Read an excerpt from the murder mystery, The Bangalore Detectives Club

‘Yeeaagh!’ Kaveri leapt into the air, scattering notebook, pen, pencil and eraser across the floor of the room. She turned around. ‘Uma aunty?’ she said – calling the older woman aunty as a mark of respect – as her astonished neighbour backed slowly away from her.

‘Kaveri, I am sorry if I disturbed you,’ she said, her voice shaking as she eyed Kaveri uncertainly. ‘I called you for several minutes, and there was no answer. Then I peeped inside and saw you sitting on the mat, with a pencil in your hand . . . Kaveri –’ Uma’s voice dropped to an awed whisper ‘– are you studying?’

‘Shh,’ Kaveri cautioned in a fierce whisper. ‘I’m working for my mathematics test. Don’t tell anyone, no one knows here. I don’t know what they will think of me.’

Uma aunty nodded, but her eyes were questioning. ‘How did you learn how to do such big sums, my dear?’ she asked, flipping through the pages of her maths notebook, which were covered with numbers written in Kaveri’s neat handwriting. ‘I can’t even read my name.’

Kaveri asked Uma aunty to sit down in the kitchen and got her a cup of coffee. She gave Uma’s young grandson Ravi a piece of paper and a pencil to keep him busy. As the boy scribbled away, she sat down facing Uma and said, ‘Yes, aunty, I went to school in Mysore. There is a school for girls, the Maharani’s school, where I studied till matriculation. Then . . .’ Her voice faltered. ‘I moved here. My husband is very supportive of all that I do,’ she added hastily. ‘But my mother-in-law told me early on that she doesn’t approve of women going out to study, or work outside the house. I . . . I don’t know if she will approve of my plans to study further. So I practise and revise when I get time, mostly when my mother-in-law is sleeping – and then I hide the books at night. So you can’t tell anyone that you saw me reading.’

‘Not even Ramu? He knows, doesn’t he? An educated wife would be fitting for a doctor like him.’

Kaveri looked at Uma aunty in wonder. Uma aunty was so broad-minded, despite being so traditional in her observances. She wished her mother-in-law would think more like her. How wonderful life could be then.

‘I haven’t dared to ask him, aunty,’ she said. ‘My father always encouraged me to study, of course. My father is a high school mathematics teacher in Mysore, you know. He pushed me to study, against my mother’s objections. My mother always said that my husband’s family would think it shameful if I went to college and wanted to work outside the home in a regular job. They would say, “Such a wealthy family, can’t they afford to keep her at home?” I really want to finish my BSc in mathematics and then become a teacher in a women’s college.’

‘But Kaveri,’ said the ever-practical Uma, ‘how will you do your BSc exams without telling Ramu?’

‘I’ve worked it out with my father,’ Kaveri said, moving closer to her. ‘If nothing else works, he’ll say he’s missing me, and write to Ramu. I’ll go home for a few days, sit the exams, and return.’

Uma nodded. ‘My parents refused to send me to school.’ She had a tight lipped ironic grimace on her face. ‘They got me married and handed me over to my husband’s home when I was eight. I asked my husband to let me go to school, but he refused. Where was the time? Cooking, cleaning, looking after

my mother-in-law, bringing up four children . . .’ Kaveri reached out a hand to squeeze Uma aunty’s hand.

‘Kaveri – will you teach me also to read?’ Uma aunty asked hesitantly.

Kaveri jumped at a hissing noise. The milk, forgotten on the fire, had boiled over, and was now spreading across the kitchen floor. She jumped up and took a cloth, using it to carefully remove the pot of milk. When she turned back, Uma was tentatively touching her maths textbook’s cover.

‘Aunty? Do you want to learn? Or are you just playing with the idea?’

Uma aunty grabbed her hands, gripping them with desperate urgency. ‘Kaveri, teach me, please. I promise to learn. I promise to practise. I promise to be serious. Please, my dear. I have always wanted to learn. First my father refused me, then my husband, then my son. I had been pinning my hopes on my darling boy Ravi.’

Hearing his name, her grandson looked up at her. He moved closer to Uma, digging his elbow into her hip as he continued to scribble on the paper.

‘You can teach me easily,’ Uma continued. ‘I can come and visit you in the afternoons, when no one is at home.’

Kaveri cringed inwardly as she thought of the time that she would have to take out of her scarce afternoon study time to teach Uma aunty. But how could she resist such an earnest request?

‘Do you know, my father wrote to me this morning,’ she said. ‘My cousin, Krishna, passed his MA degree examination in English with flying colours, securing a Distinction. My father is so pleased. I am even more pleased.’ Her eyes were shining.

‘Why?’ Uma aunty was curious.

‘Only three candidates passed the exam this year. And . . .’

She paused dramatically.

‘The other two were women.’

Uma aunty clapped her hands.

‘The world is changing. These women, and their daughters, will make sure that all women like you, aunty, will learn how to read and write. So that they can face the world on an equal footing with men.’

(Excerpted with permission from The Bangalore Detectives Club by Harini Nagendra; published by Hachette; May 2022)