The God of Small Things - Get a Free Blog

would flash before her; Baby Kochamma balanced like a big bird
over a public pot. Blue veins like lumpy knitting running up her
translucent shins. Fat knees dimpled. Hair on them. Poor little tiny
feet to carry such a load!) Baby Kochamma waited for half of half
a moment. Head thrust forward. Silly smile. Bosom swinging low.
Melons in a blouse. Bottom up and out. When the gurgling,
bubbling sound came, she listened with her eyes. A yellow brook
burbled through a mountain pass.
Rahel liked all this. Holding the handbag. Everyone pissing
in front of everyone. Like friends. She knew nothing then, of how
precious a feeling this was. Like friends. They would never be
together like this again. Ammu, Baby Kochamma and she.
When Baby Kochamma finished, Rahel looked at her watch.
“So long you took, Baby Kochamma,” she said. “It‟s ten to two.”
Rub-a-dub-dub (Rahel thought), Three women in a tub,
Tarry awhile said Slow…
She thought of Slow being a person. Slow Kurien. Slow
Kutty. Slow Mol. Slow Kochamma.
Slow Kutty. Fast Verghese. And Kuriakore. Three brothers
with dandruff.
Ammu did hers in a whisper. Against the side of the pot so
you couldn‟t hear. Her father‟s hardness had left her eyes and they
were Ammu-eyes again. She had deep dimples in her smile and
didn‟t seem angry anymore. About Velutha or the spit bubble.
That was a Good Sign.
Estha Alone in HIS had to piss onto naphthalene balls and
cigarette stubs in the urinal. To piss in the pot would be Defeat. To
piss in the urinal, he was too short. He needed Height. He searched
for Height, and in a corner of HIS, he found it. A dirty broom, a
squash bottle half-full of a milky liquid (phenyl) with floaty black
things in it A limp floorswab, and two rusty tin cans of nothing.
They could have been Paradise Pickle products. Pineapple chunks
in syrup. Or slices. Pineapple slices. His honor redeemed by his