The Hope Factory A Novel - By Lavanya Sankaran Page 0,41

total monthly chit of sixty thousand rupees. Imagine that, Kamala-akka!”

“You also pay this monthly amount? Two thousand rupees?”

Thangam smiled in satisfaction. “No, I do not. Because I am taking the responsibility of running it, I have to pay only half of what everyone else pays each month. That is where my profit comes from. For a chit of sixty thousand, my end profit is thirty thousand. Imagine that!”

Kamala could not. For all her savings over the years, she had barely managed to accumulate ten thousand rupees.

“And you know something else I do? Sometimes people don’t withdraw the full amount. Then I put what remains in a bank account—and the bank pays me interest. Five percent! And so I make even more.”

Kamala knew that banks were fabled to dispense such charity, but she could not conceive of actually daring to enter one.

“Thange, people don’t mind that you have to pay only half?”

“Of course not!” said Thangam. “After all, if someone defaults on their monthly payment, I have to make good to the fund on their behalf, do I not? It is a great responsibility. But people have confidence in me—and quite rightly. I do a good job! You must join,” she said.

For a fleeting moment, Kamala contemplated the joy of having sixty thousand rupees to draw upon, before reality intruded. “I cannot afford the monthly payment, Thangam,” she said. “After all my expenses, very little is left. Perhaps if in the future you run a smaller chit, I can join.”

She ran her fingers through the water and the rice, quite forgetting to strain it out. “Will these two join your new chit fund, do you think?” She signaled her neighbors’ room with a jerk of her chin.

“Yes, of course,” said Thangam. “He is working as a machine tool operator, a good, steady income. That little she-goat does nothing, of course …”

“Does Shanta join?” Kamala asked.

Thangam slapped her forehead with her fingers. “Ayo! She did once or twice. But this last time, she has never had any money to put into it…. You know her situation …”

In the contemplative silence that fell between them, Thangam said: “Even last time he beat her … but not so bad …”

Kamala clicked her tongue. However much one might dislike Shanta, this was not a fate to be wished on any woman. For how can one break away from husbands, unless they die? And who outside the family could help? Inconceivable to parade one’s family affairs—the whole world would laugh at such shameful behavior.

“Do not worry,” she told Thangam consolingly, “not all husbands are like that …”

“I am not worried, akka. I am not sure I wish to get married.” Thangam extended her foot and gazed at her toes, painted a bright, shiny pink. “I like to keep control of my money—and answer to no man.”

“What do your parents say?” Kamala was unable to hide her shock.

“What are they to say? I pay all their bills, do I not? I tell you, they may scold, but they are truly happier if I do not ask to get married…. Tell me, sister, was your marriage such a great pleasure?”

“Of course, I was happy,” said Kamala automatically, but this was a routine, polite response. She watched Thangam search in her handbag, pulling out a small bottle of cream salve and rubbing it into a patch of dry skin at her wrist. Kamala squinted; surely this was the same bottle she had seen on Vidya-ma’s dressing table? Thangam saw her glance and smiled, not without a certain pride. “See?” she said. “This is mine. I am able to buy it. You think I could if I were married? No, I would be working and he would be spending my earnings…. Here,” she said, reaching for Kamala’s arm and rubbing a bit of the lotion into the skin. “How soft it makes the skin. Feel it, akka! Feel how soft …”

Thangam put her lotion bottle and accounts book away in her bag and stood up. “I had better go back quickly before Vidya-ma misses me and starts shouting…. No, no coffee, thanks, akka. I will depart and return,” she said in farewell, leaving Kamala to rinse out her long-soaking rice, the starch having leached the rice water to a paleness, using her fingers as a loose strain to prevent the escape of rice grains before refilling the steel utensil with clean water for a quick second rinse.

SHE MIGHT NOT WISH to participate, but there was no denying that Thangam’s chit