Ever your,
Helen
Chapter Twelve
I am thankful that my new job keeps me occupied to the utmost and I have no option but to concentrate really hard on it which means that at least 11 hours out of 24, I can’t think much about what is happening to us, except sometimes it hits me suddenly.
It was now two and a half months since Helen had seen Avadh, and her fate rested upon the crucial meeting between Kashi and Avadh’s families in Delhi over Holi. Would Kashi’s family accept a reasonable settlement? Would she soon be able to join her beloved fiancé in India? She wrote on 5 March:
My own Darling,
Today you will be home and I am wondering so much what sort of reception they have given you. I do so pray that they are being kind to you – somehow the fear of what you are going through far outweighs the fear I have of the decision which has to be taken. You are so precious to me that the fear of your being hurt either by word or deed troubles me greatly. Also the thought that I cannot write to you at Delhi. Still this torture will be over soon and then we shall be free to decide what we are going to do without consideration of people who do not deserve consideration.
I was touched to the heart by the words you wrote about growing together until we were almost one person. I did not know a man could feel like that about his wife – I thought only women dream of these things, but I’ll love being treated so and having someone whom I can trust. I have lived so many years inside myself that I can hardly believe that I shall soon be living with someone to whom I can talk freely. Usually such trust in this country is ruined by the criticisms of the families of both parties, but we shall be fortunate in a way that we shall be a fair distance from our people and can largely evolve whatever kind of life or thought in our home which makes us happy. Also we are both old enough not to be greatly influenced by other people.
She added a P.S.: ‘I bet you did not even honour Delhi with clean shoes???’
On 2 March, the day before he was to leave for Delhi, Avadh received a letter from his father:
in which for the first time he has mentioned that he himself has impressed upon Kashi’s mother that she should come to an agreement and that she appears to be in a reasoning mood. This means that Father himself has spoken about it and I feel now that things will brighten up. Don’t be angry if I write to you that it has really moved me seeing how my father has taken it and helped us. I had never expected it from him and I only hope we both are able to serve him a little and bring him some comfort, when he comes and stays with us.
Indian fathers had great authority, and Avadh’s father commanded particular respect from his sons. His help meant a lot to Avadh and gave him hope for the days ahead. ‘Don’t worry about my Delhi visit,’ he wrote to Helen. ‘I will come out unhurt and probably with success. If I do succeed, of course, you will hear in two to three days after this letter reaches you.’
On the 3rd, Avadh wrote from the train, apologizing that although he had originally bought an ordinary second-class ticket for two pounds he had upgraded to a sleeper for an extra pound since it was so crowded. The 860-kilometre journey would take twenty-eight hours, so I’m sure Helen didn’t blame him for the extra expenditure.
On the morning of the 4th he started another letter from the train and reported feeling much better after sleeping all night but the jolting of the train made his writing virtually illegible and after the first page, he gave up. He had already read two detective novels, he wrote, and the train was running an hour late.
Back in England, Helen was getting increasingly anxious:
These waiting days while I know you are in Delhi are the longest days you can imagine. I do love you so and the longing to see you and touch you again is very great – sometimes I feel that even one more day is too long to have to wait! Mother has promised to telephone me if you cable home – she is very good. The whole family are anxious to see us happily settle – they realize the strain of being parted, but of course do not realize the further difficulties under which we are labouring.
She continued:
I found one or two Indian recipes in a magazine, so I spent about a quarter of my lunch hour buying suitable spices, so that I could try them. The only two I lack now are cardamoms and cumin seeds, both of which I may be able to buy at Boots [the chemist] tomorrow. I shall not know for sure when I have cooked them whether the dishes are right or not, but I shall know if they are very badly wrong! It will do me no harm to experiment.
If you don’t hear from me for a day or two you will know that I have gone up in smoke with the hotness of the dishes which I am about to try and cook – see above. Looking at the recipe, it seems hot enough to need a fire extinguisher afterwards!
It is funny how when you love somebody very much and are away from them, there is not much fun in anything you do – normally I would have loved experimenting with cooking these dishes, but I feel I want you behind me to pull my leg and tell me how horribly wrong I am and to stick your fingers in things and lick the spoon, etc. Cooking is not cooking without these embellishments! Anyway, if you have good news for me I shall be running round like a cat with two tails trying to get a passage, etc., so I shall not have much time to cook, and if the news is bad I shall still be running round looking for a place for us to live in here, because even if you did not come for several months, I should like to move in and get things started – I shall be a great deal happier if we can get married first though!
Ever your adoring plague, nuisance and general entertainment,
Helen
However, the next day she wrote of the lentil dish (dahl):
Mother and I had it for supper and thoroughly enjoyed it – but this morning the fun began. The family nearly stuck us in a room by ourselves – because we simply reeked of garlic – I’ve laughed myself helpless today, they have been so funny about it, so we have decided that whilst in England – NO GARLIC! I shall have to find a Frenchman to dance with tonight – they are always bathed in an aura of garlic, so we shall not upset each other! The fact remains, however, that mother and I liked it very much. You are right when you say that frying the spices takes the bitterness away. Do people in India mind if you smell of garlic?? I hope not because the flavour is extremely good.
Avadh later replied with a piece of folk wisdom.
Some families do use garlic in their cooking – in our family, it has never been used – e.g. my father etc. never take it. I have taken it several times; if one does take it, there is no doubt, everyone knows that someone has taken the garlic – if no antidotes are taken after the meal. After meals, one takes either betel or one other stuff – whose English name I do not know – which kills the smell of garlic in mouth. You naturally do not know these tricks – but if you have to take garlic or onions, you have to take antidotes – after the meal – a teaspoonful of saunf (Hindi name) [fennel seeds]. So much about lentils.
By 10 March, there was still no word from Avadh, and Helen was sounding desperate.
The dreadful silence of today – no letters, no nothing! I am praying that you are all right and that things are going smoothly for you. I keep imagining all kinds of awful things happening to you and yet I know that today is only the first day on which I could reasonably expect news, and yet I am tortured with fear for you. Being so far away makes it so difficult because I cannot lift up the telephone and enquire what progress is being made as I could if we were in the same country. Since all I can think about is your dear self going through hell on my behalf, I had better find something mundane to talk about, or you will think I have lost my nerve – which I haven’t – but you know what it feels like!
Have I told you that Tony (my brother whom you met) is to announce his engagement to Anne (whom you also met at our house) on March 25th which is Anne’s 21st birthday. All the family is very happy about it and I think they will be a happy couple. They cannot be married for a couple of years, but they can save and prepare for it, so I think they will be happy. [Her brother Alan had been marr
ied during the war and Brian the previous year.]
Dearest, I remember how [a year ago] this month you first asked me to have coffee with you at the British Council and afterwards we had our first date and how happy I have been since. Come what may, this has been a lovely year and I hope next year will be lovelier still. It is not a great deal to ask, to want to share one’s life with someone whom one loves, but nobody is helping to make it very easy for us.
At last, on 10 March, Avadh sent a cable, which reached Helen on the 11th:
YOU ARE WELCOME BUT ACT AFTER RECEIVING MY LETTERS OF NINTH AND TENTH MARCH STOP WORRYING
It sounded positive but did not answer any of Helen’s burning questions. She wrote immediately:
I gather that no settlement has been reached but that I am to come – however, I await with anxiety your letters of 9th and 10th, as from the tone of the cable I feel that there are some difficulties. I am doing my best to stop worrying as you tell me! I am dying to know what is happening, but curiosity killed the cat and it might kill this little cat too, so wait with patience I must. But gosh, I shall be glad to have news.
My own darling, all I can say is that I love you and I love you and I pray you have not been too much hurt at Delhi. I can’t tell you how much afraid I have been in this past week, for you (if this letter sounds more than usually insane, it is because people are talking to me incessantly, although they can see I am writing!) I thought of everything from a train smash to a knife in your back and I don’t read detective novels! Never mind, it will all be good exercise when we write our novel.
I hope so much that I can come to you soon.
Finally, on 16 March, Helen received Avadh’s letters of the 9th, 10th and 11th describing the negotiations in Delhi. He wrote long, rambling letters, as if trying to work out the solution to their problems as he wrote. All three of his brothers had been present, he said, as well as Kashi’s mother. ‘She now says that whatsoever my father will decide, she will accept it’ – but he added that Kashi and her father would have the final say.
In a section that must have been difficult for Helen to read, he wrote that his brothers had made one final, last-ditch attempt to persuade him not to marry her.
They said several points but one of them which I want to mention to you is that some people may not accept us in their society – of course a few always will. This I wanted to mention because this can occasionally mean a bit of company of ourselves alone for days, and you should be prepared for it. It may not happen but to some extent it will. Then the three brothers said I should think it over again but if I decided to call you, they would stand by me. I have told them that I have no intention of changing my mind.
So we have to decide what we have to do. My Doctor Brother advised me that if I wanted to call you now I could do so and the matters with Kashi’s people will get settled in due course. Of course, this has a disadvantage for if Kashi’s people tried to be awkward, it will be very inconvenient to us, but I don’t think they will be awkward.
Once again the decision was left in my mother’s hands and once again she was quite clear about what she wanted to do. On 16 March, she wrote:
I have thought all day about whether I should come to India or whether you should come to England, and I have decided that fundamentally I have no choice but to come to India, the reason being that it is the only possible way in which we can be legally married. If we are not married in India during the next three or four months, we can never be married [unless and until Kashi granted Avadh a divorce]. I have made my decision and I hope it does not distress you very much, because I realize that you would like to come back to England and that you do not like your job very much.
With regard to all the various things we shall both have to face in India, they are all things which I have long since considered and feel we can get over them. The fact that some people will not want to know us fails to make me quail, as long as we can have a few friends, and we know we shall have at least one or two; in one’s life one has to face many, many snubs. We are fortunate that moving in university circles there is always hope of meeting people of more advanced ideas than, say, in the business community. Secondly, the very deep change in my life I feel I can bear, as long as I can at least walk out each day a little. I should go mad if confined to a form of purdah.
When you consider my life in India, you work firstly on an assumption – you as a scientist should know that nothing should be assumed! You say you do not know how you are going to provide me with a life such as I have in England. That assumes, my heart, that I like my present life in England. Well I don’t. I shall thank heaven to put up my legs mentally and physically a little, not to have to tear around, to be able to wear loose clothing, experiment with strange dishes, and learn a new language, watch a new world go by and try doing things I have never had time to do before, like spending an evening doing nothing but gossip idly, drawing, writing – and 101 other things.
The curious, the unusual have boundless fascination for me and you will be surprised what interest I shall find for many years in a lot of things which you have taken for granted.
With regard to the heat, I shall endure as silently as I can, but if the language sometimes gets a bit ‘Dockside’ you will have to forgive me! If I get the April passage, I should arrive towards the end of the first week of May.
Ever your loving,
Helen
On 13 March, still awaiting receipt of Helen’s confirmation that she was coming, Avadh wrote that he was in a balanced state of mind and trying to do some work. He was, however, dealing with another irritation. ‘My servant who left four days before I left for Delhi, and though he was to go for a week, he has not yet returned. I wonder whether he intends to return and I had given him (on his request) two weeks pay in advance. It is damned inconvenient to me but it can’t be helped, I suppose.’
This evening I shall again write to you a long letter – yesterday (being Sunday) I spent almost the whole day in bed and that could be the reason I did not actually write to you – the true reason being that I had fallen temporarily in love with a ‘Lady with Lucky Legs’ [actually The Case of the Lucky Legs], a crime story by Erle Stanley Gardner right about the time I should have written to you. It is a very good story and I shall keep the book for you; though I think it will be suicidal for me – for you to get hold of the detective book, you will forget all about me and that is the situation which I cannot bear.
My dad was a huge fan of the Perry Mason mysteries written by Erle Stanley Gardner, as well as Georgian mysteries by Jeffery Farnol, and the prolific output of Edgar Wallace, the first British crime writer to regularly use policemen, rather than amateur sleuths, as protagonists. He found detective novels the perfect escape from physics.
Helen wrote on 17 March, rejoicing that she had managed to secure a passage on the Jal-Azad, which would be sailing on 21 or 22 April. That meant she would arrive in India around 3 May. It would be almost five months since they had last seen each other, and she cautioned Avadh that she could not cope with any more changes of plan.
The thought that I am coming out to you has acted like a tonic and I feel a new woman – it takes me all my time not to positively dance along, but to maintain that decorum required in an office.
I hope the family realize that now I have committed myself a second time, there is no question of postponing my coming again. That is something I could not face, and I should sail even if you had decided you did not want me (which I hope to God will never happen) and would work in Bombay. Nothing would persuade me to go through again all the difficulties of the past few months.
She responded with scepticism to Avadh’s news about his servant’s disappearance:
Something tells me that you have been ‘had’ by our respected servant – he has probably been working happily these last two weeks for another employer, rejoicing happily at having two weeks unearned pay in his pocket – if they have such things as pockets. Probably by now, he will have shown my jud
gment of human nature false and have turned up with apologies for being late – I hope the latter is the case. If not, do try and recruit another for your own sake – it is too much for you to keep house and work as well, particularly your kind of work which is liable to overflow into the evenings, etc.
In the night I was thinking that perhaps you would think I would be shocked by seeing a lot of life in India which is carefully hidden in England. For example all our lunatics, cripples and diseased people are in hospitals and one never sees anything deeply revolting in the streets, but I realize that some countries are not so fortunate. I shall probably be a little shaken at such things, but they do not repulse me, only I know I shall wish I was clever enough and rich enough to help all those in such troubles. I have seen a lot of the cruder side of life and it did dull my sensibilities a little, so that smells and dirt and dust, as long as I can keep them out of my home, will not sicken me, although I shall probably moan much as many Indians probably do about them. I suppose a lot depends upon where one lives, just as in England, as to how much one sees which is not pleasant. When you said you were afraid life in India would shock me, I am not sure whether you meant the kinds of things about which I have written or not but you need not be afraid. The only thing you have to watch is that I do not start dabbling in business which is not mine in an effort to put right everything which would possibly appear wrong to me! I’ll do my best not to.
If this letter is to catch the mail I shall have to stop, and I haven’t said a word of love – what a to-do. But you know I live for you and love you and I am as excited as hell coming to you at last, so wrap yourself in cotton wool and save yourself for me.
Dearest, I do love you.
Ever your,
Chutney
Chapter Thirteen
Never fear, we shall have some fun, even in Ahmedabad, even if we have to start a secret society of Hearty Laughers and Gigglers with you as President and I as the Secretary, Member, Chairman and Lord High Executioner.
Passage Across the Mersey Page 17
