Salman Rushdie Midnight's children Salman Rushdie Midnight's ...

give the girls a collective name. 'Those Anglos,' she said to Mary, reveali
ng a touch of snobbery, 'with their funny names, Fernanda and Alonso and al
l, and surnames, my God! Sulaca and Colaco and I don't know what. What shou
ld I care about them? Cheap type females. I call them all his Coca Cola gir
ls that's what they all sound like.'
While Ahmed pinched bottoms, Amina became long suffering; but he might h
ave been glad if she had appeared to care.
Mary Pereira said, 'They aren't so funny names, Madam; beg your pardon, b
ut they are good Christian words.' And Amina remembered Ahmed's cousin Zo
hra making fun of dark skin and, falling over herself to apologize, tumbl
ed into Zohra's mistake: 'Oh, notion, Mary, how could you think I was mak
ing fun of you?'
Horn templed, cucumber nosed, I lay in my crib and listened; and everything
that happened, happened because of me… One day in January 1948, at five in
the afternoon, my father was visited by Dr Narlikar. There were embraces a
s usual, and slaps on the back. 'A little chess?' my father asked, ritually
, because these visits were getting to be a habit. They would play chess in
the old Indian way, the game of shatranj, and, freed by the simplicities o
f the chess board from the convolutions of his life, Ahmed would daydream f
or an hour about the re shaping of the Quran; and then it would be six o'cl
ock, cocktail hour, time for the djinns… but this evening Narlikar said, 'N
o.' And Ahmed, 'No? What's this no? Come, sit, play, gossip…' Narlikar, int
errupting: 'Tonight, brother Sinai, there is something I must show you.' Th
ey are in a 1946 Rover now, Narlikar working the crankshaft and jumping in;
they are driving north along Warden Road, past Mahalaxmi Temple on the lef
t and Willingdon Club golf course on the right, leaving the race track behi
nd them, cruising along Hornby Vellard beside the sea wall; Vallabhbhai Pat
el Stadium is in sight, with its giant cardboard cut outs of wrestlers, Ban
o Devi the Invincible Woman and Dara Singh, mightiest of all… there are cha
nna vendors and dog walkers promenading by the sea. 'Stop,' Narlikar comman
ds, and they get out. They stand facing the sea; sea breeze cools their fac
es; and out there, at the end of a narrow cement path in the midst of the w
aves, is the island on which stands the tomb of Haji Ali the mystic. Pilgri
ms are strolling between Vellard and tomb.
'There,' Narlikar points, 'What do you see?' And Ahmed, mystified, 'Nothin
g. The tomb. People. What's this about, old chap?' And Narlikar, 'None of
that. There!' And now Ahmed sees that Narlikar's pointing finger is aimed
at the cement path… 'The promenade?' he asks, 'What's that to you? In some
minutes the tide will come and cover it up; everybody knows…' Narlikar, h
is skin glowing like a beacon, becomes philosophical. 'Just so, brother Ah
med; just so. Land and sea; sea and land; the eternal struggle, not so?' A
hmed, puzzled, remains silent. 'Once there were seven islands,' Narlikar r