Chapters (30)
Rajan had been selected by his consultants at Colombo General Hospital to present a paper on the effectiveness of Ceylon’s smallpox vaccination programme. The conference was in Delhi and he had agreed to take her with him, although he refused to use the word ‘honeymoon’ outside the refuge of their bedroom.
Nala was one month short of her eighteenth birthday. Eighteen: one plus eight added up to nine. Everyone told her this was a good age to begin a journey. She checked her handbag again, laying out her precious cargo on the bed. First, she took out the important documents: the brand-new passports, tickets, itinerary and traveller’s cheques—all carefully preserved in a special plastic wallet and filed neatly by Rajan’s meticulous, excited hands. He had proudly explained to her that he would be able to find any document and any traveller’s cheque of the desired denomination in the dark, under pressure, perhaps even under water. She watched with hidden amusement as he rehearsed different scenarios in which he would need to produce a document quickly, applauding his successful drills.
Next, she took out a small, embroidered purse given to her by her mother. It contained a standard-issue packet of holy ash, folded tightly to keep its contents from spilling, and a creased picture of Lord Murugan, her mother’s personal deity. She pulled at the medallion that was trapped in the lining of the purse: it was St Christopher, from her grandmother—just in case.
She flicked through the empty notebook her father had given her. ‘Write down everything you see and feel, Nala; I want to know all about it when you get back.’ She had tried to touch his feet, but he held her and kissed her forehead.
On top of the notebook she placed the package from Ayah: cumin, chilli powder, mustard seeds, root ginger, five betel nuts, two small tins of mackerel, and a tin-opener that doubled as a betel nutcracker. There was also a packet of coriander seeds in case she got sick. The nursemaid was determined to ensure that her charge didn’t suffer from malnutrition while she was away. Outside Ceylon, food was very bland.
Finally, she admired the gifts from her husband for this trip: a pair of large tortoiseshell sunglasses and, most surprisingly, pink-frosted lipstick. Rajan had shyly offered it to her saying, ‘I thought you might like this.’
She had laughed with delight and kissed him forcefully on the cheek. He laughed back and looked around to make sure no one was watching.
She hadn’t used the lipstick yet, but she had admired its creamy, shiny pinkness many times. It smelled faintly of lychees and her mouth watered at the thought of wearing it. She was saving it for the Taj Mahal and for just the right moment.