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145 pages

English

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A delectable offering of the best stories written by master storytellers, including Ruskin Bond, Anita Desai, Satyajit Ray, R.K. Narayan, Salman Rushdie and Vikram Seth, to name a few. Each story represents the richness and range of contemporary writing for children, and is beautifully illustrated to make this truly a collector's item.

Informations

Publié par	Penguin Books Ltd
Date de parution	18 novembre 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9789351185529
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0050€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

MONI MOHSIN

THE IMPECCABLE INTEGRITY OF RUBY R.
PENGUIN BOOKS

PENGUIN BOOKS
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
Advance Praise for the Book
My patience had been rewarded; Moni Mohsin s new book does not disappoint. As always, Mohsin deftly tackles our complicated times with her enviable lightness of touch. The book is so vibrant and whip-smart I wish I had written it -Diksha Basu
In this novel, Moni Mohsin displays the sharpness and insight that are a hallmark of her wildly popular satirical work-and adds in new notes of sorrow and rage for individuals and nations betrayed by those they trusted. Ruby R. is very much a protagonist for our troubled times -Kamila Shamsie
Sharp, wise, contemporary and hilarious, this novel brims over with Mohsin s brilliant flair and acumen -Mahesh Rao
The brilliant Moni Mohsin tells a story about Pakistan, which could be as much about India today, with meticulous detailing and insightful wit -Twinkle Khanna
Funny and a bit scary at the same time -Mohammed Hanif
By the Same Author
The End of Innocence
Tender Hooks
The Diary of a Social Butterfly
The Return of the Butterfly
For Jugnu Mohsin and Najam Sethi
1
I want you, he growled. Under the full force of his blazing gaze, a tide of heat whooshed up Ruby s neck and flooded her cheeks. I need you, said Saif Haq. Come. His commanding tone drowned out Ruby s habitual caution. Almost as if sleepwalking, she was about to rise shakily to her feet when, abruptly, he looked away. Sweeping the ascending tiers of the lecture hall, his searchlight gaze scanned the hall. Rows of college students leaned forward in their seats, staring at him in open-mouthed fascination.
I need you to join hands with me. I need you to come forward and shake up your country, my country, our country. To restore our self-respect, our dignity, so that no nation ever looks down on us again. I need you to help revive our honour, rebuild our spine. I need you to help me shape a just society, an equal society, where a poor man can walk with his head held high, where corrupt officials and cruel leaders live in fear of their lives, and where every man, no matter how rich, how influential, can be held accountable. I need you to help me build that bright, shining future. Come! His voice had been ascending gradually. Now he roared out a single word: Yes?
A hundred-odd students leapt to their feet and thundered: Yes! To the sound of deafening applause, some of the boys in the audience vaulted over the desks to reach him, to grab his hands, thump his back and embrace him. The girls, faces flushed and eyes sparkling, clapped and clapped. Saif stood still, arms outstretched, head flung back, allowing their adulation to wash over him.
Doesn t Saif look like Kate Winslet at the prow of the Titanic ? Seated in the third row of the lecture theatre, Kiran whispered into Ruby s ear. And that cheapster, Jazz. She nodded at their batchmate who had organized the event. Just look at the cringy way he s all over Saif. Reminds me of my dog, Sheeba, how she used to greet me and my brother when we came home from school. Sometimes she d get so excited, she d pee a little.
Ruby jerked out of her trance and blinked at Kiran. It was thanks to Kiran that she was here. Her diary, to which she adhered like a sacred text, had not made any provision for Saif Haq s talk that afternoon. The entry for the day dictated that she remain in the library till 7 p.m. and complete her assignment before proceeding directly to her babysitting job in Camden. Even her evening meal-a foil-wrapped sandwich she had made in the morning and packed into her backpack-was to be consumed during the fifteen-minute bus journey to Camden. But Kiran had derailed her plans. Seeking her out in the library, she had placed a smooth, manicured hand over Ruby s open book.
Enough, she had declared. All day you ve been in this bloody library. If you don t go out now, you ll go blind. And then no one will marry you and you will die a sad old spinster. Even worse, you ll become a bore.
But I have to do my studies, Ruby had protested laughingly.
Always you are working. So boring.
Her pale face framed by the raised fur collar of her down jacket, Kiran pouted at Ruby.
Please come to this talk with me. How often do we get to hear an actor-turned-politician? It will be so fun. Also, we ll get to watch all the proud patriots grovel before their hero. Come, na. Please ?
Rich people s children didn t just have expensive tastes; they also had expensive attitudes, mused Ruby. Only someone as wealthy as Kiran could afford to think that work made you boring. But Ruby didn t want Kiran to feel she resented her. And, in truth, she didn t. After all the pious, self-serving cant of many of her fellow Pakistani students, she found Kiran s habitual scepticism bracing. Kiran possessed a wicked, even cruel, wit and was clever in a way that owed little to books. Her humour could be rebarbative, but she had never subjected Ruby to its cutting edge. Despite her frequent misgivings about Kiran, Ruby couldn t help but be flattered that this beautiful, wealthy girl had singled her out for attention.
Oh, Kiran, she moaned. You don t understand . . .
I do, babes, I do. I know you need to get good grades and get a job so you can go home and support your family. I understand you ve got stuff going on that I haven t. But you also have to give that poor brain of yours some rest. Otherwise it will fizzle out and you will fail at your studies and job-shob, everything will go down the toilet.
Ruby pressed her fingers to her forehead. She had had a dull headache all day.
Your head is paining, no? Kiran asked. No use denying, I can tell. Bus, it s decided: you re coming with me. She closed Ruby s book and pulled her to her feet.
Okay, okay, laughed Ruby. I ll come, but I ll have to leave by seven sharp or I ll miss my babysitting gig.
* * *
The talk had been organized by an energetic second-year law student named Ijaz Khan, or Jazz as he preferred to be called. A British-born Pakistani from Bolton, Ijaz had introduced himself to Ruby and Kiran as Jazz Caan Q.C.-to-be , when they had first met him in a caf near King s College. I m Jazz cause I m assimilated, yeah, Kiran would mimic his northern accent behind his back. But in the last couple of months, much to the girls amusement, Jazz had suddenly been born again as Mohammed Ijaz Khan, a proud Pakistani patriot and undying devotee of Saif Haq. He had taken to parading his political loyalties in his choice of attire, which mirrored those of his hero: a Chitrali hat one day, a handloom waistcoat on another. His Twitter photo showed Mr Khan dressed in a sober black sherwani, the formal dress of Pakistani parliamentarians, standing with arms folded in a three-quarter profile against the backdrop of the green and white Pakistani flag. Ijaz s conversion, it was widely known, had been prompted by his admiration for Saif Haq, who inspired a messianic devotion among his followers. Ijaz s friends had undergone a similar reawakening. Previously an affable, apolitical lot, they had morphed into what Kiran called Haq s Rottweilers, who would not hear a word against Mr Haq, or even a mild criticism of his policies, without launching into a vicious personal attack.
Waiting in a lecture theatre in Bloomsbury for the actor, Ruby felt a twinge of resentment. Why couldn t Pakistanis ever show others the courtesy of punctuality? But nobody else seemed to mind that he was now thirty-five minutes late. The hall was full of placid brown people waiting contentedly. Engrossed in her books, with little time to socialize or even follow online the activities of the Pakistan Students Union, Ruby hadn t realized that Saif Haq had so many admirers in London. But, perhaps, they weren t all fans. Some-many-might well be idle spectators like Kiran and herself.
I knew I shouldn t have come. Total time waste, Ruby muttered.
Chill, said Kiran, patting her knee. He s an actor. It ll destroy his reputation if he shows up on time.
Was. Was an actor.
But he can still pull a crowd, no? said Kiran, surveying the hall.
If you ask me, he s just another attention addict, retorted Ruby. Once his movie career was over, he had to find another way of getting the spotlight back. And so, the political career.
You re forgetting the TV show.
That was just an extension of his acting career. All those put-up jobs, Ruby snorted.
So, this is also an act? Maybe the third act then.
But, honestly, what kind of name is Integrity for a political party? So pompous.
Yeah, it sucks. Oh, look, there s Jazz.
Clock his shiny black sherwani, whispered Ruby. He s already dressed as a senator.
They giggled as they watched him pacing near the podium, a self-important frown on his face and a cell phone glued to his ear.
Do you think there s anyone on the other end of the phone? Ruby asked Kiran.
Probably his ammi in Bolton, wanting to know if he remembered to wear his thermal vest.
But now after Saif s uplifting talk, Ruby found Kiran s comparison of Jazz to her dog inexplicably jarring. In the last forty minutes, in fact, ever since Saif Haq had taken to the podium and given his heartfelt address, Ruby s views about politics, and about Saif in particular, had undergone a transformation. She had never come across a politician-not that he was a bona fide politician just yet-who had shaken her to the core as Saif had just then. It was not only his message of clean, transparent government but the sincerity, the passion with which he delivered it, that had moved her.
Her readiness to acknowledge her mistakes was one of Ruby s most endearing qualities. Though proud of her analytical mind, she did not allow that pride to stand in the way of amending an opinion, however strongly she may have held it. This essential