IN AN INDIAN HOME

By SUZANNE MARYE

NOT long ago I received an invitation from a girl friend to come and pass some days with her and her people. As I knew her fairly well and rather liked her, I accepted the kindly offer with thanks.

Like most Indians, my hosts were charming. They tried to give me as good a time as they could. They took me to cinemas, theatres, excursions, without stop or cease. They were spending quite a lot of money to entertain me. Yet, to tell the truth, I was not enjoying my visit. My tribula- tions started from the very first morning. I had asked the previous night: " What time is breakfast?" " Don't you trouble about it," said my friend. " Any time that suits you will suit us. You have just to clap your hands three times and the maid will bring it up for you."

This sounded just perfect, but in the morning it proved disastrous. I woke up around eight, and clapped my bands thrice. Then I lay back, awaiting the arrival of the breakfast-tray. It didn't come. Well, I clapped my hands again, a little more loudly. No response of any kind. Perhaps it is too early, I said to myself, and tried to loll a little longer in the bed. Then I consulted my watch. Nine o'clock. Once more I clapped my hands. In vain. Maybe they are expecting me downstairs, I reflected. So, having hastily dressed, I made my way up into the dining-room. It was completely deserted. There was not even a cloth on the table. I went into the drawing-room. Only the family cat lay purring on a plush chair. Seeing me, she raised her head and uttered something quite impolite.

I returned to my room, and began to listen for voices. Not a sound, except the mad chirping of sparrows in the trees. I sat down at the table, and wrote a letter or two. Then, seeing that there was no way to make my presence felt, and badly wanting a cup of tea, I descended again and took to perambulating in the compound. The cat was there. I tried to caress her, but she sneezed in my face and rushed off, as though she was unused to human society. At last, when I had given up all hope of breakfast, my friend appeared, smiling in her usual pretty way. " Already up!" she cried. " We thought you Europeans slept until at least eleven. Well, your breakfast has been sent up. Do go and eat it or it will get cold."

I hurried back to my room. The tea was watery and quite cold. I groaned. However, I gulped down a cup. Then I took some toast. It tasted like rubber. I had no luck. I was ferociously hungry. I turned to an Indian dish. It smelled nice. I took a mouthful. Delicious. I gobbled up the whole lot. Soon after I began to feel ill. It was as though I had swallowed a ton of iron. I agonised for quite a while, and did not begin to feel myself until I had taken two stiff doses of milk of magnesia. The morning was completely spoiled for me. What would I not have given for a hot cup of real good tea!

Here a servant entered and announced that the bath was ready. A bath so soon after breakfast! " All right," I said, trying my best to look composed. I went into the bathroom, just to see what it looked like. I was surprised. There was no tub. On the cement floor stood a' marble slab, and by its side were two buckets of water, one hot and one cold, and a shining brass Iota. Was I going to sit on that cold marble slab? And how was I going to manipu- late that heavy brass Iota? No, a bath was out of the question. I returned to my room in some perplexity.

My friend was waiting for me there. " Well, you look fine," she said. " I hope you enjoyed your breakfast and bath? "

" Fine!" I said.

" Well, the car is back. If you'll get ready, we'll go for a drive." I thought she would leave me to complete my toilet ; but no, she remained where she was, watching interestedly everything I did. This was irksome.

We went. to the public gardens, to the riverside, to the bazaars, to the local lunatic asylum, which, for some obscure reason, is considered a place worth visiting. It was nearly two-thirty in the afternoon when, tired and dusty, we returned home. I was very hungry. I wished they would hurry up and provide the luncheon. But it did not appear for another hour. By that time my appetite was gone. I could not eat anything. Hour of siesta. Scarcely had I closed my eyes when the maid came in with the tea-tray. This was too soon. I took a cup of tea all the same, but it was tepid and had a salty taste. A little later, my friend brought me a plateful of sweets and dried fruits. I longed to eat, but could only nibble. The meal hours seemed to me perfectly crazy. Nothing for a long time, and then an avalanche of food. I simply could not catch up with Indian ways.

Seven o'clock came and went. Eight, nine, yet no dinner. Then my friend burst into my room and said excitedly that we would be going to a theatre that evening.

Would I be good and get dressed? Whcn I entered the - dining-room it was nine-thirty. The performance, I was told, would begin at ten. We had just time to have a bite.

But nothing was ready. Everyone kept shouting at the cook. At a quarter to ten my friend, who found the delay unbearable, said to me: " We shall be late. I think we had better skip the meal. What do you think?" A nice ques- tion to ask a guest! I was hungry as hungry could be. Still, not to disappoint her, I said: " As you please, dear."

So we went to the theatre without any food. I was in no frame of mind to enjoy the play. In any case, I could not have understood it, for it was in polished Urdu. I was almost fainting with hunger when we returned home in the small hours of the morning. Indian performances are interminable affairs. However, I thought I should get something to eat. No, nothing. I could not sleep. I was far too hungry. I must have something to eat. I rose, put on my gown, and tip-toed down, not to awaken my hosts. The kitchen, the kitchen, I was looking for the kitchen!

After groping in the dark, I found it at last. I turned on the light and looked round. I saw nothing to which I could help myself. I searched the cupboard. I discovered three tomatoes. With what joy I fell on these! I returned to my room. My hunger was by no means appeased, but I was feeling better. Soon I fell asleep, dreaming of some French dish.

The second day was an exact copy of the first. As my visit was drawing to a close, I said nothing, but I vowed within myself that if ever I accepted the invitation of an Indian friend I would take enough provisions with me to last a siege. I had again to steal three tomatoes. There were no more. As I climbed into the train, my friend, who had come to see me off, said laughingly : " Do you know what the cook has been saying? She thinks that a thief has been coming into the house and stealing tomatoes. Fancy stealing tomatoes! "

" Did she recognise the thief? "

" No. But she thought it was a spirit. The poor woman was so scared that she dared not approach. Do you think she was telling the truth ? "

" Who knows, my dear, who knows ? Very probably the good woman did see something."

Here our talk was interrupted because it was time for my friend to leave. A blast, and the train slowly pulled out of the station.

At the very next stop I ordered a copious luncheon. I don't think I have ever enjoyed a meal so much.