The Smoke is Rising Read Online Free PDF Page A

a potted philodendron was quickly swept away as she took off her sandals.
    ‘How are you, Sush? This heat, I can’t tell you. It gets worse every year.’
    Behind Sunaina, Malini Gupta smiled woodenly as she took in her surroundings.
    ‘I don’t know whether it’s the global warming or getting older or maybe both. But I definitely seem to feel the heat a lot more these days,’ sighed Susheela. ‘Please come, Malini. First time you’re coming here, no?’
    Sunaina sank into a brocade sofa.
    ‘Oof, I think I’ll just stay here for the rest of the day and not move.’
    Slightly rested, she let out an abrupt chuckle. Her dimples gave her face a softer, more pliant aspect as she dabbed at her neck with a man’s handkerchief. Sunaina’s hair always looked as if she had walked into it quite by chance, the unyielding bob anxiously perched over her face. She stuffed the handkerchief into one of the many pouches in her handbag and looked ready for business.
    Malini Gupta sat straight-backed on a leather and bamboo stooldespite Susheela’s attempts to navigate her towards the more comfortable corner armchair. Susheela saved herself some trouble and focused her attentions on Sunaina, it being widely known that Mrs Gupta’s only interests were the cave paintings of Ajanta and the arthritis in her big toe.
    The social call slid into its characteristic rhythm. More on the hot weather, children, other family, traffic, general health, specific health, completed building works, anticipated further building works, weight gain, weight loss, cooks, maids, drivers and gardeners.
    Sunaina dragooned her way through topics like a seasoned politician, mindful of all reasonable views but keen to move on to other more significant issues. She was convinced that her uncompromising sense of community responsibility and benevolent participation gave her a nose for what mattered. If questioned, she would have been hard-pressed to define the community for which she toiled so industriously. In fact, the question would probably only have served to irritate her: the kind of mindless prattle that got in the way of people setting agendas and achieving objectives. Nevertheless, she recognised the importance of weighty nomenclature. Sunaina had always believed that if one invited gravitas, patronage and influence would automatically follow.
    She was therefore an indispensable member of the Association of Concerned and Informed Citizens of Mysore, the chair of the Mysore North Civic Reform and Renewal Committee and the secretary of the Vontikoppal Ladies’ League. No less impressive was her record in the inner circles of the Mahalakshmi Gardens Betterment Association and St Theresa’s Humanities College Alumni Society. She also gave freely of her time to any number of spontaneous causes and supplicants.
    In some quarters her tireless public efforts were viewed as adeliberate counterpoise to her husband’s cantankerousness. A canny property developer, he seemed to relish his renowned irascibility, picking fights with even the
paan
seller outside Mindy’s. The most recent outrage had been an ugly scene involving an overturned basket of chrysanthemums outside the Chamundeshwari temple. During her early married life, Sunaina had appeared to have a firm grip on her husband’s unpredictability. She had regarded her handiwork with the pride of a dog trainer who had made a success of a particularly idiotic mongrel. But over the years the cur had reverted to form and ever more florid notes of apology had been required to appease her relatives and neighbours.
    Susheela wondered when exactly Sunaina had begun to call her Sush. She was certainly the only person in the world to do so. Uma appeared briefly to serve the chilled juice and some light mid-morning snacks. Sunaina greeted the
malai chum chum
and the cashew
pakoras
with protestations, grudging acceptance and then a cheerful zeal. The air-conditioning system rattled away in the background.
    ‘Oh Sush,