if you please .
She had a chipped front tooth, I noticed. Olive skin, sweep of hair falling across a wide forehead, brown eyes, not much taller than me. She was smartly dressed in a summery shirt and tight jeans and had an air of confident strength about her.
I nodded towards her car. “Why did you leave that there? You can bring it in.”
“The wretched thing broke down. Probably ran out of gas. I suppose it is safe to leave it there? My bags are in the trunk.”
“Oh yes.” I nodded reassuringly. “Nobody comes here, so don’t worry.”
“Then I’ll go back when it’s a little cooler and get my things.”
“Vikram will help you.” I prayed that he wouldn’t beangry with me for offering on his behalf. Even after eight years with him, I feel on shifting sands, fearful of his reactions to everything, anything.
We walked towards the house in silence and then she turned and smiled happily at me. “This is so lovely.”
She was very pretty, I realized. Her thick short hair was beautifully cut. Her skin glowed with health, her mouth shiny with a pale-coloured lipstick. I wondered what it was like to be her.
“I hope it will not be too boring for you,” I said self-consciously.
“Oh no! Just what I need. No distractions, oodles of space, and all this silence. I already feel I could live here forever. Perfect—complete isolation.”
I smiled politely. “You are taking some leave from work?” I asked. Was it possible to take an entire year off?
“I resigned. I need to think about where I am going. And to vegetate a bit. If it doesn’t work out, I can always pick up where I left off.”
Vegetate. What an odd word. Why would anyone wish to turn into a vegetable, I thought, be stuck in one place until somebody pulls you out or chops you up for the cooking pot? Although it’s true the woman couldn’t have found a better place in which to become a rooted vegetable—in Merrit’s Point, or Jehannum as Akka calls this town—the Urdu word for Hell, a place so deep that if a stone were to be thrown in, it would travel for seventy years to reach the bottom, with walls so thick it would take the equal of forty long years to cut through them.
“I am hoping to work on some stories,” Anu continued. “And this is the perfect place for it. No interruptions, nobody I know, nothing going on that I want to be a part of. Heaven!”
“That must be a nice thing to do,” I said vaguely. “What kind of stories? I mean, what will you write about?”
“I don’t know yet.” She shrugged. “That’s why I am here. To find material.”
“Here?” I laughed. “You think you will find a story in Merrit’s Point? Nothing happens here.”
“You live here, so it’s harder to recognize the stories even if they’re standing right in front of you. But I’m an outsider, everything is grist for the mill for me. All that I don’t know, or find strange, anything I wonder about, will turn into a story. At least, I hope it will. We’ll see.”
“What does your family think of this? Your husband? Are you married? Children?” I had not seen any markers of marriage—no rings, necklaces, bangles, nothing. But Anu was a Westerner, she had grown up here, in this country, not India, even if her ancestors came from there. I would discover that her signs and symbols were different, that she didn’t believe in any of those markers.
“Hah, the great Indian questions. I got asked them all the time when I went to India!” Anu gave a small, sarcastic laugh. “I was married for a year and a half but am not any longer, he was a jerk, and if you asked him, he’d tell you I was a bitch. No children, thank goodness, not that I have anything against them. I couldn’t be bothered with the diapers and breastfeeding and puking and all thatmothering stuff. I have one brother who doesn’t approve of me, but to his credit he doesn’t stop me from spoiling his kids—two boys who love and adore Aunty Anu. My mother is very old
She had a chipped front tooth, I noticed. Olive skin, sweep of hair falling across a wide forehead, brown eyes, not much taller than me. She was smartly dressed in a summery shirt and tight jeans and had an air of confident strength about her.
I nodded towards her car. “Why did you leave that there? You can bring it in.”
“The wretched thing broke down. Probably ran out of gas. I suppose it is safe to leave it there? My bags are in the trunk.”
“Oh yes.” I nodded reassuringly. “Nobody comes here, so don’t worry.”
“Then I’ll go back when it’s a little cooler and get my things.”
“Vikram will help you.” I prayed that he wouldn’t beangry with me for offering on his behalf. Even after eight years with him, I feel on shifting sands, fearful of his reactions to everything, anything.
We walked towards the house in silence and then she turned and smiled happily at me. “This is so lovely.”
She was very pretty, I realized. Her thick short hair was beautifully cut. Her skin glowed with health, her mouth shiny with a pale-coloured lipstick. I wondered what it was like to be her.
“I hope it will not be too boring for you,” I said self-consciously.
“Oh no! Just what I need. No distractions, oodles of space, and all this silence. I already feel I could live here forever. Perfect—complete isolation.”
I smiled politely. “You are taking some leave from work?” I asked. Was it possible to take an entire year off?
“I resigned. I need to think about where I am going. And to vegetate a bit. If it doesn’t work out, I can always pick up where I left off.”
Vegetate. What an odd word. Why would anyone wish to turn into a vegetable, I thought, be stuck in one place until somebody pulls you out or chops you up for the cooking pot? Although it’s true the woman couldn’t have found a better place in which to become a rooted vegetable—in Merrit’s Point, or Jehannum as Akka calls this town—the Urdu word for Hell, a place so deep that if a stone were to be thrown in, it would travel for seventy years to reach the bottom, with walls so thick it would take the equal of forty long years to cut through them.
“I am hoping to work on some stories,” Anu continued. “And this is the perfect place for it. No interruptions, nobody I know, nothing going on that I want to be a part of. Heaven!”
“That must be a nice thing to do,” I said vaguely. “What kind of stories? I mean, what will you write about?”
“I don’t know yet.” She shrugged. “That’s why I am here. To find material.”
“Here?” I laughed. “You think you will find a story in Merrit’s Point? Nothing happens here.”
“You live here, so it’s harder to recognize the stories even if they’re standing right in front of you. But I’m an outsider, everything is grist for the mill for me. All that I don’t know, or find strange, anything I wonder about, will turn into a story. At least, I hope it will. We’ll see.”
“What does your family think of this? Your husband? Are you married? Children?” I had not seen any markers of marriage—no rings, necklaces, bangles, nothing. But Anu was a Westerner, she had grown up here, in this country, not India, even if her ancestors came from there. I would discover that her signs and symbols were different, that she didn’t believe in any of those markers.
“Hah, the great Indian questions. I got asked them all the time when I went to India!” Anu gave a small, sarcastic laugh. “I was married for a year and a half but am not any longer, he was a jerk, and if you asked him, he’d tell you I was a bitch. No children, thank goodness, not that I have anything against them. I couldn’t be bothered with the diapers and breastfeeding and puking and all thatmothering stuff. I have one brother who doesn’t approve of me, but to his credit he doesn’t stop me from spoiling his kids—two boys who love and adore Aunty Anu. My mother is very old
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