carefully buttered.Thin-cut marmalade came next, followed by a single slice of mild Cheddar cheese and his cup of Earl Grey; not for him the nostalgia-inducing vapours of ginger tea laced with cardamom.
Mr Chatterjee was a man of method, and order his only god and guru, although he dutifully accompanied Swarnakumari once a year to the Bengali community’s Durga Puja celebrations in London. Mr Chatterjee surveyed his household with pride; everything was in its place, and all the clocks obeyed the same master, as did the weeds.
He had perfected a daily regime that started with the head, not the heart. Every Saturday he vigorously massaged coconut oil into his receding hairline. The oil seeped into every corner of his being, soothing away self-doubt and dandruff. It coated every thirsty, curious hair until it lay down satiated and limp. Yoga face massage followed, as he slowly pinched his sallow forehead, cheeks and nose to nervous life.
On Thursdays he walked from his neat front lawn to the Rock Road Library, reading the newspapers there for hours. Mr Chatterjee followed British politics closely, and was informed, if conservative in his views. On Wednesdays he strolled to the city centre and spent the afternoon at Heffers, Waterstone’s and Borders, often browsing through the old books outside the Fisher Hall. Once a month he accompanied Swarnakumari to the Sainsbury’s at the Coldhams Lane roundabout , and every Tuesday he drove her in their white Vauxhall to the local Tesco at Fulbourn. The trolley always carried the same brand of soap, detergent, juice, cornflakes and honey.
On Mondays he wrote letters of complaint to thelocal authorities and sent readers’ views to the newspapers. He always wrote each note in a neat, rounded hand with a blue Parker fountain pen.
Respected Sir/Madam
, he would begin, drawing attention to the overflowing bin in the park, the litter left by school-children walking on Queen Edith’s Way and the pupils smoking in the quiet lanes.
He wrote to the heads of various schools, accusing them of moral turpitude. In his view, despite their school uniform, their female pupils looked like young women of dubious character. He listed a number of suggestions: skirt lengths well below the knee, stockings thick and opaque, shoes flat and sensible and the hair neatly tied back with school ribbon. No cosmetics or jewellery, nor smoking in uniform or ‘ mingling ’ between boys and girls outside the school gates.
Overhanging boughs on Trumpington Road were a danger to cyclists and walkers, he wrote to the City Council, and the bus service down Queen Edith’s Way was disappointingly irregular.
Peering through the net curtains, he hurried to the door. Habituated to Mr Chatterjee’s simmering excitement, the postman ceremoniously handed him the post on an imaginary silver salver. The sight of the buff envelopes filled Mr Chatterjee with nervous suspense ; he opened each letter with care. Those from the Inland Revenue were sharp and advisory, others from the credit-card companies and retail outlets relentlessly unforgiving. It was the latest stern summons from the DVLA local office for repeated road offences that captured his attention. He penned an immediate response:
12 Newton Square
Cambridge
Respected Sir/Madam,
I have received an envelope containing Summons Section 29 – Unlicensed Keeping – requesting the defendant to appear at 10.00 hours on 25th November at the Magistrates’ Court to answer the information that on 23rd August at the A14, a mechanically propelled motor vehicle was kept on a public road for which a licence was not in force, contrary to Section 29 (1) of the Vehicle Excise and Registration Act 1994.
I have noted there is an accompanying document, which outlines the full nature of the offence concerning the expiration of driving licence and continued driving of the vehicle without displaying trade licence plates. I have noted that despite being told the offence would be
Mr Chatterjee was a man of method, and order his only god and guru, although he dutifully accompanied Swarnakumari once a year to the Bengali community’s Durga Puja celebrations in London. Mr Chatterjee surveyed his household with pride; everything was in its place, and all the clocks obeyed the same master, as did the weeds.
He had perfected a daily regime that started with the head, not the heart. Every Saturday he vigorously massaged coconut oil into his receding hairline. The oil seeped into every corner of his being, soothing away self-doubt and dandruff. It coated every thirsty, curious hair until it lay down satiated and limp. Yoga face massage followed, as he slowly pinched his sallow forehead, cheeks and nose to nervous life.
On Thursdays he walked from his neat front lawn to the Rock Road Library, reading the newspapers there for hours. Mr Chatterjee followed British politics closely, and was informed, if conservative in his views. On Wednesdays he strolled to the city centre and spent the afternoon at Heffers, Waterstone’s and Borders, often browsing through the old books outside the Fisher Hall. Once a month he accompanied Swarnakumari to the Sainsbury’s at the Coldhams Lane roundabout , and every Tuesday he drove her in their white Vauxhall to the local Tesco at Fulbourn. The trolley always carried the same brand of soap, detergent, juice, cornflakes and honey.
On Mondays he wrote letters of complaint to thelocal authorities and sent readers’ views to the newspapers. He always wrote each note in a neat, rounded hand with a blue Parker fountain pen.
Respected Sir/Madam
, he would begin, drawing attention to the overflowing bin in the park, the litter left by school-children walking on Queen Edith’s Way and the pupils smoking in the quiet lanes.
He wrote to the heads of various schools, accusing them of moral turpitude. In his view, despite their school uniform, their female pupils looked like young women of dubious character. He listed a number of suggestions: skirt lengths well below the knee, stockings thick and opaque, shoes flat and sensible and the hair neatly tied back with school ribbon. No cosmetics or jewellery, nor smoking in uniform or ‘ mingling ’ between boys and girls outside the school gates.
Overhanging boughs on Trumpington Road were a danger to cyclists and walkers, he wrote to the City Council, and the bus service down Queen Edith’s Way was disappointingly irregular.
Peering through the net curtains, he hurried to the door. Habituated to Mr Chatterjee’s simmering excitement, the postman ceremoniously handed him the post on an imaginary silver salver. The sight of the buff envelopes filled Mr Chatterjee with nervous suspense ; he opened each letter with care. Those from the Inland Revenue were sharp and advisory, others from the credit-card companies and retail outlets relentlessly unforgiving. It was the latest stern summons from the DVLA local office for repeated road offences that captured his attention. He penned an immediate response:
12 Newton Square
Cambridge
Respected Sir/Madam,
I have received an envelope containing Summons Section 29 – Unlicensed Keeping – requesting the defendant to appear at 10.00 hours on 25th November at the Magistrates’ Court to answer the information that on 23rd August at the A14, a mechanically propelled motor vehicle was kept on a public road for which a licence was not in force, contrary to Section 29 (1) of the Vehicle Excise and Registration Act 1994.
I have noted there is an accompanying document, which outlines the full nature of the offence concerning the expiration of driving licence and continued driving of the vehicle without displaying trade licence plates. I have noted that despite being told the offence would be
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