The guru had increased his clientele, if his students could be called by that name, in visiting this building and this area. Mrs. Raheja was now one among his students, as was Mrs. Kapur; and there were others in the neighbouring buildings. When he came to this area, he usually visited two or three flats in a day. The “students” were mainly well-to-do or even rich housewives, with varying degrees of talent and needs for assurance, their lives made up of various kinds of spiritual and material requirements. What spiritual want he met was not clear, though it was certain he met some need; and his own life had become more and more dependent, materially, on fulfilling it.

Mohanji’s life was a round of middle-aged women, mainly in Colaba and Cuffe Parade, and a few in Malabar Hill; in his way, he was proud of them, and thought of them as Mr. So-and-So’s wife or, where the surname denoted a business family, Mrs. So-and-So. He moved about between Cuffe Parade and Malabar Hill and the areas in between using buses and taxis, glimpsing, from outside and within, the tall buildings, in which he ascended in lifts to arrive at his appointed tuition. This was a daily itinerary, before it disappeared, too temporarily for it to be disturbing to him, when he took the fast train to Dadar at night.

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MR. CHATTERJEE’S COMPANY (although he didn’t own the company, it was known among his friends as “Amiya’s company” and among others as “Mr. Chatterjee’s company”) manufactured, besides other things, detergent, which was its most successful product; and, since the company had substantial foreign shareholdings—the word “multinational,” like a term describing some odd but coveted hybrid, was being heard more and more these days—he, with his wife, made occasional trips to Europe (he to study the way detergent was marketed there), every one and a half to two years.

Upon their return, the vistas and weather of London and Zurich would stay with them for about a week as they resumed their life in Bombay. They’d distribute gifts among friends and business associates: deodorants, eau de toilettes, ties; for Mohanji, a cake of perfumed soap, polished like an egg, serrated like a shell. He, in his gentle, qualified way, would pretend to be more grateful than he was, but nevertheless wonder at this object that had travelled such a huge distance.

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THERE WERE SO MANY PROJECTS inside Mr. Chatterjee’s head; he had only a year to bring them to fruition. Though he was to retire, he was inwardly confident he’d get an extension.