But this year is going to be different. A businessman settled in the UK has opened a gallery called ‘Sanket’ on the ground floor of an old colonial building in the Fort area. Before the inauguration, the man’s Mumbai manager, Manjeet Kapoor, met artists who were not already bound to established galleries. Ashesh was one of them. After two decades of organizing his own shows at the Jehangir, he was beginning to tire of the tedious work it involved—printing invitation cards, chasing over-busy writers to deliver promised essays for the catalogue, biting your nails till they did, dealing with the printers. It would be a relief to have that burden and the weightier burden of talking prices to buyers taken off his back. When Manjeet Kapoor called, he was more than ready to meet him. It was a successful meeting. Ashesh was free to paint while Kapoor took care of everything else. The date for the opening was set—28 September, the day after Anant Chaturdashi.

Ashesh can think of this date now with something like pleasure. Most of his works are ready to go. One remains to be done. Joker, the last in this show, heralding a series for his next. He sees it in bright hues in complete departure from his recent blacks and greys. The flip side of being with Sanket will mean an all-out, no-holds-barred opening.

‘Anna had a client,’ he tells Janaki, ‘who’d raise his finger and shout “give them an opening” when he heard we were unwell.’ Ashesh laughs at the memory.

‘Opening?’ Janaki is lost.

‘Castor oil. For us Hindus, the bowels hold the key to good and bad health. If the bowels are clear, the body is healthy. If the body is not healthy, clear your bowels.’

‘What’s castor oil?’

‘There it is. The difference in age. Castor oil was the bane of children’s lives. You were supposed to take it once a month and spend the day clearing your bowels. For you it’s history.’

The worst thing about openings is the presence of the media. Kapoor is busy wooing them ardently while Ashesh hopes most won’t turn up. The second worst thing is that an opening will compel his friends and well-wishers to come on the day. At the Jehangir they could drop in any day that suited them. There was time then for him to sit and chat with them. A couple of his collectors would even come home before the show and ask him to reserve works they wanted to buy. The prices on his list would make Haridas click his tongue and shake his head. ‘Too low, way too low. Why don’t you let me be your dealer?’ Twenty-eighth September is going to be different—stuffy and crowded with no time to spend with friends. It is good he has decided to take them out for dinner afterwards.