Teatime for the Firefly. Shona Patel

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      The roots of my hair felt hot and I could feel my ears redden.

      Nothing intelligent came to my mind. I pulled a sliver of wicker from the ratty old armrest and curled it into a small ball between my fingers. I uncurled the ball and curled it again. I looked up.

      He was watching me as he tapped his unlit cigarette on the arm of the chair. I realized both he and Dadamoshai were waiting for my pearls of wisdom. There were none forthcoming. My head was empty except for Manik Deb floating inside like a trapped balloon. Suddenly I felt uncontrollably crabby.

      “What does Kona say?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. I immediately felt like biting my tongue off. Oh, God! What a faux pas. I was talking of his fiancée as though we were bosom buddies.

      “Who? Oh, Konica.” He looked startled, just for a moment. “Well, I never thought of asking her,” he added, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

      I don’t know what got into me then—whether it was my nervousness, embarrassment, awkwardness or what—but once I got started, my tongue just took off. “Well, you should ask her, then. She is going to be your wife, you know.” I sounded unflatteringly shrill. “Or maybe it does not matter. Kona must be delighted to marry a civil officer, and anxious to boss around servants and have lots of children.” I staggered under the avalanche of my own words and felt sick to my stomach.

      Manik’s eyes popped slightly; his mouth fell open. He did not look very attractive, I noted with satisfaction. He recovered quickly enough, though.

      “Well, Layla, don’t you want to marry a civil officer, boss around servants and have lots of children, too? Is that not every woman’s dream?” Did I detect a hint of sarcasm in his voice? I could not be sure.

      I took a deep breath. I realized this conversation had gone seriously off track and wandered into a dingy and suspicious neighborhood. I felt disgusted with myself.

      “You did not answer my question,” Manik said softly.

      “Which was?” I had lost the thread of the conversation. I recalled only my embarrassment at blurting out things I should not have.

      “What do you want to do with your life, Layla?”

      I watched a dragonfly settle on a dry twig on the jasmine trellis. Its wings quivered slightly, catching a small rainbow of light. What did I want to do with my life? Suddenly I was not so sure anymore.

      “I want to do good for the world,” I said, hoping to sound noble and intelligent, but sounding more like a charity nun. “I don’t think I was ever meant to marry, or to have any children,” I added a little hesitantly. To my dismay, my voice broke. I quickly gathered my emotions. “I would really like to help other women...to carry on Dadamoshai’s work.”

      “You will be a great asset to the Rai Bahadur,” Manik said. “Careful, though, some nice young man does not come along and make you change your mind. That would indeed be a serious loss to womankind.” He smiled like an imp.

      “Oh, Layla is a very determined young woman!” piped in Dadamoshai. He looked at me gently and reached out to push back a strand of hair from my face. “She has made up her mind. Where would one find a man good enough for her, anyway? Most young fellows these days are duffers.”

      Manik tapped open his matchbox, but then changed his mind. He put the cigarette back in the pack, pushed back his chair and stood up. He was suddenly very serious.

      “Duty calls.” He tilted his head toward Kona’s house, looking resigned. “I am expected for dinner.”

      Dadamoshai and I walked with him to the porch. I hated to see him go.

      “Wait!” I said. I lifted my hand to tug his shirtsleeve, and then jerked it back. I felt reckless and out of control.

      “Yes?” Manik’s hands were in his pockets. He leaned back, looking at me curiously, his eyebrows slightly arched.

      “You never told me what you think about women’s education, and how it might change society,” I said.

      I needed to hear it for myself. I had to know Manik Deb was a typical Indian man, a blatant hypocrite. That way I could put him away, once and for all, like a shoe that looked good but did not fit.

      Manik leaned back on the balcony railing and tapped out a cigarette from his pack, lighting it in his cupped palm. He tilted his head back and blew a perfect smoke ring into the air. I noticed a small shaving nick on his chin. I wanted to touch it. He was so close. Again I was embarrassed by my thoughts. I watched the smoke curl from his nose.

      His eyes tightened thoughtfully. “Every human being should have the right to choose,” he said. “I don’t think women have a choice in our society.”

      I was stunned. Why, he sounded exactly like Dadamoshai!

      “For that matter,” Manik continued, “I don’t think men have much of a choice, either. We are pigeonholed by social expectations, but society is more forgiving toward men. Think of it—an unmarried man is a bachelor, and he is eligible till his dying day, but an unmarried woman...well, she becomes a seed pumpkin.”

      A seed pumpkin: the only pumpkin left in the patch. That was what our society called spinsters. Was Manik Deb calling me a seed pumpkin? But I had no need to worry.

      “Unless, of course, she is Layla,” he said, smiling down at me. “You see, Layla, you can have anything you want in the world. You are no flotsam drifting with the tide. You are making choices for yourself and that is enviable. Not many of us have that luxury.”

      “It’s funny,” I said, feeling a burst of joy for no earthly reason at all. “And here I thought you were a very traditional man with stereotypical views.”

      “What made you think I was so typical?” Manik looked surprised and puzzled.

      “You were educated abroad and are going into the civil service, for one. That’s typical for most educated, upper-class Indians, and...” I paused, hesitating.

      “And I am having an arranged marriage?” He took the words right out of my mouth. “I think I understand what you are saying.”

      I had not meant it to sound so crass.

      Manik glanced at his watch and quickly stubbed out his cigarette. “Which reminds me it is getting awfully late. You have no idea how terrified I am of my future mother-in-law.”

      I stood there with Dadamoshai on the porch stairs and watched Manik Deb walk away. In my heart there was a small, sad feeling as though I was missing the last train going someplace mysterious and wonderful.

      CHAPTER 5

      That summer I got to know Manik Deb. Those premonsoon evenings are etched in my mind in the melancholy strokes of an aching heart. Knowing that he could never be mine was, in a way, my release. Gone was the need to impress him with my wit and intelligence. I was free to slip into a more natural version of myself. We became friends. But despite the pleasant evenings we spent together, I was always aware of a wistful sadness that floated softly in the dregs of my being.

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