Free Teatime for the Firefly by Shona Patel

his desk.
    “My dear Rai Sahib, I have been meaning to pay you a visit.” Mr. Sen leaned his umbrella against the post and held out his hands in an exaggerated gesture of effusiveness toward my grandfather.
    “A pleasant surprise, Sen Babu, a pleasant surprise indeed!” Dadamoshai exclaimed, patting absentmindedly for the cap of his fountain pen under his papers and shuffling his foot under the desk to feel for his clogs. “Please, please, do have a seat.”
    Mr. Sen gathered the pleats of his dhoti with care and perched on the edge of the sofa, like a plump sparrow on a windowsill. He watched with a beatific smile as my grandfather tried to get his bumbling act together. Despite all the cordiality between him and my grandfather, their relationship bordered on distaste. Mr. Sen’s visit was undoubtedly suspicious.
    I strained my ears to listen to their conversation. Mr. Sen was talking about the preparations for Kona’s wedding. He dropped numbers here and there, pretending to bemoan the costs of things, but all the while seeking to impress Dadamoshai with how much money he was spending.
    “You have no idea how much it costs to get a girl married these days. We are in the middle of wartime and every item is either in short supply or priced to make your hands bleed,” he lamented.
    Dadamoshai was trying very hard to look engaged. “I must congratulate you, Sen Babu. You have indeed made a fine choice of a son-in-law in Manik Deb. He is an exceptional young man with a remarkable future ahead of him,” he said conversationally.
    Mr. Sen’s eyes wandered off into the jasmine trellis. He suddenly looked morose and crestfallen. His mustache twitched, and he nibbled his lips nervously, looking amazingly like a rodent.
    “Manik Deb...” He paused, as if recalling a painful toothache. “Manik Deb has let us all down badly. He has devastated his family name and mine. It is unforgivable what he has done.”
    Dadamoshai sat up, surprised, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Goodness gracious, is something wrong?”
    “More than wrong, Rai Bahadur, sir, more than wrong! The biggest calamity has befallen our family.” Mr. Sen wiped his brow with the tail end of his starched cotton dhoti. He leaned forward, took a grateful sip of tea from the cup Chaya had just set down and sighed deeply and sadly.
    I pressed against the wall of my bedroom, almost fusing myself into the plaster, trying to get every word.
    “Can you believe that this foolish fellow has given up his prestigious job in civil service and decided instead to become a tea planter!”
    “A tea planter!” exclaimed Dadamoshai in wonderment, and with a twinge of awe.
    “Yes, a tea planter.” Mr. Sen spat out the words distastefully like small eggshells he had just found in his omelet. “Imagine that! Who goes through a fine Oxford education with honors and distinctions to become, of all things, a tea planter ?”
    I could see Dadamoshai was highly amused. He threw back his head, let out a belly laugh and thumped the sofa cushion. Mr. Sen stiffened.
    “Why does this amuse you, sir? Please explain yourself. I do not see the joke in this.”
    Dadamoshai quickly composed himself. “Pardon me, Sen Babu. I did not mean to insult you,” he said apologetically. “But I do think it is rather bold and adventurous of the young man to deviate from the beaten path. I have heard tea jobs are very prestigious. It is rare for an Indian to be employed by a British company. They only hire Europeans, I know. I think you should be proud of your future son-in-law. It is a great honor for an Indian to be selected, really.”
    “Honor? So that he can run around in the jungles with those debauched Englishmen? Rai Bahadur, sir, I have not been so deeply ashamed in my entire life! He has made a laughingstock of us all. Kona and her mother have not stopped crying since they got the news. All we received was one brief telegram, that’s all. ‘Change of career. Accepted job with