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

Sacred: purdah veils, halal meat, muezzin's towers, prayer mats; profane: W
estern records, pig meat, alcohol. I understood now why mullahs (sacred) re
fused to enter aeroplanes (profane) on the night before Id ul Fitr, not eve
n willing to enter vehicles whose secret odour was the antithesis of godlin
ess in order to make sure of seeing the new moon. I learned the olfactory i
ncompatibility of Islam and socialism, and the inalienable opposition exist
ing between the after shave of Sind Club members and the poverty reek of th
e street sleeping beggars at the Club gates… more and more, however, I beca
me convinced of an ugly truth namely that the sacred, or good, held little
interest for me, even when such aromas surrounded my sister as she sang; wh
ile the pungency of the gutter seemed to possess a fatally irresistible att
raction. Besides, I was sixteen; things were stirring beneath my belt, behi
nd my duck white pants; and no city which locks women away is ever short of
whores. While Jamila sang of holiness and love of country, I explored prof
anity and lust. (I had money to burn; my father had become generous as well
as loving.)
At the eternally unfinished Jinnah Mausoleum I picked up the women of the
street. Other youths came here to seduce American girls away, taking the
m off to hotel rooms or swimming pools; I preferred to retain my independ
ence and pay. And eventually I nosed out the whore of whores, whose gifts
were a mirror for my own. Her name was Tai Bibi, and she claimed to be f
ive hundred and twelve.
But her smell! The richest spoor he, Saleem, had ever sniffed; he felt bewitc
hed by something in it, some air of historic majesty… he found himself saying
to the toothless creature: 'I don't care about your age; the smell's the thi
ng.'
('My God,' Padma interrupts, 'Such a thing how could you?') Though she nev
er hinted at any connection with a Kashmiri boatman, her name exerted the
strongest of pulls; although she may have been humouring Saleem when she s
aid, 'Boy, I am five hundred and twelve,' his sense of history was neverth
eless aroused. Think of me what you like; I spent one hot, humid afternoon
in a tenement room containing a flea ridden mattress and a naked lightbul
b and the oldest whore in the world.
What finally made Tai Bibi irresistible? What gift of control did she posse
ss which put other whores to shame? What maddened the newly sensitized nost
rils of our Saleem? Padma: my ancient prostitute possessed a mastery over h
er glands so total that she could alter her bodily odours to match those of
anyone on earth. Eccrines and apoc rines obeyed the instructions of her an
tiquated will; and although she said, 'Don't expect me to do it standing up
; you couldn't pay enough for that,' her gifts of perfume were more than he
could bear. (… 'Chhi chhi,' Padma covers her ears, 'My God, such a dirty f
ilthy man, I never knew!'…)