Chapter One
Dina Dalal seldom indulged in looking back at her life with regretor bitterness, or questioning why things had turned out the way theyhad, cheating her of the bright future everyone had predicted forher when she was in school, when her name was still Dina Shroff. Andif she did sink into one of these rare moods, she quickly swam outof it. What was the point of repeating the story over and over andover, she asked herself-it always ended the same way; whichevercorridor she took, she wound up in the same room.
Dina's father had been a doctor, a GP with a modest practice whofollowed the Hippocratic oath somewhat more passionately than othersof his profession. During the early years of Dr. Shroff's career,his devotion to his work was diagnosed, by peers, family members,and senior physicians, as typical of youthful zeal and vigour. "Howrefreshing, this enthusiasm of the young," they smiled, noddingsagely, confident that time would douse the fires of idealism with ahealthy dose of cynicism and family responsibilities.
But marriage, and the arrival of a son, followed eleven years laterby a daughter, changed nothing for Dr. Shroff. Time only sharpenedthe imbalance between his fervour to ease suffering and his desireto earn a comfortable income.
"How disappointing," said friends and relatives, shaking theirheads. "Such high hopes we had for him. And he keeps slaving like aclerk, like a fanatic, refusing to enjoy life. Poor Mrs. Shroff.Never a vacation, never a party-no fun at all in her existence."
At fifty-one, when Most GPS would have begun considering optionslike working half-time, hiring an inexpensive junior, or evenselling the practice in favour of early retirement, Dr. Shroff hadneither the bank balance nor the temperament to permit suchindulgences. Instead, he volunteered to lead a campaign of medicalgraduates bound for districts in the interior. There, where typhoidand cholera, unchallenged by science or technology, were stillreaping their routine harvest of villagers, Dr. Shroff would try toseize the deadly sickles or, at the very least, to blunt them.
But Mrs. Shroff undertook a different sort of campaign: to dissuadeher husband from going into what she felt were the jaws of certaindeath. She attempted to coach Dina with words to sway her father.After all, Dina, at twelve, was Daddy's darling. Mrs. Shroff knewthat her son, Nusswan, could be of no help in this enterprise.Enlisting him would have ruined any chance of changing her husband'smind.
The turning point in the father-and-son relationship had come sevenyears ago, on Nusswan's sixteenth birthday. Uncles and aunts hadbeen invited to dinner, and someone said, "Well, Nusswan, you willsoon be studying to become a doctor, just like your father."
"I don't want to be a doctor," Nusswan answered. "I'll be going intobusiness-import and export."
Some of the uncles and aunts nodded approvingly. Others recoiled inmock horror, turning to Dr. Shroff. "Is this true? No father-sonpartnership?"
"Of course it's true," he said. "My children are free to do whateverthey please."
But five-year-old Dina had seen the hurt on her father's face beforehe could hide it. She ran to him and clambered onto his lap. "Daddy,I want to be a doctor, just like you, when I grow up."
Everyone laughed and applauded, and said, Smart little girl, knowshow to get what she wants. Later, they whispered that the son wasobviously not made of the same solid stuff as the father-noambition, wouldn't amount to much.
Dina had repeated her wish in the years to come, continuing toregard her father as some kind of god who gave people good health,who struggled against illness, and who, sometimes, succeeded intemporarily thwarting death. And Dr. Shroff was delighted with hisbright child. On parents' night at the convent school, the principaland teachers always had the highest praise for her. She wouldsucceed if she wanted to, Dr. Shroff knew it for certain.
Mrs. Shroff also knew, for certain, that her daughter was the one torecruit in the campaign against Dr. Shroff's foolish philanthropicplan of working in remote, Godforsaken villages. But Dina refused tocooperate; she did not approve of devious means to keep her belovedfather home.
Then Mrs. Shroff resorted to other methods, using not money or hispersonal safety or his family to persuade him, for she knew thesewould fail hopelessly. Instead, she invoked his patients, claiminghe was abandoning them, old and frail and helpless. "What will theydo if you go so far away? They trust you and rely on you. How canyou be so cruel? You have no idea how much you mean to them."
"No, that is not the point," said Dr. Shroff. He was familiar withthe anfractuous arguments that her love for him could prompt her towield. Patiently he explained there were GPS galore in the city whocould take care of the assorted aches and pains-where he was going,the people had no one. He comforted her that it was only a temporaryassignment, hugging and kissing her much more than was usual forhim. "I promise to be back soon," he said. "Before you even growused to my absence."
But Dr. Shroff could not keep his promise. Three weeks into themedical campaign he was dead, not from typhoid or cholera, but froma cobra's bite, far from the lifesaving reach of antivenins.
Mrs. Shroff received the news calmly. People said it was because shewas a doctor's wife, more familiar with death than other mortals.They reasoned that Dr. Shroff must have often carried such tidingsto her regarding his own patients, thus preparing her for theinevitable.
When she took brisk charge of the funeral arrangements, managingeverything with superb efficiency, people wondered if there was notsomething a little abnormal about her behaviour. Between disbursingfunds from her handbag for the various expenses, she acceptedcondolences, comforted grieving relatives, tended the oil lamp atthe head of Dr. Shroff's bed, washed and ironed her white sari, andmade sure there was a supply of incense and sandalwood in the house.She personally instructed the cook about the special vegetarian mealfor the next day.
After the full four days of death ceremonies, Dina was still crying.Mrs. Shroff, who was busy tallying the prayer-bungalow charges fromthe Towers of Silence, said briskly, "Come, my daughter, be sensiblenow. Daddy would not like this." So Dina did her best to controlherself.
Then Mrs. Shroff continued absentmindedly, writing out the cheque."You could have stopped him if you wanted. He would have listened toyou," she said.
Dina's sobs burst out with renewed intensity. In addition to thegrief for her father, her tears now included anger towards hermother, even hatred. It would take her a few months to understandthat there was no malice or accusation contained in what had beensaid, just a sad and simple statement of fact as seen by her mother.
Six months after Dr. Shroff's death, after being the pillar thateveryone could lean on, Mrs. Shroff gradually began to crumble.Retreating from daily life, she took very little interest in therunning of her household or in her own person.
It made little difference to Nusswan, who was twenty-three and busyplanning his own future. But Dina, at twelve, could have done with aparent for a few more years. She missed her father dreadfully. Hermother's withdrawal made it much worse.
Nusswan Shroff had earned his own living as a businessman for twoyears prior to his father's death. He was still single, living athome, saving his money while searching for a suitable flat and asuitable wife. With his father's passing and his mother's reclusion,he realized that the pursuit of a flat was unnecessary, and a wife,urgent.
He now assumed the role of head of the family, and legal guardian toDina. All their relatives agreed this was as it should be. Theypraised his selfless decision, admitting they had been wrong abouthis capabilities. He also took over the family finances, promisingthat his mother and sister would want for nothing; he would lookafter them out of his own salary. But, even as he spoke, he knewthere was no need for this. The money from the sale of Dr. Shroff'sdispensary was sufficient.
Nusswan's first decision as head of the family was to cut back onthe hired help. The cook, who came for half the day and prepared thetwo main meals, was kept on; Lily, the live-in servant, was let go."We cannot continue in the same luxury as before," he declared. "Ijust can't afford the wages."
Mrs. Shroff expressed some doubt about the change. "Who will do thecleaning? My hands and feet don't work like before."
"Don't worry, Mamma, we will all share it. You can do easy things,like dusting the furniture. We can wash our own cups and saucers,surely. And Dina is a young girl, full of energy. It will be goodfor her, teach her how to look after a home."
"Yes, maybe you are right," said Mrs. Shroff, vaguely convinced ofthe need for money-saving measures.
But Dina knew there was more to it. The week before, while passingthe kitchen on her way to the wc well past midnight, she had noticedher brother with the ayah: Lily sitting on one end of the kitchentable, her feet resting on the edge; Nusswan, his pyjamas around hisankles, stood between Lily's thighs, clasping her hips to him. Dinawatched his bare buttocks with sleepy curiosity, then crept back tobed without using the toilet, her cheeks flushed. But she must havelingered a moment too long, for Nusswan had seen her.
Not a word was spoken about it. Lily departed (with a modest bonus,unbeknownst to Mrs. Shroff), tearfully declaring that she wouldnever find as nice a family to work for ever again. Dina felt sorryfor her, and also despised her.
Then the new household arrangement got under way. Everyone made anhonest effort. The experiment in self-reliance seemed like fun."It's a little like going camping," said Mrs. Shroff.
"That's the spirit," said Nusswan.
With the passing of days, Dina's chores began to increase. As atoken of his participation, Nusswan continued to wash his cup,saucer, and breakfast plate before going to work. Beyond that, hedid nothing.
One morning, after swallowing his last gulp of tea, he said, "I'mvery late today, Dina. Please wash my things."
"I'm not your servant! Wash your own dirty plates!" Weeks of pent-upresentment came gushing. "You said we would each do our own work!All your stinking things you leave for me!"
"Listen to the little tigress," said Nusswan, amused.
"You mustn't speak like that to your big brother," chided Mrs.Shroff gently. ";Remember, we must share and share alike."
"He's cheating! He doesn't do any work! I do everything!"
Nusswan hugged his mother: "Bye-bye, Mamma," and gave Dina afriendly pat on the shoulder to make up. She shrank from him. "Thetigress is still angry," he said and left for the office.
Mrs. Shroff tried to soothe Dina, promising to discuss it later withNusswan, maybe convince him to hire a part-time ayah, but herresolve melted within hours. Matters continued as before. As weekswent by, instead of restoring fairness in the household, she beganturning into one of the chores on her daughter's ever-growing list.
Now Mrs. Shroff had to be told what to do. When food was placedbefore her, she ate it, though it did her little good, for she keptlosing weight. She had to be reminded to bathe and change herclothes. If toothpaste was squeezed out and handed to her on thebrush, she brushed her teeth. For Dina, the most unpleasant task washelping her mother wash her hair-it fell out in clumps on thebathroom floor, and more followed when she combed it for her.
Once every month, Mrs. Shroff attended her husband's prayers at thefire-temple. She said it gave her great comfort to hear the elderlyDustoor Framji's soothing tones supplicating for her husband's soul.Dina missed school to accompany her mother, worried about herwandering off somewhere.
Before commencing the ceremony, Dustoor Framji unctuously shook Mrs.Shroff's hand and gave Dina a prolonged hug of the sort he reservedfor girls and young women. His reputation for squeezing and fondlinghad earned him the title of Dustoor Daab-Chaab, along with thehostility of his colleagues, who resented not so much his actionsbut his lack of subtlety, his refusal to disguise his embraces withfatherly or spiritual concern. They feared that one day he would gotoo far, drool over his victim or something, and disgrace thefire-temple.
Dina squirmed in his grasp as he patted her head, rubbed her neck,stroked her back and pressed himself against her. He had a veryshort beard, stubble that resembled flakes of grated coconut, and itscraped her cheeks and forehead. He released her just when she hadsummoned enough courage to tear her trapped body from his arms.
After the fire-temple, for the rest of the day at home Dina tried tomake her mother talk, asking her advice about housework or recipes,and when that failed, about Daddy, and the days of their newlywedlives. Faced with her mother's dreamy silences, Dina felt helpless.Soon, her concern for her mother was tempered by the instinct ofyouth which held her back-she would surely receive her portion ofgrief and sorrow in due course, there was no need to take on theburden prematurely.
And Mrs. Shroff spoke in monosyllables or sighs, staring into Dina'sface for answers. As for dusting the furniture, she could neverproceed beyond wiping the picture frame containing her husband'sgraduation photograph. She spent most of her time gazing out thewindow.
Nusswan preferred to regard his mother's disintegration as a widow'sappropriate renunciation, wherein she was sloughing off the dross oflife to concentrate on spiritual matters. He focused his attentionon the raising of Dina. The thought of the enormous responsibilityresting on his shoulders worried him ceaselessly.
He had always perceived his father to be a strict disciplinarian; hehad stood in awe of him, had even been a little frightened of him.If he was to fill his father's shoes, he would have to induce thesame fear in others, he decided, and prayed regularly for courageand guidance in his task. He confided to the relatives-the unclesand aunts-that Dina's defiance, her stubbornness, was driving himcrazy, and only the Almighty's help gave him the strength to goforward in his duty.
His sincerity touched them. They promised to pray for him too."Don't worry, Nusswan, everything will be all right. We willlight a lamp at the fire-temple."
Continues...
Excerpted from A Fine Balanceby Rohinton Mistry Copyright © 2001 by Rohinton Mistry. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
