English Lessons and Other Stories Read Free

1966.”
    My grandfather’s voice came low like the growl of a tiger reaching the end of its patience. “What will come of knowing her, may I ask? And if, after this ‘knowing her,’ you think you do not want her, what will we do then? By then her reputation will be ruined and I will have to pay her parents to find a lesser match. Did they addle your brain in Canada? You should have stayed in England, sir. The English understand these things.”
    I was all ready to run for refuge from the wrath that would follow any reply to so logical an argument, but I heard Sukhimama sigh and I knew the storm was averted. Dropadi Ma would be glad.
    But when I told her, I could not tell if she was glad. She fell silent for a long time, so I entered into the silence with her and we thought our separate thoughts together, cross-legged on the kitchen floor. She took a few handfuls of dal seeds and began to pick them over on a metal tray, looking for tiny stones that could grit in our mouths. Her eyes were right close to the tray and it took her a long time to find a few. I began to believe she hadmoved on to thinking about other things. But then her leathery brown face with the big mole on the nose came around to mine and her eyes behind her Coke-bottle glasses looked into mine, and she pointed to her wrist and said, “Go. Bring my bangle back to me.”
    My heart started to pound. “Maji, what if I am caught?”
    â€œYou will tell them you were obeying Dropadi Ma. Have I no rights in this house? It is my bangle, and I would have it back. Go and reclaim it for me, but quietly.”
    I walked out of the cool dark kitchen into rooms of covered furniture and trunks half-filled for the month-long celebration in Bangkok. I had seen my grandmother place the bangle in the big silver-coloured trunk. Two minutes of breath-held scrabbling inside and it was in my hand. I fled back to Dropadi Ma. Her hand closed over it, but she did not place it back on her wrist. Instead, she lifted her chunni and slipped it between her comfortable breasts.
    â€œTell Sukhiji I would like to speak with him when he can find the time.” It was a command.
    â€œDropadi Ma meant right now, Uncle. When she says, ‘When You Can Find The Time,’ she means, ‘Now, If You Love Me,’ Uncle. Come quick. Maybe she is sick — she never commands
us
.”
    He came quickly, filling the doorway of the kitchen where she sat with her head covered, his big hands folded and his turbaned head dropped to ask her blessing. I wondered if they ask a blessing from their elders in Canada, for he had not forgotten how. His laugh boomed in the small kitchen as he crouched to give her a hug and then sat on the floor next to us. “Yes, Maji?” There was a little Canadian accent in his Yes, I thought. I pretended to be invisible; they thought I was too small to understand.
    Soon the gold bangle appeared and passed from her hands to his two cupped hands. Her right hand rested briefly on hisshoulder and I heard her say, “Jeeo, Beta.” Live, my son. And then, “Khushi Raho.” May you be happy.
    A few days later, when all the trunks were locked and marigold garlands of farewell lay ready for preflight ceremonies in the rose-grey dawn, there was a shout and then a woman, my grandmother maybe, cried out, “We are ruined!”
    He was gone. A 2:00 a.m. Air Canada flight, I heard. Direct to Montreal. Then an argument. You can’t fly direct to Montreal. Perhaps Air Canada will stop in London and we can call a relative to talk to him there. Who has a relative there? Call him, call him! Tell him to talk to Sukhi at the airport. Remind him of his duty. Tell him how much money we will have to pay the girl’s family. Hai, book a call to Bangkok, to the girl’s father! They will be expecting us on the plane, today. We are ruined.
    I ran to find Dropadi Ma, barefoot as I was. But she was not in the servant’s