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The God of Small Things - Get a Free Blog

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and a stainless-steel plate <strong>of</strong> banana chips (bright yellow with little<br />

black seeds in the center) for Chacko.<br />

“He has gone to Olassa. He‟ll be back any time now,” she<br />

said. She referred to her husband as addeham, which was the<br />

respectful form <strong>of</strong> “he,” whereas “he” called her “eli,” which was,<br />

approximately, “Hey, you!”<br />

She was a lush, beautiful woman with golden-brown skin<br />

and huge eyes. Her long frizzy hair was damp and hung loose<br />

down her back, plaited only at the very end. It had wet the back <strong>of</strong><br />

her tight, deep-red blouse and stained it a tighter, deeper red. From<br />

where the sleeves ended, her s<strong>of</strong>t arm-flesh swelled and dropped<br />

over her dimpled elbows in a sumptuous bulge. Her white mundu<br />

and kavath were crisp and ironed. She smelled <strong>of</strong> sandalwood and<br />

the crushed green gram that she used instead <strong>of</strong> soap. For the first<br />

time in years, Chacko watched her without the faintest stirring <strong>of</strong><br />

sexual desire. He had a wife (Ex-wife, Chacko!) at home. With<br />

arm freckles and back freckles. With a blue dress and legs<br />

underneath.<br />

Young Lenin appeared at the door in red Stretchlon shorts.<br />

He stood on one thin leg like a stork and twisted the pink lace<br />

curtain into a pole, staring at Chacko with his mother‟s eyes. He<br />

was six now, long past the age <strong>of</strong> pushing things up his nose.<br />

“Mon, go and call Latha,” Mrs. Pillai said to him.<br />

Lenin remained where he was, and, still staring at Chacko,<br />

screeched effortlessly, in the way only children can.<br />

“Latha! Latha! You‟re wanted!”<br />

“Our niece from Kottayam. His elder brother‟s daughter,”<br />

Mrs. Pillai explained. “She won the First Prize for Elocution at the<br />

Youth Festival in Trivandrum last week.”<br />

A combative-looking young girl <strong>of</strong> about twelve or thirteen<br />

appeared through the lace curtain. She wore a long, printed skirt<br />

that reached all the way down to her ankles and a short,<br />

waist-length white blouse with darts that made room for future<br />

breasts. Her oiled hair was parted into two halves. Each <strong>of</strong> her<br />

tight, shining plaits was looped over and tied with ribbons so that

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