His knees are pronounced bulges and his bones are wide and strong. His skin is smooth and clean. His hands do not shake as he digs into the pots. His wife fanned him frequently with a straw fan. She looks the symbol of silent self-effacement.
Once Gandhi interrupted to say, “You have lived in Russia for fourteen years. What is your opinion of Stalin?”
I felt very hot, and my hands were sticky, and so I replied briefly, “Very able and very ruthless.”
“As ruthless as Hitler?” Gandhi asked. “At least,” I replied. After a pause, Gandhi turned to me again and said, “Have you seen the Viceroy?”
“Yes,” I said, but Gandhi dropped the subject.
I was discovering my ankles. Too much of my weight was resting on them. The Indians know how to distribute their bodily weight, but I hadn’t learned. I stood one leg on its foot, and felt a bit more comfortable. Gandhi said to me, “I see you have come to a standstill.”
“No,” I replied, “I find the food surprisingly good.”
“You can have all the water you want,” he said. “We take good care that it is boiled. And now you must eat your mango.”
I said I had been observing others eat it, and would now, for the first time in my life, try one. Kurshed suggested that I would need a bath when
