Free My Kind of Girl by Buddhadeva Bose

least twenty people were scattered around the room in small groups, some of whom it was rather difficult even to attract the attention of.
    I hadn’t guessed wrong. The taste of this gathering was completely different, I had not yet experienced anything in my life that I could compare it to. When had I ever seen such an assortment of so many beautiful, well-dressed young people in a well-lit room? Their laughter, conversation, bearing, brief glances around, even the slightest movement of their hands, all signaled that they were citizens of a brave, bright new world, one whose existence was not even suspected in the precincts of a medical college. At least that was my impression that day, though, as I got to know them better afterwards, I realized many of them were as ordinary as the rest of us. It was just that the polish on their casing gleamed more.
    I had lost track of Ramen within a minute of entering. Everyone around us sought him out: sometimes with this group, sometimes with that, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, sometimes half-inclined, he was laughing with his eyes, smiling with his mouth, speaking with both his mouth and his eyes. Ramen was fluid by nature, he had no inhibitions; anything he did seemed to suit him because ofhis fine appearance. I had always seen him become the toast of the party wherever he went, and here too he was the center of attraction. Everyone seemed to have something to say to him in private, even Mrs. Dutta spoke to him in a low voice by the window for nearly ten minutes.
    It appeared that Mr. Dutta had been trying to get the rehearsal started for quite a while, but the conversation just didn’t seem to cease. Meanwhile, cups of tea arrived, accompanied by elegant snacks. There wasn’t enough for everyone the first time, though as I was a guest, I got some immediately. The second round didn’t arrive till eight. Finally Mr. Dutta stood up and said, “Let’s start now. We haven’t done Anupam and Lalita’s scene in quite some time, we’ll start with that one. Anupam! Lalita!”
    Ramen stood up and assumed a serious expression.
    â€œLalita! Bina! Come on!”
    The patient of the previous day had all this while been sitting quietly in one corner, leaning against the wall. I had noticed that she had not spoken to a single person in the crowd, not even looked up once. She had a book open on her lap, though her face made it clear she wasn’t reading. Her face was as ashen as the day before. She had done her hair for the evening, changed her clothes, even applied a little makeup – but there seemed to be not a drop of spirit in her whole body. I had asked after her as soon as I entered, and Mrs. Dutta had said she was better today. But I could see no sign of recovery. I admitted to a twinge of worry. A blood test might be needed, seeing how thin she was; even an X-ray was not a bad idea.
    Mr. Dutta called her again, “Bina!”
    Bina limped up on her bandaged foot. Mr. Dutta said, “Your lines, Ramen.”
    I had not realized all this while that Ramen was acting too. And not any old role either – the role of the young lover. I had enjoyed the romance between Anupam and Lalita the most, in the book. I settled down to watch closely.
    Ramen was asking, “Don’t you recognize me?”
    Bina said something unintelligible, softly. “Speak up,” the author urged her from the back.
    Now a faint voice could be heard, “Anupam-babu, isn’t it?”
    â€œLook at him as you speak.”
    Bina raised her eyes with great difficulty and repeated her dialogue.
    â€œSmile, smile as you speak.”
    She smiled wanly. But there was no connection between the smile and her words, both seemed empty. I was wondering why they had chosen her for the role.
    Mr. Dutta stood up and began to lecture the girl. “Bina, do you want all our hard work to go to waste just because of you? If you behave this way no one will be