‘Not much of that either these days,’ she retorts looking into my eyes. ‘As for the payment, even that Budhoo Singh outside asks me everytime I leave—”What did he give you for your paan-beedi?” That’s all I can buy from the money you give me. It’s no use getting angry with me. Truth hurts but I am saying it for your own good. I say do some, dhanda like contracting business, exporting readymade garments. You will make a lot more money than scribbling pieces for newspapers and taking memsahibs to see the Qutub Minar.’

There is some truth in what she says. But how can I at my age start a new dhanda of which I know nothing. And where will I find the money to do so? I relapse into silence: silence and sulking are the best defences against this kind of onslaught.

I pick up a book and pretend to read. I wish she would go away and leave me alone. I am beginning to tire of Bhagmati as I am of Delhi. One of these days when I have enough money I will buy myself a one-way air ticket to London or New York and slip out of Delhi at midnight without telling Bhagmati.

She takes the book out of my hand and sits down on the floor in front of me. She places her hands on my knees and continues, ‘You are becoming irritable these days. You get gussa with me whenever I say anything to you. You never used to lose your temper with me. What is happening to you?’

A sigh of resignation escapes my lips. I don’t reply because I know what she is saying is right. She begins to press my legs with both her hands. It is very pleasant and sensuous. I know I have lost the battle. Where will I find another woman like Bhagmati who will abase herself to soothe my temper? She puts my legs in her lap and rubs the soles of my feet. She is a skilled masseuse. She knows I am beginning to enjoy a good massage more than sex. Sometimes I can’t get roused till she has rubbed oil in my scalp and vigorously massaged the dandruff itch out of it with her stubby, sturdy fingers. Next to my scalp it is my feet which respond to her ministrations. If I don’t fall off to sleep I end up by sleeping with the masseuse. My frayed nerves are soothed. My temper dissolves. I no longer want to buy myself an air ticket to go abroad to get away from Bhagmati and Delhi. I told you—once you are in their clutches there is no escape.

The Builders