SURESH BLOSSOM

'You've come, you've come', Suresh ran towards me.  He seemed even thinner than the last time I'd seen him, his eyes even larger and a smile of sheer delight spread over his entire face.  He'd won the scholarship and was now a Junior Research Fellow at the Contemporary Art Society Library for a month - he was to read his paper on "Monsters in Indian Art" to an invited audience, at 4 p.m. Indian Time.  The last time he had tried to read a paper, at a conference,  it was a dismal flop because he hadn't slept for 4 days and had read 150 books !  So this time, the first thing I asked, was whether he had slept.  'No',   the other students chorused', even worse' !  How could it be worse, I wondered......  'He deleted not the file, but the contents of the file, on the computer....there was no way of retrieving it'.   'What! ?  You mean...  Monsters in Indian Art by Suresh Blossom was empty?'   'Yes, yes' they chorused again, 'he had to sit up all night and write it again.' !

I was expecting the worst, but the reading of the paper, apart from a few stumbles and re-positioning of the mic...and minor problems with the wrong images appearing at unexpected times, so that one was whisked from 20th c Brancusi to paleolithic art in a few uncomfortable seconds and back again, it passed without incident.  We all clapped and Suresh looked relieved to have it over and done with.

And now to celebrate the occasion, smoke a 'bidi' and drink a cup of chai  from the chai wallah down on the street below.  A chair was found for me and dusted off, it had a split right across it and I hoped I wouldn't fall through,.  An old emaciated man, looking for all the world like an Old Testament Prophet, with flowing caftan and only one arm, the empty sleeve of the missing arm, was neatly pinned across his chest to the right shoulder - in a permanent 'cross my heart' gesture, directed operations and told them to move the chair into the shade, so that I was protected from the sun - he then retired into a corner and opened a book, the Koran perhaps and was soon lost in its contents.   A young boy, about 10 years old, sucking a plastic tube filled with ice, was told to bring us tea..  Tea was brewed in a large aluminum kettle over a fire and then strained through muslin into little glasses.  In the corner a woman in a sari sat on her haunches, her face partly obscured by her sari veil, grinding Marsala tea spice with pestle and mortar. 

We chatted about philosophy and the differences between art in the East and West....then it was time to go - I offered to pay for tea but my purse was shooed away by Suresh, Junior Research Fellow, who said that I was his honoured guest !  I swear he's grown a couple of inches....?