They were so beautiful. He prayed for their protection, their health and happiness every morning and every night, and several moments in between. He prayed for forgiveness. He put the photograph back in the box.

•

Rajan had a strict routine. He woke up at six o’clock to perform his morning ablutions. Standing in front of the dulled mirror of his bathroom, he inspected his greying hair—everywhere from his ears, nose and eyebrows to his chest. Then, slowly, he worked a thick lather from a shrinking bar of Palmolive Gold soap and covered his face. With his razor, he carved smooth, straight roads of brown skin.

He couldn’t control the razor anymore. Nandan or Vivek had to shave him every few days. And he couldn’t get up at six o’clock. Sometimes he would lie there awake, willing his tired body to move, angry at its slow and stealthy rebellion.

His morning toilet was becoming more painful. Nala tried everything—okra curry, spinach curry, strong coffee, oranges, grapefruit, and the worst, high fibre drinks. He had briefly toyed with the idea of giving himself a suppository. A small sliver of the Palmolive Gold should work. He sat down on the toilet seat, poised to self-administer, when he dropped it into the toilet. It was one thing to put soap up his bottom, it was quite another to fish it out of the toilet bowl first. The growing discomfort was preferable.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asked as he emerged slowly from the toilet.

‘There’s nothing wrong with me. What’s wrong with you?’ he countered.

‘Nothing. Why did you take so long?’

‘Were you timing me?’

‘No.’

‘Then how do you know I took so long?’

‘Don’t be smart.’

‘I am smart.’

She scowled, huffed and scowled again as she walked away muttering, ‘Something is wrong with you. I can smell it. Actually, I can’t smell it!’ Turning around she cried triumphantly, ‘That’s what’s wrong. You still can’t go. I knew I was right, there is something wrong!’

He was already walking away to their study, massaging his bowel as he went.

‘I’m going to pray, please don’t disturb me with your medical discoveries,’ he said without turning back.

The guests were arriving at eleven o’clock. He had already told Nala that he would not be seeing anyone if they came during Yes, Prime Minister. Sir Humphrey Appleby could make him laugh so much that he cried. One time, he laughed so much he choked and stopped breathing. Several of his descendants were doctors; all ready and keen to perform an emergency tracheotomy on the kitchen floor with a bread knife and a straw. Luckily for him that time, he was able to cough-start his own respiratory system.