The God of Small Things - Get a Free Blog

hair. Estha wondered how that could be. He tried to think of whom
to ask.
The Waiting filled Rahel until she was ready to burst. She
looked at her watch. It was ten to two. She thought of Julie
Andrews and Christopher Plummer kissing each other sideways so
that their noses didn‟t collide. She wondered whether people
always kissed each other sideways. She tried to think of whom to
ask.
Then, from a distance, a hum approached the held-up traffic
and covered it like a cloak. The drivers who‟d been stretching their
legs got back into their vehicles and slammed doors. The beggars
and vendors disappeared. Within minutes there was no one on the
road. Except Murlidharan. Perched with his bum on the burning
milestone. Unperturbed and only mildly curious.
There was hustle-bustle. And Police whistles.
From behind the line of waiting, oncoming traffic, a column
of men appeared, with red flags and banners and a hum that grew
and grew.
“Put up your windows,” Chacko said. “And stay calm.
They‟re not going to hurt us.”
“Why not join them, comrade?” Ammu said to Chacko. “I‟ll
drive.”
Chacko said nothing. A muscle tensed below the wad of fat
on his jaw. He tossed away his cigarette and rolled up his window.
Chacko was a self-proclaimed Marxist. He would call pretty
women who worked in the factory to his room, and on the pretext
of lecturing them on labor rights and trade union law, flirt with
them outrageously. He would call them Comrade, and insist that
they call him Comrade back (which made them giggle). Much to
their embarrassment and Mammachi‟s dismay, he forced them to
sit at table with him and drink tea.
Once he even took a group of them to attend Trade Union
classes that were held in Alleppey. They went by bus and returned