First Darling of the Morning: Selected Memories of an Indian Childhood (P.S.)

304 Pages·2008·0.79 MB·English

by  Thrity Umrigar

First
Darling
of the
Morning
Selected Memories of an Indian Childhood
THRITY UMRIGAR
To JBU, HJU and ETK
With endless love
and infinite gratitude
Contents
One
I AM OF THAT GENERATION of middle-class,
westernized, citified Indian kids… 9
Two
MEHROO IS DESCENDING THE STAIRS and already
I am on… 21
Three
AFTER DINNER, MEHROO AND I often go for a walk. 35
Four
ALTHOUGH I GET TEASED BY the other girls and
despite… 43
Five
FOR YEARS, THE OVALTINE LADY has been my real
mother. 54
Six
IT IS A NIGHT IN May and the excitement in… 70
Seven
THE BELL RINGS, SIGNALLING IT’S time for
composition class—my favourite… 85
Eight
TWO EARTH-SHATTERING REVELATIONS IN two
days. This is almost more… 94
Nine
MAD PARSI. 104
Ten 113
JESSE HAS THICK BUSHY EYEBROWS that she
hand-plucks fiercely when…
Eleven
JENNY IS ACTUALLY THREE YEARS older than most
of us… 124
Twelve
THE CHILDHOOD DREAM ABOUT THE city’s poor
has stopped visiting… 137
Thirteen
WATERGATE. 149
Fourteen
BABU IS PERTURBED, I CAN tell. He paces the
balcony… 160
Fifteen
MRS BEAATRICE D’MELLO HAS THROWN me out
of her physics… 175
Sixteen
BY BUYING ALCOHOL AND CIGARETTES while
underage, I break the… 188
Seventeen
KAMALA HAS BEEN WORKING AS A domestic
servant in our… 205
Eighteen
BABU IS DEAD. 211
Nineteen
WHITE. THE FUNERAL IS ALL white. The women in
their… 226
Twenty
IT’S BEGINNING TO UNRAVEL. I can tell by the way… 238
Twenty-One
I HAVE TO GET OUT of here no matter what it… 247
Twenty-Two
AMERICA. 260
Twenty-Three
THE IMMIGRATION OFFICER AT THE American
Embassy is young, blond… 268
Twenty-Four
TIME TO LEAVE FOR THE airport. But how? How to… 285
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Praise
Other Books by Thrity Umrigar
Cover
Copyright
About the Publisher

One
I
AM OF THAT GENERATION of middle-class, westernized, citi-
fied Indian kids who know the words to Do-Re-Me better than
the national anthem. The Sound of Music is our call to arms and
Julie Andrews our Pied Piper. It is 1967—Hollywood movies
always come to India a year or two after their American re-
lease—and the alleys and homes of Bombay are suddenly alive
with the sound of music. No matter that the movie has reached
us over a year after it is a hit all over the Western world. All
the piano teachers in Bombay are teaching their beginner stu-
dents how to plunk Do-Re-Me until it seems as if every middle-
class Parsi household with a piano emits only one tune.
I am six years old and suffer from an only child’s fantasy of
what life with siblings would be like. The Sound of Music gives
flight to that fantasy, provides it with shape and colour. The
laughter, the camaraderie, the teasing, the close-knittedness
of the Von Trapp family ensnares me, forever setting my
standard of what a perfect family should be. The Von Trapps
are as light and sunny as my family is dark; they whistle and
sing while the adults in my household are moody and silent;
the children are as shiny and healthy and robust as I am puny
and sickly and awkward. To see those seven children up on
that large screen, standing in descending order of age and
height, is to see heaven itself. My heart bursts with joy and
longing; I want to leave my seat and crawl into the screen and
into the warm, welcoming arms of Maria. Take me in, I want
to say, give me some time