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

horted, wearing a blue striped elastic belt with a snake buckle, satchel ov
er my shoulder, my mighty cucumber of a nose dripping as usual; Eyeslice an
d Hairoil, Sonny Ibrahim and precocious Cyrus the great waited too. And on
the bus, amid rattling seats and the nostalgic cracks of the window panes,
what certainties! What nearlynine year old certitudes about the future! A b
oast from Sonny: 'I'm going to be a bullfighter; Spain! Chiquitas! Hey, tor
o, toro!' His satchel held before him like the muleta of Manolete, he enact
ed his future while the bus rattled around Kemp's Corner, past Thomas Kemp
and Co. (Chemists), beneath the Air India rajah's poster ('See you later, a
lligator! I'm off to London on Air India!') and the other hoarding, on whic
h, throughout my childhood, the Kolynos Kid, a gleamtoothed pixie in a gree
n, elfin, chlorophyll hat proclaimed the virtues of Kolynos Toothpaste: 'Ke
ep Teeth Kleen and Keep Teeth Brite! Keep Teeth Kolynos Super White!' The k
id on his hoarding, the children in the bus: one dimensional, flattened by
certitude, they knew what they were for. Here is Glandy Keith Colaco, a thy
roid balloon of a child with hair already sprouting tuftily on his lip: 'I'
m going to run my father's cinemas; you bastards want to watch movies, you'
ll have to come an' beg me for seats!'… And Fat Perce Fishwala, whose obesi
ty is due to nothing but overeating, and who, along with Glandy Keith, occu
pies the privileged position of class bully: 'Bah! That's nothing! I'll hav
e diamonds and emeralds and moonstones! Pearls as big as my balls!' Fat Per
ce's father runs the city's other jewellery business; his great enemy is th
e son of Mr Fatbhoy, who, being small and intellectual, comes off badly in
the war of the pearl tcsticled children… And Eyeslice, announcing his future as a Test
with a fine disregard for his one empty socket; and Hairoil, who is as sli
cked down and neat as his brother is curly topped and dishevelled, says, 'W
hat selfish bums you are! I shall follow my father into the Navy; I shall d
efend my country!' Whereupon he is pelted with rulers, compasses, inky pell
ets… in the school bus, as it clattered past Chowpatty Beach, as it turned
left off Marine Drive beside the apartment of my favourite uncle Hanif and
headed past Victoria Terminus towards Flora Fountain, past Churchgate Stati
on and Crawford Market, I held my peace; I was mild mannered Clark Kent pro
tecting my secret identity; but what on earth was that? 'Hey, Snotnose!' Gl
andy Keith yelled, 'Hey, whaddya suppose our Sniffer'11 grow up to be?' And
the answering yell from Fat Perce Fishwala, 'Pinocchio!' And the rest, joi
ning in, sing a raucous chorus of 'There are no strings on me!'… while Cyru
s the great sits quiet as genius and plans the future of the nation's leadi
ng nuclear research establishment.
And, at home, there was the Brass Monkey with her shoe burning; and my fath
er, who had emerged from the depths of his collapse to fall, once more, int
o the folly of tetrapods… 'Where do you find it?' I pleaded at my window; t