Chandeliers hung suspended from the high ceiling. Inside was a mosaic floor patterned with leaves and flowers.
Rounded pillars on the veranda, a large dome on the roof surrounded by narrow minarets, carved wooden jharokhas, and Victorian tiles. Ornamented cornices on the wall in front. How sad it must have been to die and have the British Raj die out as well! Large is our lion-gate entrance, carved with bouquets. An English “nabob” must have lived here in high style.
It was from the British period, a mashup of both desi and foreign styles. Wow, the old woman must have enjoyed this: Oh my, the sights I see every day, right in these pages! She must have picked up the magazine thinking, Come, let’s take a look here, and there, at this, at that, everything all together.Īnd our building certainly was worthy of appearing on a magazine cover. There were pictures of the interior of our building on the inside too. It was an architecture magazine, containing pictures of other old buildings as well: small bricks, arches, jharokhas, domes, screens worked with ornate vines. I flipped through it: on its cover was our office building. So I reached out casually and picked up the magazine. Why was I giving myself so much clarification, even getting annoyed! Arre, if you must pick it up, just do it, otherwise leave it there. I would have picked it up anyway, so that no one would come along and trash it: rain, wind, sun, trash picker, dog, cat, crow, pigeon. Why did I feel guilty picking up a silly magazine? After all, it was possible the old woman hadn’t forgotten it, but had thrown it away, thinking, Enough, I’ve seen all I needed to see. Nonetheless the eyes on the back of my head darted all about. She must have forgotten it on the bench, I thought, and leaned over to pick it up, but then I almost felt like I was stealing no one was watching, were they? But I’m getting it for her, I thought with annoyance at myself. I felt as though I’d seen it in the old woman’s hand that morning, and then I recalled the scene from earlier when she had appeared at our gate, holding a staff in one hand and this magazine in the other. Then I realized there was a magazine lying on the bench. As though a notice were affixed to the bench that read: ACCESS FORBIDDEN. When I drew near, my feet halted, as though stuck in place.
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