May 15, 2013 | post a comment | Betsy Woodman
Our first night in Delhi, we were at a hotel, and my parents were already supposed to to to a diplomatic function. The hostess said that she’d send a friend of her cook’s to mind Jane and Lee and me. Soon after, a thirty-something Nepalese man knocked on our door. He was equipped with a big pad of paper, a bag of cotton, and toothpicks. For the whole evening, he entranced us by making little Easter chicks and drawing elephants and telling us stories which began “in the days of old.” When we finally moved into a house, Pratap became the major-domo, and soon was as well-known around Delhi as Jeeves in a P.G. Wodehouse novel. Here he’s reading to my sister Jane.