catchy.”
The next Saturday, I went for my first rehearsal. Amma drove me to my grandparents’ house, and from there I wentby bus with Radha Aunty. When rehearsals were over, I was to come back to my grandparents’ house for dinner, and then Amma would pick me up.
The rehearsals were held at St. Theresa’s Girls’ Convent. Sonali attended the school, but I had never been there myself. The high spiked gates were covered with sheets of takaran so no one could look in or out. Today, they were slightly ajar. We took a path that led to a netball court, crossed it, and then went down a corridor towards the rehearsal hall. Now I could hear the sound of a piano, and a lady singing. We entered the hall and stood at the back. The only people on the stage were a white lady and a white boy. Before they could finish their song, another lady rose from a chair in the middle of the hall and cried out, “Stop. Stop.” She began to walk towards the stage, calling out directions to the actors. Radha Aunty took this opportunity to introduce me. This lady, whom she called Aunty Doris, looked me over and smiled. “What a lovely boy,” she said. “Should have been a girl with those eyelashes.” Aunty Doris had fair skin like a foreigner, and yet she spoke English as we did, with a Sri Lankan accent. She wore big round glasses and there were deep dark circles under her eyes.
Since we would not be needed for a while, Radha Aunty took me outside into the courtyard. Some children were playing a game in one corner, but I stayed with Radha Aunty. A group of men and women were seated on some steps, and when they saw Radha Aunty they called to her to come and join in an argument they were having. They were discussing a song in the play which said that man was like a bee and womanlike a blossom. A man, whose name I learned was Anil, had started the discussion. He agreed with this sentiment and all the men supported him.
They began to argue, each side yelling with joy when they scored a point. Radha Aunty was soon the leader of the girls and she and Anil exchanged comments back and forth until Radha Aunty said, “I would rather wither and drop off my stem than be pollinated by a bee like you.”
At this retort even the boys cheered, and Anil bowed slightly to concede to her the victory.
As we walked towards the hall a little later, one of the girls gestured towards Anil and said to Radha Aunty, “I think that bee is dying to pollinate your blossom.”
The other girls who had heard this comment screamed with laughter. Radha Aunty was not amused. “You’re mad,” she said. “Utterly mad.”
Although I didn’t altogether understand the joke, I knew that it was something bad, because Radha Aunty looked very annoyed.
After rehearsal that day, we were walking to the bus-stop when Anil drove up in his car and stopped. He rolled down his window and said, “Do you want a lift?”
“No,” Radha Aunty replied.
“But I’m going in your direction, and the buses are very slow and it’s too late to be standing at the bus-stop alone.”
Radha Aunty hesitated for a moment and then accepted. On the way, she was silent and he didn’t say much either. I began to wonder if that argument between them had been more serious than it appeared. He offered to drop us at mygrandparents’ gate, but she insisted that he leave us at the top of the road.
When we came into the drawing room, Ammachi looked up in surprise from her newspaper and said, “How did you get home so quickly?”
“We got a bus right away,” Radha Aunty replied.
I glanced at her, puzzled, and she gave me a warning look. When we went down the corridor to her room, I waited for her to give me an explanation for her lie, but she declined to say anything.
After the next rehearsal, Anil offered us a lift and Radha Aunty accepted a little more graciously this time, though once again she insisted that he drop us off at the top of the road.
When we came back to my grandparents’
The next Saturday, I went for my first rehearsal. Amma drove me to my grandparents’ house, and from there I wentby bus with Radha Aunty. When rehearsals were over, I was to come back to my grandparents’ house for dinner, and then Amma would pick me up.
The rehearsals were held at St. Theresa’s Girls’ Convent. Sonali attended the school, but I had never been there myself. The high spiked gates were covered with sheets of takaran so no one could look in or out. Today, they were slightly ajar. We took a path that led to a netball court, crossed it, and then went down a corridor towards the rehearsal hall. Now I could hear the sound of a piano, and a lady singing. We entered the hall and stood at the back. The only people on the stage were a white lady and a white boy. Before they could finish their song, another lady rose from a chair in the middle of the hall and cried out, “Stop. Stop.” She began to walk towards the stage, calling out directions to the actors. Radha Aunty took this opportunity to introduce me. This lady, whom she called Aunty Doris, looked me over and smiled. “What a lovely boy,” she said. “Should have been a girl with those eyelashes.” Aunty Doris had fair skin like a foreigner, and yet she spoke English as we did, with a Sri Lankan accent. She wore big round glasses and there were deep dark circles under her eyes.
Since we would not be needed for a while, Radha Aunty took me outside into the courtyard. Some children were playing a game in one corner, but I stayed with Radha Aunty. A group of men and women were seated on some steps, and when they saw Radha Aunty they called to her to come and join in an argument they were having. They were discussing a song in the play which said that man was like a bee and womanlike a blossom. A man, whose name I learned was Anil, had started the discussion. He agreed with this sentiment and all the men supported him.
They began to argue, each side yelling with joy when they scored a point. Radha Aunty was soon the leader of the girls and she and Anil exchanged comments back and forth until Radha Aunty said, “I would rather wither and drop off my stem than be pollinated by a bee like you.”
At this retort even the boys cheered, and Anil bowed slightly to concede to her the victory.
As we walked towards the hall a little later, one of the girls gestured towards Anil and said to Radha Aunty, “I think that bee is dying to pollinate your blossom.”
The other girls who had heard this comment screamed with laughter. Radha Aunty was not amused. “You’re mad,” she said. “Utterly mad.”
Although I didn’t altogether understand the joke, I knew that it was something bad, because Radha Aunty looked very annoyed.
After rehearsal that day, we were walking to the bus-stop when Anil drove up in his car and stopped. He rolled down his window and said, “Do you want a lift?”
“No,” Radha Aunty replied.
“But I’m going in your direction, and the buses are very slow and it’s too late to be standing at the bus-stop alone.”
Radha Aunty hesitated for a moment and then accepted. On the way, she was silent and he didn’t say much either. I began to wonder if that argument between them had been more serious than it appeared. He offered to drop us at mygrandparents’ gate, but she insisted that he leave us at the top of the road.
When we came into the drawing room, Ammachi looked up in surprise from her newspaper and said, “How did you get home so quickly?”
“We got a bus right away,” Radha Aunty replied.
I glanced at her, puzzled, and she gave me a warning look. When we went down the corridor to her room, I waited for her to give me an explanation for her lie, but she declined to say anything.
After the next rehearsal, Anil offered us a lift and Radha Aunty accepted a little more graciously this time, though once again she insisted that he drop us off at the top of the road.
When we came back to my grandparents’
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