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

ut, in the end, purity found me out, and even I, Saleem, was cleansed of my
misdeeds.
After my sixteenth birthday, I studied history at my aunt Alia's college;
but not even learning could make me feel a part of this country devoid of
midnight children, in which my fellow students took out processions to dem
and a stricter, more Islamic society proving that they had contrived to be
come the antitheses of students everywhere else on earth, by demanding mor
e rules not less. My parents, however, were determined to put down roots;
although Ayub Khan and Bhutto were forging an alliance with China (which h
ad so recently been our enemy), Ahmed and Amina would listen to no critici
sms of their new home; and my father bought a towel factory.
There was a new brilliance about my parents in those days; Amina had lost
her guilt fog, her verrucas seemed not to be playing up any more; while Ah
med, although still whitened, had felt the freeze of his loins thawing und
er the heat of his newfound love for his wife. On some mornings, Amina had
toothmarks on her neck; she giggled uncontrollably at times, like a schoo
lgirl. 'You two, honestly,' her sister Alia said, 'Like honeymooners or I
don't know what.' But I could smell what was hidden behind Alia's teeth; w
hat stayed inside when the friendly words came out… Ahmed Sinai named his
towels after his wife: Amina Brand.
'Who are these multi multis? These Dawoods, Saigols, Haroons?' he cried gail
y, dismissing the richest families in the land. 'Who are Valikas or Zulfikar
s? I could eat them ten at a time. You wait!', he promised, 'In two years th
e whole world will be wiping itself on an Amina Brand cloth. The finest terr
y cloth! The most modern machines! We shall make the whole world clean and d
ry; Dawoods and Zulfikars will beg to know my secret; and I will say, yes, t
he towels are high quality; but the secret is not in the manufacturing; it w
as love that conquered all.' (I discerned, in my father's speech, the linger
ing effects of the optimism virus.)
Did Amina Brand conquer the world in the name of cleanliness (which is ne
xt to…)? Did Valikas and Saigols come to ask Ahmed Sinai, 'God, we're stu
mped, yaar, how'd you do it?' Did high quality terry cloth, in patterns d
evised by Ahmed himself a little gaudy, but never mind, they were born of
love wipe away the moist ness of Pakistanis and export markets alike? Di
d Russians Englishmen Americans wrap themselves in my mother's immortaliz
ed name?… The story of Amina Brand must wait awhile; because the career o
f Jamila Singer is about to take off; the mosque shadowed house on Clayto
n Road has been visited by Uncle Puffs.
His real name was Major (Retired) Alauddin Latif; he had heard about my sist
er's voice from 'my darn good friend General Zulfikar; use to be with him in
the Border Patrol Force back in '47.' He turned up at Alia Aziz's house sho