The Hope Factory A Novel - By Lavanya Sankaran Page 0,37

with some effort: “Very good! … Two o’ clock, tomorrow afternoon; you can pick me up and we can drive out to his office together. Excellent! … Oh, and I hear,” he said, with that slight softened change of tone that came about whenever he spoke of his grandchildren, “that Valmika is doing well in her studies. That’s wonderful! Vidya should see that the children spend more time out-of-doors. In fact, we should consider banning them from using things like computers…. I have said the same thing to Vivek in an email,” he said, as though Vidya’s brother in America were not alcoholic, divorced, and immeasurably distant from both his parents and his children.

“They should exercise,” said Anand. “But I don’t think banning computers is the answer.”

“I am not surprised to hear you say so. Vidya tells me,” said his father-in-law, “that you are rather addicted to your gadgets…. I am thinking of taking the children with me to Coorg next weekend. They can jump about in the fresh air …”

“Yes, they’d like that,” said Anand.

“Well, time for me to rejoin my guests. Come, come. Don’t just sit here, come and have a drink.”

Harry Chinappa swept out of the alcove, leaving Anand mulling over the conversation, several aspects of it slowly falling into place. For weeks now, his father-in-law had enlivened family gatherings with his planned foray into the world of real estate development: an old family property that he had decided to develop into a shopping mall in collaboration with this Sankleshwar, Harry Chinappa’s contribution to the venture consisting of the property itself and, no doubt, a supply of unsolicited advice. His interest in Anand was not entirely altruistic; orchestrating the purchase of several acres would add to his business credentials—which, as far as Anand knew, were otherwise nonexistent. Harry Chinappa had kept occupied his entire life by busying himself in other people’s business.

But Sankleshwar was a well-known name in real estate; if he had a reputation for slightly dubious deals (which Harry Chinappa liked to gloss over), he was also a property developer of stratospheric proportions; it was very probable that he would be able to help Anand find the land he needed—that was the rice in the midst of all the husk of Harry Chinappa’s words, and Anand forced himself to concentrate on that.

He trailed out of the alcove to find his father-in-law installed behind the carved rosewood bar, where he was once again dispensing drinks in his best plantation manner. “Ah, Anand! I thought we’d lost you to the lure of fine literature …” Harry Chinappa laughed at his own joke. “What will you have to drink, my boy? A beer to wash away the factory soot?”

“A beer will be fine,” Anand said. “Or a whiskey.”

“Ruby!” said his father-in-law. “Ask the boy to get another beer from the kitchen. And more ice, Ruby, for goodness’ sake! Quickly, please. Mrs. Nayantara?” he said. “Another sherry for you?”

Mrs. Nayantara Iyer shook her head, but the Colonel at the piano raised his glass for another whiskey.

“Ah,” said Harry Chinappa, in a pleased way. “I have here a single malt that I think you will enjoy. One of my collection,” he said, “that I save for special guests.” Anand knew that single malt; he had bought it himself (on his wife’s suggestion) the last time he’d passed through the Singapore duty-free as a ritual sacrifice on the altar of family relations.

“Actually,” said Anand, “I think I’ll have a whiskey too.”

To be honest, he was not that fond of whiskey; the strength of it tested his tongue and blurred the edges of his resistance after a single sip. He saw an empty chair next to Mrs. Nayantara Iyer and, on an impulse, made his way over. He sat down and wondered what to say, feeling foolish. He could not ask after her daughter; he did not know how to phrase the question in a casual way. Instead, he said: “Aunty, I saw your granddaughter in the park when I was out running with my daughter. Very sweet child.”

He saw by the smile on her face that he had said the right thing. She reciprocated by asking after his own children; this was a topic he could converse on easily.

Kavika’s mother lived next door in an old stone bungalow set in a large property; she had been a prominent High Court judge in her day. Years before, on the occasion of their wedding, Ruby Chinappa had introduced her: “And this is our