Читать книгу The Story of My Experiments with Truth. An Autobiography онлайн

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He was lightly built and short of stature. His round face was scarred with small-pox, and had a nose which was neither pointed nor blunt. With his hand he was constantly turning over his beard.

Such a queer-looking and queerly dressed person was bound to be singled out in fashionable society.

‘I have heard a good deal about you,’ I said to him. ‘I have also read some of your writings. I should be very pleased if you were kind enough to come to my place.’

Narayan Hemchandra had a rather hoarse voice. With a smile on his face he replied:

‘Yes, where do you stay?’

‘In Store Street.’

‘Then we are neighbours. I want to learn English. Will you teach me?’

‘I shall be happy to teach you anything I can, and will try my best. If you like, I will go to your place.’

‘Oh, no. I shall come to you. I shall also bring with me a Translation Exercise Book.’ So we made an appointment. Soon we were close friends.

Narayan Hemchandra was innocent of grammar. ‘Horse’ was a verb with him and ‘run’ a noun. I remember many such funny instances. But he was not to be baffled by his ignorance. My little knowledge of grammar could make no impression on him. Certainly he never regarded his ignorance of grammar as a matter for shame.