Where the Peacocks Sing: A Palace, a Prince, and the Search for Home by Alison Singh Gee

Author:Alison Singh Gee [Gee, Alison Singh]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2013-02-18T16:00:00+00:00

13

The Oiling

For a place that was built as an idyllic refuge, Mokimpur was certainly turning out to be a battlefield. If it wasn’t the village women sending me questionable vibes (and the stomachache from hell), then it was Kamala, whose polished talons seemed to grow longer and sharper every time we spoke. I wasn’t her favorite person on the planet—that much was clear. Whenever I walked into the dining room at mealtime, she narrowed her huge, clever eyes, as if to contain her latest thought. It never worked. I could practically read the imaginary thought bubble floating above her shiny raven head of hair: “Palace domination will be mine!” That followed by evil laughter, of course.

In her floral saris and gold bangles, and with a red bindi dot on her forehead, Kamala swanned around the haveli as if she were a goddess. One afternoon on the terrace, I mentioned her otherworldliness to Ajay. He snorted, “Well, if Kamala were a goddess it would have to be Kali.”

When I asked which of the Hindu deities that was, Ajay started waving his arms around. “She’s the one with the four arms and the black pointed tongue—the Goddess of Destruction.”

I laughed and looked across the courtyard just in time to catch Anusha pushing a potted plant off a terrace wall. It fell and crashed onto the courtyard below. We jumped up from our chairs; Kamala raced out of the dining room and pulled her daughter away from the terrace’s edge.

“No, no, no, no, Mama!” Anusha wailed as she grabbed at another potted plant.

Ajay and I glanced at each other with bemused smiles. “Let me guess,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “That makes Anusha the Toddler of Destruction.”

* * *

Kamala and Anusha weren’t the only formidable female forces in Mokimpur. Mrs. Singh was Goddess in Residence, and she ruled the house with an iron skillet—and a stony face. Yes, she had initially welcomed me to the haveli with a promising expression, one that suggested a blossoming serenity and warmth between us. But in the days since—and with the stress of dealing with a foreigner—that flower seemed to have died on the vine. In fact, she smiled so infrequently it was as if she didn’t have the facial muscles to support an upbeat expression. I also noticed that if I sat down at one end of the dining room table, she made sure to sit at the opposite end, even if it was only the two of us. After a few such snubs, I started to feel uncomfortable in her company without Ajay. I just tried to keep out of her way. The palace was her home, her universe, and I was a stranger stealing through her hallways in noisy high heels.

Before my first trip to the haveli, I spent more than a few minutes fantasizing about what my future mother-in-law would be like. Ajay had told me that as a newlywed she was a Delhi socialite, beautifully dressed, impeccably mannered, and always up for a party.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.