place gradually but necessarily, for now the incumbents of the Writerâs Building had brown skins, wore dhuties , with the reverse sartorial snobbery, and spoke a language which had remained a mystery to their British predecessors. Allowing the healthful self-respect to flow back into the enervated Indian body politic. The changes would slowly
impinge on the Stracheys and alter the texture of their lives in ways they hadnât foreseen when they had made their choice. That day, August 15, 1947, most of the Rajmahal tenants must have gone out on the streets to taste the air rich with the resonance of crowds, jammed into trucks, waving from tricolor-draped balconies, chanting â Jai Hind !â The Stracheys hung no tricolor from their balcony. But they leaned out and waved and smiled at their friends and the crowds, jostling unknowingly with the merry ghosts, joining in with the Jai Hind s. And when the joyous temple bells rang and conch shells blew, the Stracheys even felt a thrill, perhaps mixed with their first inklings of discomfort.
Long after Independence, when Jack was poised for the final push to become chairman and managing director, he was passed over for the post, as loyal friends put it, by a man who didnât deserve a clerkâs job, a covertly apartheid remark. The culprit was a brilliant Indian, backed by the newly powerful Indian lobby with strong nudgings from the government. âIâll have to resign,â Jack declared impulsively. But he pulled up short when friends alerted him, âTheyâll think you object to working under an Indian.â Jack didnât admit this was another sticking point. That year, the presidentship of the Bengal Chamber was also given to Jackâs rival. Independence had knocked down one of the British Rajâs bastions as it was doing everywhere. The Chamber was to decline gradually and lose its preeminent position. Sharp and Co. dwindled after being dogged by scandal and with the government squeezing it through new laws. The British knew their time was up, and Jack Stracheyâs pipping was accepted with resignation by the beleaguered community. He toyed briefly with the idea of joining one of the big Indian business houses, but the thought to him was in the end nonsensical.
Â
After all the lost chances Jack Strachey became introverted and his adoration for Myrna intensified, part of a new siege mentality. Myrnaâs remorse grew. âItâs time,â she said. She didnât articulate to herself that the arrival of menopause was the pushing factor. âItâs time I looked after Jack,â she said righteously. This was made easier by Jackâs gentle nature and perennial good looks. While most of her other men friends had become
ugly and cantankerous, here was her Jack, as impressive as ever. âHow could I have had the heart?â she wondered. âHow could I?â The regret grew and then faded with time. Now that Myrna was in extreme old age her faculties were sharply reduced and such niceties nonexistent. She was instead wedged on top of a mountain of resentment which translated into a general vengefulness. She bragged endlessly about her beauty and her betrayals, as if there had been no choice. âHow could I not?â she now said. She was convinced she had some legendary role to play in the sexuality which writhed like a hidden turbulence under Calcuttaâs surface. This is what she thought that day looking at Jack leaning on the rail of their veranda, presenting his rugged octogenarian profile to the muggy South breeze. âI know,â she thought. âBut what could I do?â The ghosts were pensive. After all these years they had acquired the same feelings of concern and protectiveness toward the mlechcha s that they felt toward all the tenants, including by now the Muslim landlord and his family. And the Rajmahal kept as calm as it could, recognizing that it could do nothing while
impinge on the Stracheys and alter the texture of their lives in ways they hadnât foreseen when they had made their choice. That day, August 15, 1947, most of the Rajmahal tenants must have gone out on the streets to taste the air rich with the resonance of crowds, jammed into trucks, waving from tricolor-draped balconies, chanting â Jai Hind !â The Stracheys hung no tricolor from their balcony. But they leaned out and waved and smiled at their friends and the crowds, jostling unknowingly with the merry ghosts, joining in with the Jai Hind s. And when the joyous temple bells rang and conch shells blew, the Stracheys even felt a thrill, perhaps mixed with their first inklings of discomfort.
Long after Independence, when Jack was poised for the final push to become chairman and managing director, he was passed over for the post, as loyal friends put it, by a man who didnât deserve a clerkâs job, a covertly apartheid remark. The culprit was a brilliant Indian, backed by the newly powerful Indian lobby with strong nudgings from the government. âIâll have to resign,â Jack declared impulsively. But he pulled up short when friends alerted him, âTheyâll think you object to working under an Indian.â Jack didnât admit this was another sticking point. That year, the presidentship of the Bengal Chamber was also given to Jackâs rival. Independence had knocked down one of the British Rajâs bastions as it was doing everywhere. The Chamber was to decline gradually and lose its preeminent position. Sharp and Co. dwindled after being dogged by scandal and with the government squeezing it through new laws. The British knew their time was up, and Jack Stracheyâs pipping was accepted with resignation by the beleaguered community. He toyed briefly with the idea of joining one of the big Indian business houses, but the thought to him was in the end nonsensical.
Â
After all the lost chances Jack Strachey became introverted and his adoration for Myrna intensified, part of a new siege mentality. Myrnaâs remorse grew. âItâs time,â she said. She didnât articulate to herself that the arrival of menopause was the pushing factor. âItâs time I looked after Jack,â she said righteously. This was made easier by Jackâs gentle nature and perennial good looks. While most of her other men friends had become
ugly and cantankerous, here was her Jack, as impressive as ever. âHow could I have had the heart?â she wondered. âHow could I?â The regret grew and then faded with time. Now that Myrna was in extreme old age her faculties were sharply reduced and such niceties nonexistent. She was instead wedged on top of a mountain of resentment which translated into a general vengefulness. She bragged endlessly about her beauty and her betrayals, as if there had been no choice. âHow could I not?â she now said. She was convinced she had some legendary role to play in the sexuality which writhed like a hidden turbulence under Calcuttaâs surface. This is what she thought that day looking at Jack leaning on the rail of their veranda, presenting his rugged octogenarian profile to the muggy South breeze. âI know,â she thought. âBut what could I do?â The ghosts were pensive. After all these years they had acquired the same feelings of concern and protectiveness toward the mlechcha s that they felt toward all the tenants, including by now the Muslim landlord and his family. And the Rajmahal kept as calm as it could, recognizing that it could do nothing while