the new branch has many positions that Emily can handle well.
   Piyali writes on Chandrakanta’s card, ‘I hope you reach the sky.’ He starts laughing as usual, ‘And I will watch over you from there. I look down upon you.’
   The new boss Subinoy Tripathi is a Calcacian. His character is as bright as the sun. He hardly speaks any word unnecessarily. If someone asks ‘Would you like to have your morning tea now? his answer is monosyllabic: ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.
   One day Piyali asks him while arranging the files of the room, ‘Do you live here alone?’
   ‘Yes.’ He looks at her beautiful face and utters a few more words, ‘It was too late for my own marriage after I had managed to marry off my five sisters. Youth had said goodbye to me by then.’
   This simple statement makes Piyali feel pity for him. As all women feel a certain aching inside them without any specific reason. He reads the Guardian and finishes lunch out of his plastic tiffin box. Chapatti and vegetable curry is the usual menu of his lunch. Perhaps, he cooks them himself. The smell of panchforon spice and black cumin has tickled Piyali’s nostrils quite a few times. What kind of woman would she be if she does not notice these things while making tea for him?
   ‘Don’t you have any of your sisters nearby?’
   ‘They are busy with their own families. Two sisters live in Calcutta and the other three live in the USA.’
   ‘Did you make those chapattis?’
   ‘Yes. I learnt how to cook long ago.’
   ‘Could I make a cup of tea for you?’
   ‘No, get on with your work.’
   Still, Piyali waits a little and then goes out of the room. She enjoys looking out of the window at the life in motion while having her lunch. Then she enters into Mr Tripathi’s room and says, ‘Would you like to have a piece of sandesh? It’s homemade.’
   ‘No, thank you, Mrs Mostafa.’
   Piyali returns to her small office room. Bhanu shares this space with her but he has gone out right now. The sentence ‘Youth said goodbye to me when I had managed to marry off my five sisters.’ Some people’s lives are like this.
   ‘Where do you live?” One day Piyali asks him as she fetches Subinoy Tripathi files from his table.
   ‘In Lewisham.’
   ‘That’s near my place! I live in Heathergreen.’
   The next day Piyali presents herself in front of Tripathi in a chiffon sari. ‘The office will be closed tomorrow as its pay day. What are your plans for tomorrow?’
   Mr Tripathi looks at that Piyali who has ‘loosened up’ the screws of life a bit. He observes her carefully and shifts his eyes to the paper on which he has been working on.
   ‘Could I request you one thing?’
   ‘What request?’ Mr Tripathi answers while scribbling on the paper.
   ‘Tomorrow is a holiday. I invite you to have lunch at my place. It’s a 20 minutes’ drive from your house.’
   ‘Is your husband’s office closed tomorrow at noon?’
   ‘He’ll be at work. But that is no big deal. I can’t invite you to dinner as we have another programme to attend to at night.’
   Piyali’s innocent face is lit up with the radiance of making the bold step of inviting him.
   ‘That means you are telling me to go to your house when your husband will not be at home.’
   She does not get the hint at first. Gradually, her ears turn red in embarrassment when she understands it. ‘You have the same old Chapati and curry every day. Tomorrow you can taste something different for a change.’
   ‘I have brought up five sisters myself and married them off before any scandal could taint their characters. They are all living happily with their husbands.’
   He looks at the simple but attractive Piyali in chiffon. The Piyali who has ‘loosened up’ the nuts and screws of her body before coming to Mr Tripathi, whose face is not pink with powder anymore. It has turned red like her ears instead.
   ‘You’ll get promotion automatically.’
   Piyali sits on her own chair. She says to herself, ‘Are you scared of getting raped in an empty house, mister?’ She did not like Chandrakanta. But is this person with halos round his head any different? Piyali fans herself with a thin file.