Mrs Sharma hadn't gone on a trip in five years. Ever since her husband had died, her life had revolved around home and school. While she hadn't shaved her head or donned white clothes, her life seemed dull and grey. Her English classes, her daughter, her cat.....she couldn't recall the last time she had laughed out loud.
The headmaster had called her to his office. The tenth standard students were going to Shimla. All her excuses had fallen on deaf ears. She had motion sickness and couldn't stand hill roads - they were going by train. She couldn't stand the cold -Shimla in April wasn't cold, surely. Besides, Mr Pratap would be there to take care of everything. She suggested that perhaps Mr Pratap could go on his own. The headmaster brushed this aside, murmuring something indistinct about teenage girls.
Mr Pratap was a tall man with a broad forehead and a perfectly trimmed French beard. Mrs Sharma had often noticed his classes with admiration and, she had to admit to herself, some irritation. While she had to cajole, punish and reward the students into good behaviour, a mere glance from Mr Pratap could silence an entire class.
The train ride was uneventful. The cold hill air made her shiver slightly as her dark green silk saree rustled in the slight breeze. Their hotel was small and old-fashioned. The school budget wasn't accommodative of such luxuries as air-conditioning and marble flooring. She sank into an armchair while Mr Pratap dealt with the receptionist.
She was slowly drifting into sleep when loud voices shook her awake. She saw Mr Pratap talking loudly, his beard bobbing aggressively. As she approached them, she could hear the reception saying," I'm sorry, sir. We thought both teachers were men. And we were asked to minimise the expense." As she peered over Mr Pratap's broad shoulder, she could see the ledger -"Deluxe double room - Sharma, Pratap", it said in bold untidy letters.
"I'll try to find another hotel for myself nearby ", Mr Pratap was saying. She thought of the fifty children she would have to manage alone- fights to break up, lovebirds to separate, sneaking out of rooms, damage to hotel property.... She heard herself saying, " I'm sure the double room is enough for the two of us. Don't go to the bother and expense of another hotel." Mr Pratap seemed relieved and embarrassed at the same time. He murmured something about separate beds.
Dinner was a quick affair, or as quick as fifty children with large appetites and a flair for mischief would let it be. They ensured the children were tucked into their three seated rooms, before climbing up to the top floor where the deluxe rooms were. As Mr Pratap opened the old door, she saw a small room with a table and two chairs. "If this is a deluxe room, I wonder what regular...", her words trailed off as she noticed there was only one bed.
Mr Pratap went on search of the receptionist, his tie fluttering importantly, his face angry, He returned in minutes with the news that the receptionist had left and that there was only a night watchman who knew nothing about rooms and beds. "I'll sleep on the floor", he said. She looked at this expressive eyebrows, at his perfectly combed hair and at his manicured nails. She looked at the mosaic floor - cold and forbidding. "You will catch pneumonia", she said. "We can share the bed." "I'm an old woman", she said, by way of explanation.
They spoke for a while - of their classes, of their hobbies and other unimportant things. Then she opened her suitcase, lying beside his trunk of the old table. She took out a black nightgown with white lace trimmings. Almost unconsciously, she added a matching set of undergarments, and walked briskly to the bathroom door. She could see his eyes on her back as she walked, careful not to drop the clothes.
