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

I made pepperpots march;
There was the Rani of Cooch Naheen, whose money, placed at the disposal of
a humming man, gave birth to the optimism disease, which has recurred, at
intervals, ever since; and, in the Muslim quarter of Old Delhi, a distant
relative called Zohra whose flirtations gave birth, in my father, to that
later weakness for Fernandas and Florys; So to Bombay. Where Winkie's Van
ita could not resist the centre parting of William Methwold, and Nussie th
e duck lost a baby race; while Mary Pereira, in the name of love, changed
the baby tags of history and became a second mother to me…
Women and women and women: Toxy Catrack, nudging open the door which wou
ld later let in the children of midnight; the terrors of her nurse Bi Ap
pah; the competitive love of Amina and Mary, and what my mother showed m
e while I lay concealed in a washing chest: yes, the Black Mango, which
forced me to sniff, and unleashed what were not Archangels!… And Evelyn
Lilith Burns, cause of a bicycle accident, who pushed me down a two stor
ey hillock into the midst of history.
And the Monkey. I musn't forget the Monkey.
But also, also, there was Masha Miovic, goading me into finger loss, and my
aunty Pia, filling my heart with revenge lust, and Lila Sabarmati, whose i
ndiscretions made possible my terrible, manipulating, newspaper cut out rev
enge;
And Mrs Dubash, who found my gift of a Superman comic and built it, with
the help of her son, into Lord Khusro Khusrovand;
And Mary, seeing a ghost.
In Pakistan, the land of submission, the home of purity, I watched the trans
formation of Monkey into Singer, and fetched bread, and fell in love; it was
a woman, Tai Bibi, who told me the truth about myself. And in the heart of
my inner darkness, I turned to the Puffias, and was only narrowly saved from
the threat of a golden dentured bride.
Beginning again, as the buddha, I lay with a latrine cleaner and was subject
ed to electrified urinals as a result; in the East, a farmer's wife tempted
me, and Time was assassinated in consequence; and there were houris in a tem
ple, and we only just escaped in time.
In the shadow of a mosque, Resham Bibi issued a warning.
And I married Parvati the witch.
'Oof, mister,' Padma exclaims, 'that's too much women!'
I do not disagree; because I have not even included her, whose dreams of ma
rriage and Kashmir have inevitably been leaking into me, making me wish, if
only, if only, so that, having once resigned myself to the cracks, I am no
w assailed by pangs of discontent, anger, fear and regret.
But above all, the Widow.
'I swear!' Padma slaps her knee, 'Too much, mister; too much.'