Don't Let Him Know by Sandip Roy Page B

held out a packet of Mickey Mouse colouring pens. The boy stepped forward. ‘Oh no – first you have to tell me your name.’
    ‘Amit Mitra,’ answered the boy.
    ‘And how old are you, Mr Amit Mitra?’
    ‘I am six years old,’ the boy said, holding up six fingers as additional proof.
    ‘And which school do you go to, Mr Amit Mitra?’
    ‘St John’s School for Boys.’
    ‘Like father, like son,’ said Sumit looking at Avinash.
    ‘Oh, he was lucky he got in. You can’t imagine what it is like to get a boy into school these days. I had to take three days off work. They interviewed both Romola and me. I tell you, it was tougher than landing a job.’
    ‘Are any of the old teachers still there?’
    ‘A few. Father Rozario, though he’s not quite the old terror he used to be.’
    ‘Yes, I can imagine. He must be quite old now.’
    ‘Anyway, sit, sit,’ said Avinash, ‘and tell me, how is America? Where are you now? Boston?’
    ‘No, I moved to California two years ago.’
    ‘San Francisco or Los Angeles?’
    ‘Well, about thirty miles from San Francisco.’
    ‘Hmmm,’ said Avinash. ‘And how’s the job?’
    Sumit smiled. ‘It’s all right. Busy. And yours?’
    ‘Getting by. Getting by.’
    ‘Avinash got a promotion last month,’ his mother piped in. ‘He is now a manager.’
    ‘Oh, Ma,’ said Avinash flushing. ‘Sumit earns millions of dollars. Don’t bore him with all this manager nonsense.’
    Sumit smiled and said, ‘Hardly millions.’ The conversation slid to a halt. Seeing both Avinash and his mother look at him expectantly, he tried to pick up the threads. ‘So how are our friends – Madhu and Subir and . . .’ his voice trailed off.
    ‘I’ve kind of lost touch with most people,’ said Avinash quickly. ‘Work keeps me so busy and I have to constantly go on tour. And when I am at home there’s Amit’s homework. You can’t believe the amount of homework they give six-year-olds these days.’
    ‘I see,’ said Sumit. He didn’t know what to say any more. He didn’t know anything about being an executive in a pharmaceutical company and even less about homework for six-year-olds. Then he tried again. ‘Speaking of friends, I met Abhijit’s brother once. He said Abhijit had died in an accident. I was thinking of visiting his mother.’
    As soon as he said it Avinash went still.
    ‘Accident?’ Avinash said dully, his voice so low it was almost a whisper.
    ‘That’s what his brother said,’ replied Sumit. ‘Something about falling off the roof.’
    Avinash just continued to stare at him.
    ‘Abhijit committed S-U-I-C-I-D-E,’ said his mother leaning forward, spelling out the word in a hushed tone, glancing at her grandson. ‘Of course his family had to say it was an accident. But everyone knows the truth. It was terrible. That poor young wife. They had been married less than a month. Thank God, girls these days get educated. I hear she is teaching at some girls’ school. But what a tragedy. His mother almost went mad with grief. Avinash here did a lot for them. He was distraught too. Only natural. After all, you had all gone to college together. People said he had a love affair. I tell you these are modern times. He could have just told his parents. I mean how bad could it be – maybe she was older than him or of a different religion or something like that. Eventually his family would have adjusted.’ She shook her head.
    ‘Oh,’ said Sumit. ‘I had no idea.’
    ‘You used to know him fairly well – didn’t you work with him on that college magazine of yours? You were quite a little group,’ Avinash’s mother pressed on. ‘Did he have some secret romance? Was he depressed?’
    ‘Ma,’ said Avinash hurriedly, ‘let it be. It’s over now. Why dredge it up again?’
    ‘I’m just saying,’ said his mother. ‘You all were so close then. I remember how you’d say we won’t ever get married. We’ll look after each other like some kind of a boys’ club.