The Colour of Love. Preethi Nair

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СКАЧАТЬ I might have taken this to be a sign, having just read the exact same quote, but in my jaded state I took it to be some lonely traveller who probably had no money and was trying to strike up a friendship so she could ask if she could sleep on my sofa. I imagined my dad finding her on his Land of Leather sofa in the morning.

      ‘“There are always flowers for those who want to see them,”’ she continued out loud, just in case I wasn’t familiar with it.

      ‘And weeds,’ I wanted to say, but remained looking down, eating in silence.

      ‘Nice meeting you,’ she got up to leave.

      ‘Yes,’ I replied as she went off.

      I sat there for a while reading. Some Japanese tourists signalled to the seats next to me to ask if they could sit there. They seemed really grateful that I said yes. I nodded, relieved that they couldn’t speak any English and turned the page.

      The last bit I read before heading off to Green Park was about the nature of creativity. Matisse said that creativity took courage. My dad would say creativity took a lot of lazy people who had nothing better to do all day except to waste time. The Turner Prize did nothing except confirm his perception: ‘See, they fooling people and making the money. Maybe I should get Kavitha to make some patterns with her samosas and send them in.’ I closed the book and caught the tube to Green Park.

       Creativity takes courage.

      Does it? I don’t think I can take a leap of faith, not on my own, anyway. I don’t trust myself. Does that make sense? I’ve never really done anything on my own. I’m used to doing things for other people, that’s what makes me feel secure. I’m used to being someone’s daughter, someone’s girlfriend, someone’s lawyer. I’m not used to being me. I don’t believe that I am big enough to make this all better. If I’m myself, I don’t think I’ll survive. Don’t worry, I’m talking to myself, not you, Ki. Wouldn’t want you to think that I’m asking you or anything. Wouldn’t want you to rise from the dead or do something complicated like that.

      I sat on the bench for a little while longer, then wandered around the back of Mayfair looking in gallery windows before going home.

      ‘Good day, Nina?’ my dad asked.

      ‘We got an important client today.’

      ‘Very good,’ he said as he delved back into his newspaper. He didn’t really need to know the ins and outs of ‘love’, just to be occasionally reassured that I wouldn’t unexpectedly be made redundant; hence the addition of new clients every now and then.

      It’s not my natural inclination to bend the truth. I wasn’t one of those types who went to school with a long skirt and rolled it up on the way there. Truth-bending is something I have learned to do out of necessity, and not necessarily to protect myself but my parents. When I was with Jean Michel I always said I was seeing Jean or staying there, but they jumped to the conclusion that he was a she and I let them believe it.

      ‘Bring this Jeannie round,’ my dad would say.

      ‘Yes, we would like to meet her. I’ll make roti and paneer,’ my mum would add. It went on like this till I couldn’t make any more excuses, so I got Susan, one of my friends, to stand in as her.

      My dad liked ‘the Jeannie’ as he referred to her. After ascertaining what Susan’s parents did and estimating their combined annual income, he thought she was a good person to mix with.

      Now I looked at my dad, took a deep breath and said, ‘Dad, the office is experiencing some difficulties with the phone, so if there is an emergency ring me on my mobile.’ They never rang the office, but just in case.

      ‘Hmmm.’

      ‘Did you hear me, Dad? Fire, flood, office, call me on my mobile.’

      ‘What fire in the office, it’s not burned down, no?’

      Now I had his attention. ‘No, I’m just saying, in case of an emergency or if you need to speak to me, call me on my mobile.’

      ‘Nothing is wrong, no, Nina?’

      That was the moment to confess and, believe me, I wanted to, but he looked at me like he wanted reassurance that everything was OK and I just didn’t have the strength to tell him.

      ‘Everything is fine.’

      ‘They need someone to come and fix it?’

      ‘Fix what?’

      ‘The phones. I can come and sort out problem.’

      ‘No, Dad, but thank you.’

      My mother was in rolling-pin position and asked me the standard questions: what I’d eaten for lunch, was I ready to have dinner, if I was going to go up and have a shower. As she returned to her rotis, I stared at her. Where was that other person she had unleashed when she raged at my sister? Did she ever think of Jana? Did she worry about what she ate and what time she was going to take her shower? She must have, I know she must have. Once I caught her unpacking the jewellery box she had packed safely away, emptying its contents and crying, but she never said anything to us, me or my dad. Instead she kept it all inside and carried on with her routine. And many times when I tried to speak to her about my sister she would turn her back to me and walk away.

      After I came out of the shower, the phone rang. It was Raj.

      ‘Hi Nina, I know we’re meeting on Saturday but I just thought I’d give you a call and see how you are.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ I heard myself reply politely. It was quite a relief to talk to someone who didn’t really know me, who wanted to talk about superficial things like what films I watched; someone who was unable to affect me in any way and didn’t require any depth of conversation.

      ‘How are you?’ I asked.

      ‘Good. Had a busy day. I am just going to read now.’

      ‘What are you reading?’

       ‘Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.’

      ‘Right. And is it working? Are you being effective?’

      ‘Hope so. What are you going to do?’

      ‘Going down to eat and then hopefully get to sleep early. I haven’t been sleeping well.’

      ‘Don’t eat too late,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard that causes insomnia because the food isn’t digested properly.’

      ‘It’s not the food,’ I heard myself saying. ‘It’s just there are lots of things going on at the moment … lots of … lots of …’ I searched desperately for the word I was looking for but the best I could come up with was ‘… contracts.’

      ‘Are you busy at work, then?’ he enquired.

      ‘Yes. Very busy.’

      ‘I’ll leave you to it, Nina. I just wanted to say hello, that was all.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I said as I put the phone down.

      And СКАЧАТЬ