Married Woman by Manju Kapur Page B

managed, but even those few words were difficult, so heavy was the passion weighing her down. Her tongue felt useless in her mouth, unless it was activated by his.
    He sat down on the sofa, and Astha knelt to take off his shoes. She unlaced them, and pulled off his socks, gathering the day’s dust in her lap. At that moment she loved Hemantso intensely, that every fetid, stale, sweaty smell that came from his foot was a further nail in the armour of her love.
    ‘How was your day?’ she asked. ‘Why are you so late? I have been waiting hours.’
    ‘The director called a meeting‚’ replied Hemant looking disgruntled.
    ‘At this time?’
    ‘What does he care? Slow, pompous, ass-licking fucker.’
    ‘What has happened now?’
    ‘The latest directives for distributing loans. Our target has been increased, and he is worried we might not make it. Then his head will be on the chopping block.’
    Oh dear, this was not going to be a happy subject.
    ‘This percentage for cottage units, that for farmers, this for small scale units, that for backward classes, and without any security! No collateral, no third-party guarantor, because the government has to look good in the next election while we bear the losses. How can any bank function in this manner? This is what happens when you nationalise banks, constant meddling and interference.’
    How long would it take for him to notice her? ‘I kept thinking of you in school‚’ she started, but Hemant hadn’t finished.
    ‘How are we encouraging any initiative, if these buggers get money for free? And how do you make sure someone is scheduled caste, for fuck’s sake? Just a few months ago I had a branch officer complaining that the local bigwig was demanding a larger than usual cut for supplying the bank with certified scheduled caste people. He was falling short of his target and he had to give in. Bloody country, this is why we never progress. In America such interference would be unheard of.’
    ‘Well, this is India, dearest‚’ said Astha, not wanting Hemant to start on the subject of America versus India. ‘This is the way things function. If you get angry, you will only harm your health. My father got blood pressure because he hated his job. Fire burns itself‚’ she added, a saying she had grown up with.
    Hemant deflated. ‘When I think of how my classmates are doing, how much money they are making – with an American MBA you can do anything, but there are no opportunities in this bloody country, none. Sometimes I wish I had never come back.’
    ‘Money isn’t everything darling. Look, you have your family, me, our parents.’
    ‘Maybe we all emigrate, huh? Seema’s husband keeps calling, he’s willing to sponsor me.’
    Live abroad? ‘Yes, let’s go‚’ she said excitedly.
    Hemant sighed, ‘No, Az, I came for Papaji and Mummy, I have to stay. Papaji knows I am being wasted here, and he tries his best to make me happy, but still, what can he do about the job? This is not satisfying work, it is a clearing division, clear this loan, that loan, deal with union demands and government meddling, nothing is allowed to become efficient.’
    Astha’s desire receded. She felt cold, dreary, and distanced from him. She had been waiting for him all day, thinking of their being together, but nothing of this was reciprocated. He was a criminal, destroying her anticipation, ruining her happiness.
    Her subservient position struck her. She had no business kneeling, taking off his shoes, pulling off his socks, feeling ecstatic about the smell of his feet.
    ‘What’s the matter, darling?’ said Hemant as her hands stopped moving. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. ‘Leave my shoes, I’ll do it.’
    He got up, put them away, and catching her by the elbow sat her down next to him. Poor man, thought Astha softening, he must have had a hard day in the office, was that anything to mind? She must make his home a haven for him, not a place of