Preethi Nair

One Hundred Shades of White


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      ONE HUNDRED

       SHADES OF WHITE

      PREETHI NAIR

      

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      Copyright © Preethi Nair 2003

      Preethi Nair asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

      HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

      Source ISBN: 9780007143450

      Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2011 ISBN: 9780007438198 Version: 2016-10-05

      

      

      For Ammamma, who loved

      us enough to let us go.

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Dedication

       MAYA

       NALINI

       MAYA

       Keep Reading

       About the Author

       About the Publisher

      Chaos seems to gravitate towards me. It has always been this way. At the time of my birth, the milkman lost the bicycle which had taken him five years to save up for; my much needed grandmother had to drag out my screaming brother who had accidentally wandered into the room; the rain decided to fall even harder and cut off the current (it made no difference to the midwife, she was blind anyway) and the cockroaches which had congregated on a fallen bhaji were crushed by an unexpected, heavy foot.

      The battle that ensued between Amma and I continued. She pushed with all her life and I held on. And so it went on for hours and hours, years and years. Amongst secret whispers, a meticulous strategy emerged and reinforcements came in the shape of forceful fingertips that belonged to a wrinkled pair of hands. The midwife pulled me out, determinedly. The first thing I saw were the dusty blades of a khaki fan. I cried.

      At that moment, I wanted to turn right back and ask God to tell me again what he had planned for me and why, exactly, He had chosen this family. Born into a cold, bewildered room, the midwife left me screaming as she lay me out to count my fingers and toes. I was then wrapped up and handed to my Amma.

      ‘She’s beautiful, just beautiful.’

      But I didn’t glance up to see my mother’s face and instead I turned my head to look at my Achan. I saw an old rhinoceros-skinned man sitting in the corner of the room and howled even louder.

      He was, thank God, the astrologer who sat through the whole commotion in stony silence. The astrologer noted the time and then shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t have held on,’ he said to Amma. ‘The second child always brings change, but this one has come with Mars in the first house and she will surely be the cause of much, much upheaval.’ But before she had a chance to reflect on his words, the rest of my family walked in.

      The heavy foot belonged to my Achan who was supposed to be away on a business trip. He must have come back just for me. Not sensing my imminent arrival, he decided to escape the commotion to look for my grandmother and little brother Satchin. He found Ammamma entertaining him in a rickshaw and brought them both back in.

      Ammamma took a look at me and then ignited like a fluorescent tube light, laughing at me trembling in the cool morning breeze. She wondered which old woman’s soul I had borrowed. She reached out her arms to hold me but Achan looked at Amma and Amma said, ‘Raul, let Raul take her, Ma.’

      He took me in those big strong arms and I felt very, very comfortable. Satchin watched, then he went over to Amma and asked to see the family that would be taking care of me. This was after he had finished stroking my foot whilst he sucked his thumb, using me as a temporary substitute for his beloved blanky which wasn’t looking in good shape at all.

      ‘No, Monu, Mol is coming home with us, she’s your new little sister.’

      ‘No, no, Am, don’t want.’

      ‘Monu,’ she said as Ammamma lifted him up so he could sit next to her, ‘things will be just the same but better, you now have a little sister to play with.’

      It was then I looked at my Amma’s face, seeking reassurance. It was so radiantly happy and anything she told you, you would want to believe, for this is the kind of face she had, calm and peaceful.

      But they should have paid attention to his little words.

      The upheaval that was supposed to mark my arrival, and the subject of much speculation and gossip by the man plotting our lives, was delayed by some inexplicable Jupiter/Saturn conjunction. The fact was that it was some three years later that the full effects of my birth came into force.

      God gave me a good deal with my parents. My Achan was handsome and my Amma was really very beautiful. She had extraordinary green eyes that shone when she laughed and long delicate fingers which she hid her laughter behind. Achan came from a wealthy family. He had sixteen cows more than Amma. In fact, his family had sixteen more cows than all the villagers put together