Agra, 2010
Every time Sennen admired her curtains she couldn’t help but remember Kafir. He was very handsome and his courteous nature and charm were very attractive. If she wanted a man, he was certainly the type she would go for but a man was the last thing she wanted. She was happy as she was.
This morning she was going down to the market to buy some trims and tape for a set of curtains she was making for a new client. She picked up her cotton shoulder-bag, threw a shawl over her shoulder and let herself out of her room.
She wondered if she should knock to see if Tanvi needed anything brought in, then decided against it. It was early and Tanvi liked a lie-in.
Sennen stepped out into the heat of the morning sun. The market was already set up and looked fresh and inviting in the shimmering haze. She stepped off the uneven kerb and walked into the heart of the stalls. A couple of blond dogs with curly tails trotted behind her. They walked as if doing dressage; slightly sideways, crossing their back paws with each step. She addressed them. ‘Good morning, girls, and how are your puppies today?’ The smaller dog with long nipples looked at her with expressive eyes. ‘Hungry? Shall I get you something? Come on, then.’
The dogs followed Sennen, as they did most mornings, to a busy stall selling pouches of pet food.
‘Namaste,’ the young man behind the wooden crates greeted her. ‘More food for the dogs? Every day you feed them. You are their mother.’ He smiled his toothy grin.
‘Namaste.’ She put her hands together and nodded her head in respect. ‘I can’t let them go hungry. Not with their puppies.’ She reached for her purse as he handed her the usual four pouches of food.
‘Chicken chunks in gravy. Very delicious.’ He laughed and licked his lips.
‘Their favourite. Thank you.’ The dogs scampered off behind the stall into the shade and she followed. There was a sheet of tattered canvas hanging from a wall by two nails. The two dogs immediately wriggled inside their shabby home where Sennen could hear the puppies whining. She knelt down and lifted the canvas.
‘Here you are, then.’ She opened the pouches and the dogs waited patiently as she emptied the food into two plastic bowls that she had put down weeks ago. ‘There now. Dinner is served.’ She ruffled their ears as they tucked in, and counted the bundle of puppies mewling in the dark recess of their home. All six were still there. ‘See you tomorrow, girls.’
She replaced the canvas flap and stood up. First job of the day accomplished.
She walked back into the market and on through the teeming tide of shoppers who were pushing each other along or swerving to avoid those who had stopped to inspect a display of green beans, ripe tomatoes, mangoes or herbs.
Women in jewel-coloured saris, men in white shirts, ill-fitting trousers and dusty sandals, children laughing and twisting amongst familiar legs. This was her place.
Turning left, leaving the human river behind, she entered a more shaded, cooler part of the market. It was less busy and all the nicer for it. Here there were proper shops with solid walls and shuttered fronts. It was the haberdashery quarter of Agra.
Several of the shopkeepers greeted her by name. She stopped to swap pleasantries but headed on, knowing exactly where she wanted to be. And there it was.
‘Namaste, Mr Kuranam.’
The proprietor, rotund and serious, looked up, smiled and clasped his hands to his belly. ‘Namaste. You have come. I am keeping some very special fabric for you.’
‘Did it arrive?’ she asked excitedly.
He wobbled his head. ‘From Jaipur. It is the very best. Let me show you.’
He walked into the murky depths of the shop, past the shelves bulging with bolts of exotic fabrics. She followed him.
He pulled out a large roll and thumped it down on his cutting table. The noise was muted, absorbed by the density of material around them. He unrolled it with pride. ‘Look.’ He rubbed the end between his fingers. ‘Pure cotton and linen.’
She did the same, but knew not to look too impressed. ‘How much?’
‘I give you very good price.’ He wobbled his head and smiled. ‘Very good.’
‘Mr Kuranam, you know I am a poor woman.’
He laughed. ‘But the lady you are making these curtains for is a rich woman.’
‘But if I charge her too much, she won’t use me any more and I will be poorer still.’ She grinned. ‘And I won’t be able to be your best customer.’
‘Oh, Miss Sennen, you are naughty lady. Let me think.’ He took a pencil from the pocket of his immaculately ironed shirt. ‘How many metres?’
An enjoyable amount of bartering ensued, during which he tried to persuade her to buy several metres of Black Watch tartan – ‘Queen Victoria’s favourite’ – but Sennen stuck with her original purchase and got him to throw in thread, lining and tape.
Mr Kuranam made a huge show of flapping open a large carrier bag and putting everything inside. ‘You will never make me rich, Miss Sennen.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she laughed, momentarily losing concentration as she backed out of the shop. ‘See you soon.’ She fell, catching her foot awkwardly and falling hard on her left hip and elbow.
Mr Kuranam moved to comfort her. ‘Come. Sit in my shop. A glass of water? Are you hurt?’
Sennen took his helping arm and checked herself over. ‘I’m fine. A bit bruised, probably, but I’m fine. Thank you.’
‘Would you like a chai? There is the café on the corner.’
She recollected seeing it. ‘Yes, I think that would be a good idea.’
He insisted on helping her cross the road and finding her a seat in the shade. In rapid Indian he ordered and paid for a chai.
‘You will be okay now. Just the ticket?’
Sennen gave a small laugh. She loved the way many Indians still used British idioms. ‘Yes. Just the ticket. Thank you, Mr Kuranam.’
When he was satisfied that she was absolutely fine, and distracted because there were two potential customers hovering by his shop, he left her to her chai.
Her hip was rather sore but undamaged, she was certain. She lifted her sleeve and checked her elbow. The skin was scuffed and a small bruise was blooming, but otherwise there was nothing to write home about. She pulled her sleeve down and picked up her drink.
‘Good morning,’ said a vaguely familiar voice.
She looked up. Standing with the sun against his back, forming a golden halo around his head, was Kafir.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Are you okay? I saw you looking at your elbow.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing – I fell out of a shop. Literally. But I’m fine.’
‘Would you like to have it checked with the doctor?’
‘Absolutely not. Chai is the best medicine.’ She held her cup up to show him.
‘May I join you?’ he asked. ‘I was wondering if I would see you today – I am on my way to visit Auntie.’
‘What a coincidence.’ She smiled, moving her large carrier bag from the empty chair beside her. He shouted an order for lemonade and sat down.
‘You are up early,’ he said.
‘It’s a habit now. I can’t sleep in. It gives me a headache.’
‘Me too. But it means I go to bed too early. I am not much of a night owl.’
‘Me neither.’
Kafir’s lemonade arrived and, as he took a sip, she took a sly glance at him. Today he was wearing a pale blue turban, navy polo shirt and chinos. His dark beard framed his lips and accentuated their fullness. He was lovely. ‘So, what have you been buying?’ he asked, putting his glass back into its china saucer with a clatter.
‘Buying more curtain fabric, but for a client this time.’
‘May I see?’
Sennen opened the bag and he peered in. ‘Not my cup of tea,’ he said.
‘Nor mine. A bit too overpowering.’
‘You know that Auntie says I need new curtains?’
‘But you don’t think so?’
‘I didn’t, until I saw how nice yours looked the other evening.’
‘Well, if ever you need some, I’d be happy to do them for you. Mates rates.’
‘Mates rates? Lovely jubbly. That’s funny. Do you like that comedy programme?’
‘Only Fools and Horses? Gosh, I haven’t seen it for years but my father adored it.’
‘Do you remember the one where the man falls through the bar? It is very funny.’
She laughed ‘Oh yes! David Jason. He’s a Sir now.’
‘The Queen knighted him? She must like the programme too.’
‘I can imagine her and the corgis sitting down to watch it, can’t you, gin and tonic in one hand.’
‘Crown in the other.’ Kafir laughed louder.
‘Are you a royalist?’ Sennen asked.
‘Not really, but there is something very charming and old-fashioned about them, don’t you think?’
‘They aren’t my thing.’ Sennen stirred her chai.
‘Auntie loves them.’
Sennen exhaled loudly. ‘Don’t I know it. I’ve seen her commemorative plates.’
‘You are honoured.’
‘So you are on your way to see her now?’
He looked surprised, as if he had forgotten, ‘Ah yes! I shall walk you there, if you would like the company.’
She had never walked through the market with a man before. Handsome or otherwise. Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed as if, walking together, they drew respectful glances from the passers-by. Women certainly noticed him and she wondered if, when they slid their eyes to her, it was in admiration, envy or surprise that she could walk with such a man.
As he talked by her side, she felt different. Taller. Prettier. She listened to his stories of growing up on this street and the history behind some of the older buildings. She hung on to all that he said and tucked them carefully away in a new box in her brain, to bring out and lovingly examine later.
Finally, they got to her building and they walked up the stairs to her landing. ‘Let me put your bag in your room, and then I shall take up no more of your time.’
She fumbled for her key in her bag and he gently took it from her and unlocked her door. ‘Where would you like your shopping?’
‘Just there. On the floor. Thanks.’
He gave her her key and they said goodbye.
She watched him cross the wooden floor to Tanvi’s room opposite.
His long, lean, elegant body bewitched her.
‘Bye,’ she said.
He turned and smiled at her. ‘Bye.’ Then he knocked at Tanvi’s door and Sennen closed hers.
She couldn’t wait for chai at Tanvi’s the following Wednesday, but Tanvi didn’t mention him and Sennen’s natural reticence made it impossible to ask.
She found herself not leaving the house too often or for too long, in case he came calling. At least, it meant that she finished making the new curtains quickly, much to her client’s happiness.
She thought about Kafir most of the time and was irritated that she knew so little about him. He was an economics graduate and a teacher, but where did he live? And, the stomach-churning question, did he have a girlfriend?
A month passed. She continued her weekly routine of chai with Tanvi, cooked a small dinner party for a few of the house residents and fed the stray dogs and growing puppies who were almost weaned. Of Kafir, though, there was nothing.
It was Tanvi who eventually brought him up. ‘Kafir has been asking after you.’
Sennen’s grip on the kettle almost slipped. ‘Oh yes?’ she said carefully.
‘I have been telling him for weeks to ask you about his curtains but he is too shy.’
‘Oh.’ Sennen couldn’t hide her disappointment.
Tanvi looked very put out. ‘Don’t you want the work?’
‘I do.’
‘Are you too busy?’
‘No.’
‘Then I shall tell him we are coming over to measure up.’
Sennen was nervous. ‘When?’
‘This afternoon. It’s perfect. Wednesday’s are his afternoon off.’
Sennen was again alert, ‘Oh. I didn’t know teachers have half-days.’
‘Not normally. He’s a part-time teacher.’ Tanvi shook her head. ‘He also works with children who have suffered emotional trauma.’
‘Oh.’ Sennen was surprised. ‘Like a therapist?’
‘A very good one,’ Tanvi said with pride.
‘Yes, I would think so,’ said Sennen, her brain reordering and shifting all the mental files she had on him. She pictured him surrounded by smiling children, so grateful for his ministry. She smoothed her hair and smiled to herself.
Tanvi’s hawk eyes caught her. ‘Does that make him attractive to you?’
Sennen’s cheeks burned and she answered primly, ‘No. Not that he’s not handsome, I mean, but it’s an attractive quality in a man … to like children.’
‘Ah yes.’ Tanvi gave Sennen a knowing look. ‘He would make an excellent husband and father.’
Sennen tutted. ‘Don’t start that again.’
‘Start what?’ Tanvi was all innocence.
‘You know.’
They took a tuk-tuk to Kafir’s home, which was a little out of the city on the road to Mangaleshwar Temple. Sennen didn’t take tuk-tuks very often due to the cost and also because she enjoyed walking, but this trip with Tanvi was a treat. Sitting on the narrow back seat, pressed against her friend, with the breeze whipping her hair, she delighted in the exhilaration. The driver, she hoped highly skilled, sped through narrow gaps in the traffic that made her hold her breath and squeeze her eyes shut. He stopped for nothing, his thumb firmly pressed on the horn.
Hanging from his rear-view mirror and across the sun visor he had secured bright pink tinsel and golden tassels. Sennen remembered the fairs in the green fields of Trevay, the spinning lights and gaily painted carousel horses. All she needed to complete the picture was to have the driver shout, ‘Hold on tight, here we go!’
‘I’m loving this,’ she shouted to Tanvi. ‘So much fun.’
Tanvi patted Sennen’s knee. ‘You are too easily pleased.’
At last they pulled up in a quiet street dotted with small bungalows.
‘This is Kafir’s. Ignore his décor. You can work on that later,’ said Tanvi climbing the two shallow steps to the verandah.
Sennen had butterflies waking in her stomach. What was she doing? Would he think her a stalker?
Tanvi knocked loudly, her tiny fist belying its power.
Sennen was ready to turn and flee when Kafir opened the door.
‘Auntie.’ He opened his arms, his face wreathed in smiles and hugged her. ‘What a surprise.’ He looked over Tanvi’s shoulder and saw Sennen. She thought she saw his smile drop just for a split second, then he said, ‘And Sennen. Welcome to my humble home.’
But it was humble only in so much as it was uncluttered. He led them through a small hall and into a simple sitting room with shuttered windows, two inviting rattan chairs, a table and a door opening onto a courtyard which was filled with pots of exotic fruit trees, flowering plants and herbs. In the sunshine there was a wicker lounger, with an open book lying beside it, and an empty glass.
‘We’ve interrupted you,’ said Sennen apologetically.
‘Not at all. Let me make you a drink. I have Coca Cola which Auntie does not approve of but I love. Would you like one?’
‘I would love one.’ She smiled.
‘And you, Auntie?’ he said.
‘Do you have 7 Up?’
‘I do.’
‘Then I shall have that.’
‘It is as bad as Coca Cola. Tut tut,’ he said, as a parent might to a toddler. ‘Are you sure?’
‘It is less trouble for you than to find teacups.’
‘That is very thoughtful.’ He looked at Sennen, bringing her in on the joke. ‘Make yourselves comfortable and I will bring the drinks and then you can tell me why you are here.’
He was an easy host, making his guests feel comfortable and important. He asked after Sennen’s sore hip and elbow and Tanvi berated them both for not telling her about the fall and their meeting. He talked a little about his work and how few resources or desires there were to help children with their mental health. ‘The point is,’ he concluded, ‘none of us is perfect. We are all a little mad. And we all need a little help at times.’ He looked at Tanvi. ‘Except my auntie. She is perfect and is right about everything, isn’t that so, Auntie?’
‘I’m glad you see that.’ She nodded. ‘Which is why I have brought Sennen to your home. She will make you new curtains.’
‘I have shutters,’ he said.
‘They don’t keep the heat in when it’s cold.’
‘Hello, this is India,’ he said.
‘You need curtains.’ She folded her arms and stared at him.
He looked at Sennen. ‘Apparently, I need curtains. What would you suggest?’
‘I like your shutters.’
‘He needs curtains,’ said Tanvi obstinately.
‘Well …’ Sennen thought, then, ‘A light muslin perhaps? To diffuse the light?’
‘Perfect,’ agreed Tanvi. ‘And what about chair covers?’
‘I don’t do upholstery.’
‘Cushions, then?’ Tanvi insisted.
‘Erm …’ Sennen glanced at Kafir for help. ‘Do you want cushions?’
‘No, but I would like a rug.’
‘I’m not an interior designer.’ Sennen was embarrassed. ‘I just make curtains.’
‘But your flat is so lovely,’ Tanvi interjected. ‘Isn’t it, Kafir.’
‘I remember it being very charming and welcoming.’ He thought back. ‘The curtains were good and your balcony very pretty.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sennen.
‘So, Saturday morning early you will go shopping for curtains and a rug,’ Tanvi declared. ‘I’m glad that is settled.’
‘Is it?’ laughed Kafir. ‘Sennen may have plans of her own.’
Tanvi sniffed. ‘Believe me, she has nothing else to do.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Sennen, ‘I do have a life.’
‘So tell me?’ Tanvi challenged her. ‘What are you doing on Saturday?’
‘As it happens,’ Sennen said, ‘I am free this Saturday.’
Tanvi looked Kafir in triumph. ‘You see? Auntie is always right.’
At dawn the next day, Sennen watched as the sun crept over the wall of her balcony. She had lain in bed for hours, thinking about Kafir and how happy she was to be spending the morning with him. Of course, she told herself, he wouldn’t be thinking the same. He was doing what his auntie expected of him and he was too kind to refuse her. He was not interested in her romantically. Why would he be? A thirty-four-year-old spinster who could sew curtains was hardly a great catch. But he had smiled at her while he’d been teasing Tanvi and been so attentive when he had walked her home through the market that time.
She threw back her sheet angrily. ‘I am just the person who is making him curtains he doesn’t want, and helping him choose a rug I know nothing about.’ She swung her legs onto the floor. ‘Now get up and shut up.’
She went to the bathroom on the landing that she shared with Tanvi. She showered and washed her hair, pinching some of Tanvi’s excellent conditioning hair oil.
Back in her room she sat on her balcony, with tea, bread and jam, brushing her hair dry until it gleamed. It was past her shoulder blades now with flecks of grey at the temples, just as her mother’s had been when she was a child. She stopped brushing and caught her breath. What were her parents doing right now? She looked over at her clock. They were about four and a half hours behind so it would be the middle of the night for them. They’d be in bed, slumbering peacefully next to each other. Then she thought of her children.
Henry would be almost nineteen, now. Probably at university. Maybe studying art. As a toddler he had always loved painting with her and Adela. She wondered if she would recognise the loving little boy who was now a man.
And Ella? She was seventeen, the age when Sennen had already run away. What had her parents told them about her? Had they heard all the little stories of her as young girl? Did they think of her fondly? She closed her eyes and sent fervent waves of love to them all. ‘Stay safe. Please stay safe.’
She heard a dog bark below. There were her two little canine friends promenading with their puppies, teaching them where best to scavenge for food. She called to them and they looked up. She dropped several pieces of her breakfast bread down and watched as they tussled for them before sauntering off, tails up and curly.