A Fine Balance

by Rohinton Mistry

Ashraf was the Muslim tailor in town. He was Dukhi’s age, and it was to him that Dukhi used to go on the rare occasions when he could afford to get something for Roopa or the children – the Hindu tailor did not sew for untouchables.

Distance was a dangerous thing, she knew. Distance changed people. Look at her own case – she could never return now to live with her family in the city. And just going to boarding school had made Maneck shun the good-morning hug that he had never missed, ever, not even on days when he was sick, when he came down so lovingly, put his arms around her, then went back to bed. What else would he shun after this separation? Already he was getting more solitary, harder to talk to and share things with, always looking so depressed. How much more would he change? What things would the city do to her son? Was she losing him now forever?

Please always remember, the secret of survival is to embrace change, and to adapt. To quote: “All things fall and are built again, and those that build them again are gay.”’

Sometimes you have to use your failures as stepping-stones to success. You have to maintain a fine balance between hope and despair.’ He paused, considering what he had just said. ‘Yes,’ he repeated. ‘In the end, it’s all a question of balance.’

Too many production days are lost to such excuses. Probably drinking and dancing in their village. We are Third World in development, but first class in absenteeism and strikes.’

This was life? Or a cruel joke? He no longer believed that the scales would ever balance fairly. If his pan was not empty, if there was some little sustenance in it for his days and nights, it was enough for him. Now he expected nothing better from the Maker of the Universe.

‘Stories of suffering are no fun when we are the main characters.’

They were trusting her with bits of their past, she realized, and nothing could be as precious.

Justice is sold to the highest bidder.’

But it was an unrefrigerated world. And everything ended badly.

Independence came at a high price: a debt with a payment schedule of hurt and regret. But the other option – under Nusswan’s thumb – was inconceivable.

Maneck studied Beggarmaster’s excessive chatter, his attempt to hide his heartache. Why did humans do that to their feelings? Whether it was anger or love or sadness, they always tried to put something else forward in its place. And then there were those who pretended their emotions were bigger and grander than anyone else’s. A little annoyance they acted out like a gigantic rage; where a smile or chuckle would do, they laughed hysterically. Either way, it was dishonest.

What an unreliable thing is time – when I want it to fly, the hours stick to me like glue. And what a changeable thing, too. Time is the twine to tie our lives into parcels of years and months. Or a rubber band stretched to suit our fancy. Time can be the pretty ribbon in a little girl’s hair. Or the lines in your face, stealing your youthful colour and your hair.’ He sighed and smiled sadly. ‘But in the end, time is a noose around the neck, strangling slowly.’

‘To listen to the things happening in our lifetime is like drinking venom – it poisons my peace. Every day I pray that this evil cloud over our country will lift, that justice will take care of these misguided people.’

‘After all, our lives are but a sequence of accidents – a clanking chain of chance events. A string of choices, casual or deliberate, which add up to that one big calamity we call life.’

In the end, only family will be of help – when the rest of the world turns its back on you.’

For votes and power they play with human lives. Today it is Sikhs. Last year it was Muslims; before that, Harijans. One day, your sudra and kusti might not be enough to protect you.’

‘I think I will visit our relatives. And also Dina Aunty.’ Her brisk efforts with his wet hair added a curious vibrato to his voice. ‘How funny you sound. As if you were trying to talk and gargle at the same time.’ She laughed and put away the napkin. ‘They’ll be so happy to see you. When will you leave?’ ‘Tomorrow morning.’ ‘Tomorrow?’ She wondered if it was a ruse to get away from her. ‘And when will you return here?’ ‘I think I’ll go back to Dubai straight from there. More convenient.’ She knew the hurt was showing in her face, and he did not seem aware of it. His words grew indistinct to her ears, already travelling the distance he was to put between them. ‘What I want to do‚’ he continued, ‘is get back to my job quickly – give them notice, find out how soon they will release me.’ ‘You mean, resign? And then?’ ‘I’ve decided to come back and settle here.’ Her breath quickened. ‘That’s a wonderful plan‚’ she said, restraining, as best she could, the tide of emotion that swept through her. ‘You can start your own business by selling the shop and –’ ‘No. The shop is why I’m coming back.’ ‘Daddy would like that.’ He left the table and went to the window. It did not always have to end badly – he was going to prove it to himself. First he would meet all his friends: Om, happily married, and his wife, and at least two or three children by now; what would their names be? If there was a boy, surely Narayan. And Ishvar, the proud grand-uncle, beaming away at his sewing-machine, d...