Józef began to say, just that I wish to inquire what book it is that you are reading with such passion. L’Éducation sentimentale, by a gentleman called Gustave Flaubert, the young man replied. My friend here is translating it for me, he added. Józef was surprised. And what is it that you find interesting in this book, if I may so inquire? he said. I’ve read this fine book, he added. You’re not English, sir, the young man said. Józef did not reply for a while, and took a sip of the cha. No, I’m not, he said, I’m from Poland. Ah, the young man said, I would not know where that is. It is divided as we speak, between the Germanic state and the Russian one, Józef said. Ah, the young man said. So, the book? Józef asked. Oh yes, we were discussing if a book of such a theme could be written in an Indian setting, the young man said. And what do you mean by an Indian setting? Józef asked. Say Calcutta, the young man answered. The question is: Can this novel be rewritten with an Indian protagonist? I don’t think so, Józef replied. I think so, the young man said. The disagreement struck Józef as plain and final, and he noticed for the first time the young man’s visage, with the largest eyes and the sharpest nose he had ever seen. His hair was long and his beard young, and it would not be unnatural to presume that this man had a relationship with poetry. My name is Józef Konrad, Józef said. May I know yours? I’m Rabi Thakur, the young man said, and my friend here is Gurunath Thakur.

http://caravanmagazine.in/fiction/conrad-calcutta?page=0%2C1