The Hope Factory Read Online Free PDF Page A

himself softening with tenderness even as he lectured them with stern voice.
    “Appa,” his daughter hissed. “Mama’s coming.” His wife’s tread sounded on the stairs and Anand ran for the shower, leaving his giggling children behind.
    THE DRIVE TO AMIR and Amrita’s house was a relatively short one, twenty minutes rendered unpleasant by the shriek and grind of late evening traffic. Vidya was busy with her cellphone, returning the calls and messages that ran through the social arteries of her life; Anand alternately cursed at the traffic and worried if all was ready for the following day’s presentation.
    The flat on Cunningham Road was plunged in darkness when they arrived. The sleeping watchman had to be roused, and Anand and Vidya followed his sluggish, waving torchlight down a path and round the back of the building. Vidya stumbled in her high heels on the pavement stones and Anand held out a hand to steady her.
    “God,” she said, clutching tightly to his fingers, “I can’t believe they gave up that gorgeous Whitefield bungalow for this place. All that money from selling their software company—a deal that’s in all the bloody newspapers—and they move to a building without a generator. I mean, it’s all very well that they are giving all their money away to charitable causes, but at least they could live someplace decent!”
    “I don’t think they’re giving it all away, no?” said Anand. “Just some of it.”
    “Don’t always disagree with me,” she said, pulling her hand away as they reached the apartment.
    “Unscheduled power cut,” their hostess laughed as she opened the door. “Watch the step.” She ushered them through the house, her guests moving all by guess and to the sound of her voice urging them to step this way, mind that side table—through the living room and out to a little verandah.
    Vidya might differ, but for Anand this verandah, facing a tiny garden, had a relaxed, comfortable charm that he missed in his own house with its studied, stylish formality. A long, low table was littered with candles and wine bottles; the surrounding divan piled with block-printed cushions. Anand sank down into the cushions next to his host, Amir, who was absentmindedly plucking chords on his guitar.
    Though he had met Amir through Vidya, they had formed an instant friendship, the ease that Amir and Amrita shared with each other spilling over onto their friends and acquaintances. Anand sipped at his whiskey, lying back luxuriously and feeling the tension within him ease for the first time in hours. This was his notion of hospitality: casual, unfussy, a few good friends.
    Amir was discussing road signs. “ ‘Pederastrian Bridge,’ ” he said, “my favorite of the day. And there were actually people walking through, right under that sign. Quite shamelessly. Some holding children by the hand too.”
    “ ‘Bed shits,’ ” Amrita called. “Saw that yesterday outside a linen sale. And ‘Ladies Bottoms.’ ” She placed a bowl of nuts and a plate of kebabs on the low table and picked up her wineglass.
    “Ah, few things nicer than well-made ladies’ bottoms,” herhusband lazily said, putting aside his guitar and reaching for the nut bowl. “You should have bought a few.”
    “I’m gifting you with bed shits instead,” Amrita said. “Vidya! A drink?”
    Vidya flipped her phone closed. “Sorry,” she said and sat on a cushion, slipping off her high-heeled sandals, “these endless calls are so annoying…. You know, so nice to have an evening like this! So relaxing.”
    “Have a drink,” said Amir.
    “Lovely!” Vidya sipped at her vodka-tonic but left the glass sweating on the table when her phone rang. “Oh, it’s Pingu. Yes, baby? Couldn’t sleep …? Yes, I’ll be home soon, you just close your eyes and think of something nice…. Akka’s there, but don’t disturb her, okay? She’s studying hard …”
    “Who else are you expecting?” Anand thought he knew the