Page 7 of Six Days in Bombay

Chapter 5

I went to take Mira’s temperature the following evening. She was sitting up against her pillows, alert. There was pink in her cheeks and light in her eyes. I was relieved to see her looking so much better. Perhaps Matron had talked to Horace and the morphine supplier had been changed?

Standing by Mira’s bedside was a gentleman in a tailored suit. He was young, around Dr. Mishra’s age, and just an inch or two shorter. His face was all angles—a sharp nose, a pointed chin, jutting cheekbones. The hair on his temples was receding, a sure sign he would go bald at an early age. His warm brown eyes, a ready smile, his relaxed stance—all radiated good humor. A man who was used to being liked.

Mira was laughing at something he’d said. “This is why we need you back in Bombay, Dev. To liven things up.” She gave him a sideways look. “Liven me up.” Their laughter hinted at past intimacies. It embarrassed me, and yet, I couldn’t look away from him, from them.

He kissed her hand.

Mira noticed me, standing in the doorway. “Sona! Come meet a dear friend of mine.” As usual, she held out her hand for me take. “This is Dev Singh, a lovely man when he’s not flirting with anyone but me.”

Dev was good-natured about the dig. He offered me a cheerful smile, revealing perfectly white teeth.

Mira said, “Sona is the most splendid nurse. Don’t you think she’s absolutely gorgeous?”

I must have flushed an unattractive shade of pink.

Dev crossed his arms over his chest, as if he were a scientist, studying me in the lab. I didn’t have the urge to cover myself, feeling as though I’d walked into the room naked, as I had with Dr. Holbrook. “She does have certain charms. The uniform. The cap. And those white shoes. Absolute stunner.”

“Don’t be naughty,” Mira said.

“And she does have a no-nonsense quality about her.” He looked at Mira. “I think she’d tell you when you were out of line. And punish you for it.” He made a motion with his hand as if he were slapping an imaginary cheek. But his smile, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, told me his teasing meant no harm. I didn’t want to, but I smiled, enjoying his attention.

“And she’d be right.”

We turned to see who’d spoken. Dr. Mishra entered the room.

“Amit!” Dev walked around the bed to shake Dr. Mishra’s hand heartily. “I heard you were working at this hospital. How are you, old bean?”

Dr. Mishra smiled at Dev, but his eyes were guarded.

Dev said, “Mrs. Mehta told me you were at this hospital now. The Mehtas have known our family for ages. And she also told me…” He glanced at Mira. “That a certain celebrated painter was in your midst—someone whom I’ve actually had the pleasure of knowing once or twice.”

“Twice, if I remember correctly.” Mira laughed, wagging her head in imitation of Indians.

Dev grinned and shook a finger at her.

I felt as if I’d walked in on a private party with the glamorous threesome. I released Mira’s hand. “I should go,” I said vaguely and took a few steps toward to door.

“Come, come, Nurse Sona,” Dev said, ushering me back into the room with a wave of his arm. I could tell he was the kind of man who was used to getting his way. “Can’t you see the good Dr. Mishra would prefer you stay?”

Startled, I glanced at Dr. Mishra, who had turned a shade darker. His eyes were fixed on the floor.

Dev continued, “Let me tell you something about this fine fellow.”

Dr. Mishra waved his hands in front of him. “There’s no need, Dev. Nurse Falstaff, please see to your patients.”

“Let her stay. Please,” said Mira, who’d been enjoying the banter. “Just for a little while. I want to know more about my doctor too.”

Dr. Mishra shrugged. I stayed.

“We were at Oxford together. Amit always had top marks. I could have, of course, but I was busy chasing the pretty ladies.” He winked at Mira. “Bloody thing was, he had no one to answer to. No family. Big inheritance. He should have been out there crowing like a rooster. Whereas I—” Dev pointed to himself “—have always had to answer to everyone. My parents. The bride they’d choose for me. Even the driver who brought me here.”

Dr. Mishra grinned. “And yet, you still crowed like a rooster.”

Dev put a hand to his heart. “Pure gold is unaffected by a flame.”

I wondered about men—and women—who mixed this easily and intimately with people. I couldn’t imagine myself doing it, much less talking to others so glibly. What would it be like to be one of them?

Dev put his hands in his pants pockets. “So, I was just telling Mira here that my parents are having an engagement party for me.”

Dr. Mishra’s face lit up. “Congratulations, Dev. Is that why you’re in Bombay? Your parents have arranged a wedding?”

“To a beautiful woman from Jaipur. Her name is Gayatri Kaur. I’ve seen her photo, but I haven’t met her. I will tonight. She looks formidable, much like our young nurse here.”

Something made me bold. I arched an eyebrow. “If I am as formidable as you claim, I would have told you to leave so I could take Miss Novak’s temperature.”

Dev held his hands up in surrender. “Oh-ho! I stand corrected. Perhaps Nurse Falstaff is the more daunting one.” He laughed heartily. It seemed as if nothing could ever roust him from that cheerful disposition. He rubbed his hands together. “So it’s all settled. Mishra is coming to the party tomorrow.”

“And Sona will accompany him.” Mira grinned, looking from me to her doctor.

I almost dropped the thermometer. “What? No—I have to work.” I turned to Dr. Mishra. “Don’t you , Doctor?”

He nodded. “Can’t go I’m afraid.”

“Look at the two of you. Made for each other.” Dev laughed. “Mrs. Mehta promised me she will sort out that scheduling business. She said she owed you, Nurse.” He pointed his finger at Dr. Mishra and me. “You are both coming.” He turned to Mira. “And you, my dear, will come too. Now that you’re feeling better. You know the head of Bombay Talkies will be there.”

Mira’s eyes widened. “Devika Rani?”

“In the flesh.”

The painter clapped her hands. “I’m dying to meet her. Perhaps she’ll want to do a film about my women—the women of South India. Oh, wouldn’t that be capital?”

Dev looked at Dr. Mishra. “So we’re good?”

Dr. Mishra started to object. “I haven’t discharged Miss Novak. We need to see—”

“Look behind you,” Mira said, pleased. “Filip brought my bag because I’m walking out of here tomorrow. I told him I’ve never felt better.”

We turned around. A brown leather case sat at the foot of the bed. I sighed with relief. Mira was feeling better! She would go back to what she loved best—painting.

The doctor was deep in thought. Perhaps Mira’s good turn had taken him by surprise. Or perhaps he was worried about tomorrow night? Who would take over his shift at the hospital?

Mira clapped her hands. “I can’t wait. It’s been forever since I’ve been to a party! Sona, you can help me pick out a dress!”

Dev kissed her hand once again. “It will be a big do. Everyone who is anyone in Bombay will be there. Most of them are my parents’ friends, business colleagues, relatives, aunties and so on—so it will be nice to see your familiar faces in the crowd. Until then, Mira-ji, Amit-ji.” He patted Amit on the shoulder. “And Nurse Sona.” He leaned toward me with a theatrical whisper. “And if this one doesn’t claim you, I guarantee there will be others who will. That’s what engagement parties are for.” He made a rolling gesture with his hand and bowed to the room.

As he left, I felt a current of energy leave with him. What a presence that man had! I looked at Mira, who was glowing. While Dr. Mishra checked her chart, I took the thermometer out of my apron and put it under Mira’s tongue.

98.6. Normal.

Mira grinned. “So I’m good to leave, correct?”

Dr. Mishra said, “You could leave tomorrow, but I don’t recommend it. You’re stable now, but we should have you here for another day or two to be sure. Your body underwent a great ordeal just five days ago.”

Mira gave him her most charming smile. “I’ll be fine, Doctor. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

That was what Dr. Stoddard always said. My heartbeat skipped. In his case, I always took it as a joke between us. Mira’s words felt more like a pronouncement.

Dr. Mishra frowned, but Mira could not be persuaded to extend her stay. “And, Sona, come to my apartment tomorrow afternoon. We’ll have such fun with the dresses!”

She looked so incredibly happy. How could I say no?

Dr. Mishra left after signing off on Mira’s chart and telling her we would all miss her at the hospital. He and I avoided looking at each other for the remainder of the night shift.

***

Over dinner with my mother, my news was all about Dev Singh. What he looked like, how he was with Mira, how she was with him. “If I hadn’t been in the room, Mum, they might have climbed on top of one another,” I told her. I’d pretended to be blasé about it, but I’d only ever read about things like that in Saraswati Magazine.

“Looks to me like you have a crush on this Mr. Singh.”

I laughed. “No, Mum. He’s fun to be around, but he’s too fast for me. I don’t know how this new wife of his is going to handle his flirtations. He was even making eyes at the sink in the room.”

My mother cleared the table, laughing.

I turned in my chair to look at her. “Oh, and Mr. Singh has come from Oxford—that’s where he and Dr. Mishra went to university—to announce his engagement to a Miss Gayatri Kaur. He said she is very beautiful, but he’s only seen a photo of her. It’s going to be a big party tonight. Devika Rani will be there, along with other film stars. Mira is going. Dr. Mishra is going. I’ve been invited too—” I stopped. How selfish of me to go on about a party my mother wouldn’t be attending. I shook my head. “But I’m not planning to go, Mum. I don’t know any of those people.”

“Of course you’re going to go! How often do you get invited to these kinds of things? It would be insulting not to go after being asked by the intended groom, Sona. Come, let’s see what we can do as far as a dress for you.”

I was relieved. She didn’t sound peeved in the least. But the thought of going was making my stomach hurt. Meeting new people had never been comfortable for me. At the hospital, my position gave me excellent cover. My patients needed to know someone was in charge, and I could be outgoing in the service of nursing them back to health. They never suspected that I’d rather have been sitting in a corner chair with my nose in a book.

My mother was now rummaging inside her treasure chest. I heard her say, “Ah-ha!” She came back with a emerald silk sari bordered in gold zari .

“Mum, where did you get that? It’s capital! I’ve never seen you wear it.”

She waited till I’d cleared the table to lay the sari on top. Smoothing her hand over the soft material, she said, “I’ve never worn it. I thought I would when your father and I married.” She sighed. I rubbed her arm and we were quiet for a while.

She unfolded the fabric. “ Accha . I know you’re not keen on wearing a sari, so we’re going to turn this into a dress that will make people stop and take notice.” She looked at my chest. “We’re even going to show some cleavage.”

“Mum! What’s gotten into you? It’s just a party. I can wear any old dress. And that’s such an expensive sari. Why would you want to cut it up?”

Her face was stern. “No, you can’t wear any old dress, Sona. I won’t have my daughter show up at the party of the year looking like a beggar. We’re going to do this properly.” She held the fabric up to my shoulder, then at my waist. She played at pleating it, gathering the skirt, raising and lowering it against my chest. She didn’t use a measuring tape; she knew my measurements by heart since she had always sewn all my clothes. After making a few rough sketches, she reworked the details on one of them. She nodded once, having made up her mind. I watched as she took her large shears to the fabric, slicing the silk.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I’d never been a talented seamstress. For my mother, I’d hand-stitched the odd hem or purchased the supplies she needed and delivered the finished garments.

She looked at me thoughtfully. “You can pluck some of those flowers from the red silk cotton tree. Those will contrast nicely with your hair.”

“I’ll do it on the way back from Mira’s apartment. Did I tell you she was released today? She’s doing so much better. She asked me to help her pick out a dress.” I grinned slyly at my mother. “Would you recommend we look for something that shows her cleavage too?”

“Cheeky bugger,” my mother said, hiding her smile.

***

Mira and Filip lived in one of the Art Deco buildings on Marine Drive along the Back Bay. I’d seen these tony flats advertised in the newspaper—along with adverts for steel furniture from the Army & Navy Stores, radios, modern floor tiles. An exhibition of Ideal Homes this year promised the likes of Dev Singh a lifestyle enhanced by aluminum pots and pans, gas refrigerators and sleek toilets.

I pressed the button for Mira’s apartment. A buzz and a click later, I was walking up the stairs to the fourth floor. She opened the door in a bathrobe. Her hair was freshly washed and her skin dewy. I was so used to seeing her in a hospital bed that I almost didn’t recognize her. She pulled me inside and extended her arms. “What do you think?”

I looked around at the chic sofa and chairs, the steel light fixtures and geometrically patterned tile—so much like the advertising I’d seen. “Like it belongs in The Thin Man !” I said. At the Eros Cinema, not far from here, I’d fallen in love with the charming couple Myrna Loy and William Powell, as they drank martinis and solved crimes in New York City. Their flat in the movie could have been the model for Mira’s.

Without offering me anything to drink or eat (perhaps that was only an Indian custom?), Mira went to her bedroom and pointed at the bed. There, she’d laid out four dresses. “I’ll wear whichever one you choose.”

I touched the fabric of the one closest to me. It was a rich hazelnut satin with puffed sleeves and an empire bodice. Next: an ivory silk crepe with a high round neckline and butterfly sleeves that would sway gracefully with the wearer’s every move. I couldn’t keep from smoothing my palm on the Grecian cowl neckline of the one with a flowing satin skirt. The last dress took my breath away. “This one,” I said, lifting it from the bed and holding it against Mira’s small frame. It was a shimmery peach satin. The halter top left the back exposed all the way down to the waist where a bias skirt skimmed the hips.

Mira pursed her lips. “You don’t think it will make me look too flat? I’ve lost so much weight in the hospital. Morphine really takes away your appetite.”

I smiled. “That’s precisely the point. This dress is made for your build the way it is now.” I checked my watch. I needed to rush home and get fitted for the dress my mother was sewing for me.

“Pick a dress for yourself. I mean—I don’t mean it as charity.” Mira gave me an uncertain smile. “Just that it would please me to see you wear it.”

Normally, I might have taken exception to such welfare, but I knew Mira meant well, so I smiled. “As far as that goes, my mother has a surprise for me and you.”

Mira sat on the satin bench at the foot of her bed and regarded me for a moment. It was as if she were looking right through me. “Sona, your life will be as big as you allow it to be. You will have memories rich and deep enough to fill the hollowness in here.” She rubbed a circle on her sternum.

I sucked in a breath. She was doing that thing she did, forcing me open, searching for more. I felt as if I always fell short of her expectations.

“Not all of us are you, ma’am.”

She rose from the bench and came to stand in front of me. With the flat of her hand, she rubbed a circle on my sternum and left it there. “I want big things for you, Sona. You do too. It’s all in here and out there. Go find it.”

I understood that she was encouraging me to explore the world, see things I’d never imagined, as she had. But…she’d had a privileged upbringing. Didn’t she stop to wonder how someone like me could do that? Where was I supposed to go? With what money? My father’s guilt fund? I could never bring myself to do that. As tempting as it sounded, the practical side of me, the one that didn’t want to waste time powdering my face, recoiled. Why give me hope when I had no way to realize it?

I stepped around her. “If I don’t leave now, my mother will be cross. Will you be alright?” It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen her husband. “Where is Mr. Bartos?”

Her eyes strayed to the dresses on the bed. She began to put the ones she wasn’t going to wear back in her mirrored wardrobe. “Out and about. Goodness knows where. He’ll be there tonight though. He may have gone to get his shoes polished.”

***