One Hundred Shades of White. Preethi Nair
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Название: One Hundred Shades of White
Автор: Preethi Nair
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
isbn: 9780007438198
isbn:
My mother was annoyed at me, saying that I should not have accepted such gifts and that I should have tried harder to give the sari back to Thampurati. She said that I looked too good and asked if I had protected myself against the evil eye. I laughed at her and she got very angry and mumbled that she would not look after me if I caught a fever in the night. Then, just before we went to bed, she burnt some red chillies and muttered that it was just as she had thought: ‘too many eyes.’ We went to sleep, protected from watchful green envy who was responsible for so much misfortune.
The next day, my mother came running into the area where I was sleeping and told me that we would be very busy over the coming months. Raul was getting married. Married! No, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, I loved him. I felt a loathing, a sense of unworthiness. Was it all in my head? Had I misinterpreted the signs? All I could do was cook. I spent the day cooking and when my mother went out to run her errands, I hit the pots and pans so hard that they left marks on the floor. I garnished the dishes with an excess of hot chillies so that at lunchtime, for the first time ever, those who ate became sick. I went for a long walk.
Contradictory thoughts battled in my head. How stupid to think that I, a cook, could marry into such a family? But then the astrologer always said that a call that goes out never returns unanswered. ‘No matter how strange the request may seem, someone is always listening,’ he maintained. I waded through paddy fields, my feet drenched in water as they splashed angrily. Undoing my hair, I ran through the clearing and then sat under a palm tree and cried. I cried until I fell asleep and awoke to darkness. Then I sensed him and laughed at the fact that the mind still played such cruel tricks. I turned my head and he was there. I ran my fingers through my hair and adjusted my pavada.
‘It is a bit late to be out,’ Raul said.
‘I was sent to get some provisions,’ I replied, looking at my empty hands.
‘Come, I’ll walk you home,’ he gestured, helping me to my feet.
Why? I wanted to scream. Why are you getting married? Why did you make me fall in love with you when all along you knew I couldn’t have you? All I could say, though, was, ‘Congratulations, I hear you are getting married.’
‘It’s not how it appears, Nalini. I had to see you once again,’ he continued.
I looked up. His smile came beaming back at me, melting any doubts or resentment that I held. As we walked back, he told me he had been able to think of little else but me. The marriage, he said, was arranged by his mother to someone he barely knew. He took my hand.
Raul Kathi, I thought, Why are you doing this to me?
The hour passed quickly as he walked me to the tree, our tree, and squeezing my hand, he told me he would come back for me.
He returned the next day and the day after that and somewhere I chose to forget that he would be getting married and I allowed myself to completely love him.
Our house became suffused with uncertainty and my mother and I began to argue as we never had. Food rotted after just a day. She sensed that Raul had something to do with it and warned me to stay away. She pleaded, saying that love was fleeting and that the constants in life came from the sense of self and not from another. Nearly every cell in my body begged me to stay away. I knew that this person would take me away from who I was and I did try to keep away from him but the more I attempted to avoid Raul, the more intense the longing became and the more persistent he became. I just wanted him, to touch him, to hold him, to be with him.
Two weeks before his wedding, Raul came to me and asked me to go away with him. I agonised over the scandal and the anguish that this would cause my mother. I did not want to leave her and she would not want to leave her home, but I desperately wanted to be with Raul and if I had told her, she would not have let me go. So the next evening, with an overwhelming sense of grief, I packed a few things and left with him. We married and then we went to the station.
The train arrived at Mumbai. The platform was crowded with people: coolies with red turbans, competing for custom; sellers with fruit on their head bombarding descending commuters; tea boys shouting ‘chia’; contortionists making their way over to families and blowing up balloons which they bent like their bodies. Some of the children cried, afraid, others cried because they wanted to buy the balloons and their parents hastily dragged them away. I stood in amazement. Raul held my hand as we walked through the chaos to find the driver.
As we drove through busy streets, I gazed in wonderment at all the women wearing brightly-coloured clothes, some of whom wore make-up and had handbags. Fast-moving cars sped randomly in front of us and rickshaws, bullock carts and bicycles followed far behind. People urinated on street corners or squatted by food stalls. Colourful buses passed them, covering the food with a thick, black smoke. A policeman stood on a box and was trying to manage the traffic with his whistle but nobody took any notice. Even dust seemed to have a life of its own and participated, flying with the noise of engines and following people who were shouting and running or waiting, wearing their best clothes, in long cinema queues. I felt a strange sense of excitement, I wanted to participate, to learn Hindi properly so I could understand it all. The noise, traffic, people and animals eventually subsided and were replaced by lime and mango trees, fields of them. We arrived at Anajaba, sixty kilometres from Mumbai.
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