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

g, 'laddoos, pista ki lauz, meat samosas, kulfi. So thin you got, baba, the
wind will blow you away.' The Packard is driving away; it is failing to tu
rn off Warden Road, up the two storey hillock; and Saleem, 'Hanif mamu, whe
re are we…' No time to get it out; Hanif roars, 'Your Pia aunty is waiting!
My God, you see if we don't have a number one good time!' His voice drops
conspiratorially: 'Lots,' he says darkly, 'of fun.' And Mary: 'Arre baba ye
s! Such steak! And green chutney!'… 'Not the dark one,' I say, captured at
last; relief appears on the cheeks of my captors. 'No no no,' Mary babbles,
'light green, baba. Just like you like.' And, 'Pale green!' Hanif is bello
wing, 'My God, green like grasshoppers!'
All too fast… we are at Kemp's Corner now, cars rushing around like bullet
s… but one thing is unchanged. On Ids billboard, the Kolynos Kid is grinni
ng, the eternal pixie grin of the boy in the green chlorophyll cap, the lu
natic grin of the timeless Kid, who endlessly squeezes an inexhaustible tu
be of toothpaste on to a bright green brush: Keep Teeth Kleen And Keep Tee
th Brite, Keep Teeth Kolynos Super White!… and you may wish to think of me
, too, as an involuntary Kolynos Kid, squeezing crises and transformations
out of a bottomless tube, extruding time on to my metaphorical toothbrush
; clean, white time with green chlorophyll in the stripes.
This, then, was the beginning of my first exile. (There will be a second,
and a third.) I bore it uncomplainingly. I had guessed, of course, that th
ere was one question I must never ask; that I had been loaned out, like a
comic book from the Scandal Point Second Hand Library, for some indefinite
period; and that when my parents wanted me back, they would send for me.
When, or even if: because I blamed myself not a little for my banishment.
Had I not inflicted upon myself one more deformity to add to bandylegs cuc
umbernose horn temples staincheeks? Was it not possible that my mutilated
finger had been (as my announcement of my voices had nearly been), for my
long suffering parents, the last straw? That I was no longer a good busine
ss risk, no longer worth the investment of their love and protection?… I d
ecided to reward my uncle and aunt for their kindness in taking in so wret
ched a creature as myself, to play the model nephew and await events. Ther
e were times when I wished that the Monkey would come and see me, or even
call me on the phone; but dwelling on such matters only punctured the ball
oon of my equanimity, so I did my best to put them out of my mind. Besides
, living with Hanif and Pia Aziz turned out to be exactly what my uncle ha
d promised: lots of fun.
They made all the fuss of me that children expect, and accept graciously, f
rom childless adults. Their flat overlooking Marine Drive wasn't large, but
there was a balcony from which I could drop monkey nut shells on to the he
ads of passing pedestrians; there was no spare bedroom, but I was offered a
deliciously soft white sofa with green stripes (an early proof of my trans