The God of Small Things - Get a Free Blog

“Oower Kochamma,” the Blue Army in the greenheat said.
“We‟re all here.”
Outside the Play, Rahel said to Velutha: “We‟re not here are
we? We‟re not even Playing.”
“That is Exactly Right,” Velutha said. “We‟re not even
Playing. But what I would like to know is, where is our
Esthapappychachen Kuttappen Peter Mon?”
And that became a delighted, breathless, Rumpelstiltskin-like
dance among the rubber trees.
Oh Esthapappychachen Kuttappen Peter Mon.
Where, oh where have you gon?
And from Rumpelstiltskin it graduated to the Scarlet
Pimpernel.
We seek him here, we seek him there,
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.
Is be in heaven? Is be in hell?
That demmedel-usive Estha –Pen?
Kochu Maria cut a sample piece of cake for Mammachi‟s
approval.
“One piece each,” Mammachi confirmed to Kochu Maria,
touching the piece lightly with rubyringed fingers to see if it was
small enough.
Kochu Maria sawed up the rest of the cake messily,
laboriously, breathing through her mouth, as though she was
carving a hunk of roast lamb. She put the pieces on a large silver
tray.
Mammachi played a Welcome Home, Our Sophie Mol
melody on her violin.
A cloying, chocolate melody. Stickysweet, and meltybrown.
Chocolate waves on a chocolate shore.
In the middle of the melody, Chacko raised his voice over
the chocolate sound.
“Mamma!” he said (in his Reading Aloud voice). “Mamma!