Losing Touch Read Online Free PDF Page B

husbands.
    The sick feeling in the stomach starts and Sunila sends up a quick prayer. Please make Arjun be a good husband. That is, please make him not like Haseena better than me. She feels ashamed. How childish. She shouldn’t be bothering the Lord with these petty concerns .
    Sunila gets off the bus and finds Pavitra already waiting outside King Chow’s. As they hug, Sunila feels her sister-in-law shivering.
    â€˜Cold, Pavi?’
    â€˜Just a little.’
    â€˜You need a new coat.’
    â€˜I’m fine. I should have put on a warmer woolly. Let’s go inside.’
    It is just noon but the restaurant is already filling up. The two women are led to one of the last window tables. The manager moves between tables, greeting customers. He stops at their table to speak to Pavitra.
    â€˜Mrs Owen, so nice to see you again.’
    â€˜Mr Chow, this is my sister-in-law, Mrs Kulkani.’
    Mr Chow gives a little bow and Sunila nods back at him.
    â€˜So, Mrs Owen, you bring me new customer. I give you special surprise.’ He smiles and wags a finger at her.
    â€˜Please don’t go to any trouble.’ Pavitra laughs nervously.
    â€˜No trouble, Mrs Owen. My pleasure. You choose any dessert you like. On the house.’ He beams at both of them and moves on to greet the next customers.
    â€˜Such a nice man.’ Pavitra tucks her thin coat over the back of her chair.
    â€˜I must say, he’s a very friendly person.’ Sunila carefully folds her coat and puts it on the chair next to her.
    â€˜He’s like that with all his customers.’
    â€˜No wonder it’s so popular here. And free dessert, too. What a treat!’ Sunila looks out of the window. A real window table. She and Arjun have gone to dinner a few times, but only to Indian restaurants and never at a window table. She is impressed with how clean the Chinese keep their restaurant. No debris on the floor. Tables nicely set. Some of those Indian places could certainly pick up a few tips on hygiene and presentation.
    Two of the waiters are Chinese and she watches their smooth, swift movements, their shiny hair, their clean hands. Do they think Hounslow is better than China? She’s seen pictures of the watery paddy fields and how they have to work, bent over, for hours. Surely working in a restaurant must be easy after that. And in the evenings, do they pull out their photograph albums and touch the pictures of family members who are left behind? Home is England , she repeats to herself. You can choose your home these days. It’s the modern thing to do.
    The long menu has many choices. Sunila leans forward to whisper across the table. ‘Pavi, what should we order?’
    â€˜I’ll find something nice for us. We’ll get a couple of things and we can share.’
    Pavi orders chow mein and Kung Pao chicken. Sunila is nervous about eating noodles. What if they fall off her spoon? Will she look a complete idiot in front of everyone?
    Pavitra leans forward. ‘Suni, the chow mein is very easy to eat. You’ll see.’ They wait for their tea and Pavitra smiles. ‘So nice to get away, isn’t it?’
    Suni waggles her head, not yes, not no. ‘So, Pavi. How are you?’
    Pavitra looks down. ‘I’m all right, really. I was just feeling a bit run down.’
    â€˜Come on, Pavi. You must talk. I mean, we must talk.’ Sunila laughs a little.
    If nothing is said, the things that often lie like dead flowers under their scarves, their nice English blouses, their neat English skirts, do not exist. A few tables away, an English couple are having lunch. Does the woman have flowers beneath her sleeves, too? But English couples are so polite and respectful. It isn’t possible to imagine slaps ricocheting across those perfectly pink English cheeks. And the woman’s voice, so gentle and sweet-sounding, could never be raised in a screech even if her husband threw a dinner plate