“Oh, Bindu, we can’t ruin the wine they brought with ice,” Mr. Jha said, shaking his head at Mr. Chopra. “I’ll get a different chilled bottle.”
Mr. Jha turned to walk toward the kitchen and glared at his wife along the way. In the kitchen, he opened the fridge and took a deep breath. No, he would not be defeated today. Everything was going well—his son was back, halfway through his MBA, which meant that he did not need to earn money, so even if his wife had suggested putting ice cubes in the wine, it was clear that they were wealthy. He reached for the bottle of wine and noticed that the soup was not in the fridge. He looked around and spotted a large glass bowl with the mulligatawny soup on the marble countertop. Soup looked a lot like daal, he thought. He put the large bowl of soup in the fridge and took out the wine.
When he returned to the living room with the bottle, Mr. Chopra was looking around the room and saying, “Big houses take longer to decorate. It will all come together soon.”
“Are you planning to put in carpeting?” Mrs. Chopra asked.
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Jha said. “Although I quite like the marble floors. It feels nice and cool in the summers.”
“Yes, but carpeting feels nice and warm in the winters. It’s difficult to decide,” Mrs. Chopra said. “Global warming has made interior decorating more difficult.”
“Do let us know if we can help with anything,” Mr. Chopra said. “We have worked with some of the best contractors in the area. They’re more expensive here than in other parts of Delhi, but I say when you’re paying for quality, it’s worth it. Pay less, get less, isn’t that so? I still think you should consider getting some artwork done like we have in our foyer.”
“That is true,” Mrs. Chopra said. “It really changes the feel of the home to have original art. Did Dinesh tell you that the artists can also do Bollywood re-creations? That’s what I want to get done in the upstairs hall. Maybe a still from some old film. Dhoom—the first one. And now is the time to do it, really. The Singhs who live at the end of the lane—they got their living room wall done just hardly a year or so before their daughter had a child. Practically the week the child started walking, he took a colored marker and destroyed the painting. Can you imagine? I’ve heard the Singhs haven’t spoken to their daughter in over a year now. The artist refused to just clean up the area that was ruined—he said that isn’t how art works. You can’t blame him. So they had to pay the full amount again.”
“Hard to say who is to blame. That’s why I, personally, think the painting works best on the ceiling,” Mr. Chopra said. “The Singhs should have thought it through. You don’t leave the Mona Lisa lying unprotected on the floor when there is a toddler running around.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Mrs. Chopra said, taking a sip from her glass.
“Well, I was hoping at some point to get a full bookshelf made along that wall,” Mrs. Jha said. That was really the only decorating thing left on her list.
“If your books are causing a space problem, you should invest in a Kindle. There’s no reason to fill up the house with books these days,” Mr. Chopra said.
“He is correct,” Mrs. Chopra said. “I download everything onto my iPad. You can even get full magazine subscriptions. All the film magazines—can you imagine? But I just love the feel of magazines in my hand, so I still get hard copies of those. I can’t resist. And I love those folded pages with the perfume samples—say what you will, you can’t get that on an iPad.”
“I like books,” Johnny said to Mrs. Jha. She smiled at him.
“Drinks! Here’s the white wine we have. It’s from Chile and it’s nice and cold,” Mr. Jha said.
“You know, I’m glad Chile has started manufacturing wine,” Mr. Chopra said. “Those wines are so much cheaper to get in India. Italian wines or French wines cost an arm and a leg here. Does it taste decent?”
Mr. Jha put the bottle down on the counter with more force than he had expected, his limbs suddenly heavy.
“I’ll have a whiskey, if you don’t mind,” Johnny said. He moved to the counter and poured himself about four fingers’ worth from the bottle of Black Label. He dropped two ice cubes into the glass and returned to the sofa.
Mr. Chopra said, “Look at that. Look at how much he drinks. He has no sense of the value of money. Rupak, you must speak to Johnny. You heard about the plagiarizing.”
Johnny looked at his father, raised his glass, smiled mischievously, and drank.
“Well, Mr. Chopra,” Mr. Jha said. “Look on the bright side. At least he is plagiarizing from a talented poet. He has taste. And that is the first step for success. Mark my words. And writing can be very lucrative these days. It is a good decision. Secure. Wine for everyone else?”
“I’ll just have a plain soda, Papa, thanks. I’ll get it myself,” Rupak said. His mother smiled at him. Mr. Jha was silent. His family was so uncooperative. He was worried he would never completely win.
“Did you hear that, Johnny?” Mr. Chopra said, laughing and shaking his head. “Rupak, I want to know more about your filmmaking plans. I want you to talk to Johnny. He should learn some sense of responsibility from you. Look at you working hard. You know that you can’t rely on your parents’ money forever.”
“Filmmaking is more of a hobby for him,” Mrs. Jha added. How did Mr. Chopra know about Rupak’s interest in film?
“You know how young people are these days,” Mr. Jha said. “Not a care in the world—they think hobbies can be real careers. What can we do? It’s our fault really, for having spoiled them so much. Anyway, what can we do but support him?”
“You shouldn’t worry; you won’t have to support him,” Mr. Chopra said. “Filmmaking is where all the money is these days. Your son is your own retirement plan, Anil! Just look at all those Bollywood people—they’re buying up homes in Dubai left and right. Very good decision, Rupak.”
“No, my mother’s right, it’s more of a hobby. I’m probably going to finish my degree in India itself. The Indian Institute of Management has a good program and I like living here,” Rupak said. “There are so many opportunities. America just hasn’t been the same since the recession.”
“It will be best to focus on filmmaking now. It is a risky career but I think it will be good to try. Rupak, I have been thinking I will invest in your first film. Of course saying ‘invest’ means there will be returns, so maybe that’s the wrong word. Indian Institute of Management is a very good idea, but let’s be realistic, they won’t accept you,” Mr. Jha said.
“Anil!” Mrs. Jha said. “Why don’t I serve the soup?”