Summer 1964 • Vol. XXVI No. 3 Fiction |

The Wog

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" Mr. Sen asked the question without looking up. He pushed the cleaner through the stem of his pipe and twirled it around. As he blew through it, his eye fell on the rose and marigold garlands in the hands of his callers. So they knew that he had been married that morning! He had tried to keep the news quiet. But, as he had learned so often before, nothing remained a secret for long in his nosey native land. He screwed the bowl onto the stem and blew through the pipe again. Through his lowered eyes, he saw his visitors shuffling their feet and nudging each other. He unwrapped his plastic tobacco pouch and began filling the pipe. After an uneasy minute of subdued whispers, one of the men cleared his throat. "Well, Mr. Bannerjee, what is your problem?" asked Mr. Sen in a flat monotone. "Saar," began the superintendent of the clerical staff, "whee came to wheesh your good shelph long liphe and happinesh." He beckoned to the chaprasis: "Garla

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India

By Khushwant Singh

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" Mr. Sen asked the question without looking up. He pushed the cleaner through the stem of his pipe and twirled it around. As […]

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