Page 14 of The Secret Keeper of Jaipur

Then we walked inside the theater where the seats are. It’s bloody brilliant! Ravi is really proud of the fact that he managed to squeeze in eleven hundred seats—it’s that large! He designed the theater so the seats are tiered and keep rising as you get farther from the screen—like those Greek amphitheaters we also studied in art history class (and you thought I learned nothing there, Boss!).

There’s a balcony (where the rich people sit) from which you can look down onto the stage and the seats below. The screen is almost as tall as the Hawa Mahal in Jaipur! And here’s something I’d never heard of: surround sound. The Royal Jewel Cinema has it. Apparently, it was recently invented in America. So in this cinema house, everybody can hear and everybody gets a good seat.

I was imagining all of us in the theater together. How you would both marvel at this building! (Chullu would marvel at that carpet.) Rows and rows of stone arches carved into the walls of the theater and inlaid with flowers and leaves (don’t ask me which flowers and which leaves—that’s your department).

Have to go! My other boss is calling me. Give my best to Dr. Jay!

Yours,

Malik

6

MALIK

Jaipur

As part of my training, Manu asked some of the larger contractors of the Jaipur Palace to show me around their construction sites. It was Singh-Sharma’s turn today. At the behest of his father, Ravi Singh is showing me around the Royal Jewel Cinema.

The building is splendid, indeed an amazing accomplishment, and I tell Ravi so. Drapes the color of the red hibiscus Nimmi loves are being hoisted on both sides of the screen. Workmen are bolting red mohair seats to the floor of the final row. Electricians are testing the recessed lights along the perimeter, which turn the walls from yellow to green to orange periodically.

I whistle. “How long did it take to build all this?”

“Not as long as you would think. Would you believe that what was supposed to take us five years only took us three?”

“How did you manage that?”

He smiles at me. “Ah, old chap, that’s the advantage Singh-Sharma Construction has over every other builder. It’s why Manu keeps hiring us for these showcase projects.” He taps his index finger against the side of his nose, meaning,It’s a secret.

When he excuses himself to talk to the construction supervisor, I return to the grand lobby, imagining Nimmi and her two children here with me, marveling at how many people it takes to build something so monumental.

Then we head out for lunch at a nearby restaurant, where Ravi orders platters of fragrant lamb and chicken curry, steamingbasmatirice with cashews, a bowl ofmatar paneer, and a stack of hotaloo paranthaswith a dollop ofghee. Everyone at this restaurant seems to know Ravi. The proprietor greets us when we arrive, unfolds our napkins and places them on our laps. Two waiters help move our chairs closer toward the table and a third fills our water glasses.

Now a very pretty waitress in a white blouse and a slim black skirt arrives with tall glasses of Kingfisher beer. The proprietor beams at her and glances at Ravi to gauge his reaction. Ravi is watching the young woman with a bemused smile, his eyes roving the length of her figure. The restaurant owner smiles at Ravi, gives a slight bow and moves discreetly away.

“So what do you think of my house, the one my father designed?” Ravi asks.

Following that dinner at the Singhs’ almost a month ago, Samir had taken me around the corner of his property to show me the house he’d built for Ravi and Sheela, his daughter-in-law, as a wedding gift. Thirteen years ago, when Auntie-Boss first proposed the marriage arrangement between the Singhs and the Sharmas, Sheela agreed only on the condition that she would not have to live in a joint family household where the eldest son and his wife live with his parents. So Lakshmi suggested that Samir build a separate house for Ravi and Sheela on the vast Singh property. Sheela didn’t get exactly what she wanted, but Boss’s creative solution sealed the deal.

I reach for aparantha. “Impressive,” I say. “So modern inside. All that light.” It reminds me of Kanta and Manu’s house. Raised in a westernized family in Bengal, Kanta favors the modern design: clean lines, large plate-glass windows and minimal decoration. “What does Sheela think?”

Ravi chuckles. “Her majesty decided she liked it only after she realized how much bigger it is than her friends’ houses.”

I smile, remembering how difficult Sheela could be when she was a young girl.

Ravi continues. “Papaji did a good job with our house, mind you. But there’s so much more we could be doing at the firm. Look at what Le Corbusier has done in Chandigarh.” He fixes his dark eyes on mine, suddenly enthused. “Chandigarh inspired me. I wanted the Royal Jewel Cinema to stand out, to be different from any other building in Jaipur. This is how I’ll make my mark—use it as a stepping stone to bigger and better things.”

I take a sip from my beer glass. “Bigger and better things?” I help myself to another piece of lamb, so tender it falls off the bone. I suck on the marrow—the best part.

Ravi’s grin is wolfish. “Bigger than Papaji has ever dreamed of.” He spoons some chicken curry onto his plate. “My father believes in doing everything just as it’s always been done. But now there are newer, better techniques, materials, processes.” He raises one eyebrow. “For the time being, though,What can’t be cured must be endured.”

I laugh. “Your father doesn’t agree with you? About your modern ideas?”

Ravi’s face clouds for a fraction of a second. “I’m still working on him. We don’t quite see eye to eye on some things.”

The pretty waitress approaches with a basket of bread and a pair of tongs. “Moreparanthas, Sahib?”

Ravi turns to her, allows his gaze to linger. When she blushes and smiles at him, he nods. He watches her until she finishes serving both of us. When she walks away, he keeps his eyes on her, the movement of her buttocks.

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