Cracking India by Bapsi Sidhwa Read Free Book Online Page B

Order!” says Mr. Bankwalla. And Colonel Bharucha clears his throat so effectively that the questions, answers and wisecracks subside.
    â€œI’ll tell you a story,” the colonel says, and susceptible to stories the congregation and I sit still in our seats.
    â€œWhen we were kicked out of Persia by the Arabs thirteen hundred years ago, what did we do? Did we shout and argue? No!” roars the colonel, and hastily provides his own answer before anyone can interrupt. “We got into boats and sailed to India!”
    â€œWhy to India?” a totally new wit sitting at the end of my bench enquires. “If they had to go some place, why not Greece? Why not to France? Prettier scenery... ”
    â€œThey didn’t kick us hard enough,” says Dr. Mody, with hearty regret. “If only they’d kicked us all the way to California ... Prettier women!”
    There is an eruption of comments and suggestions. The meeting is turning out to be much more lively than I’d anticipated. Godmother’s brother-in-law restores order with his built-in
microphone. “Shut up!” he bellows, startling us with the velocity of his voice.
    Colonel Bharucha continues as if he’s not been interrupted at all.
    â€œDo you think it was easy to be accepted into a new country? No!” he booms. “Our forefathers were not given permission even to disembark!”
    â€œWhat about our foremothers?” someone enquires.
    â€œAnd our foreskins?” an invisible voice pipes up from the back.
    â€œMind! There are ladies here!” says the colonel sternly. There is a long pause no one dares interrupt. Satisfied by our silence, the colonel continues: “Our forefathers and foremothers waited for four days, not knowing what was to become of them. Then, at last, the Grand Vazir appeared on deck with a glass of milk filled to the brim.” He looks intently at our faces. “Do you know what it meant?”
    Knowledgeable heads nod wisely.
    â€œIt was a polite message from the Indian Prince, meaning: ‘No, you are not welcome. My land is full and prosperous and we don’t want outsiders with a different religion and alien ways to disturb the harmony!’ He thought we were missionaries.
    â€œDo you know what the Zarathushtis did? God rest their souls?”
    Knowing heads nod, and among them I spy Cousin’s. I feel annoyed. I am not privy to information that is rapidly being revealed as my birthright. Even if Godmother, Mother, Slavesister and Electric-aunt did not tell me, Cousin ought to have!
    Colonel Bharucha, again answering his own question, continues: “Our forefathers carefully stirred a teaspoon of sugar into the milk and sent it back.
    â€œThe Prince understood what that meant. The refugees would get absorbed into his country like the sugar in the milk... And with their decency and industry sweeten the lives of his subjects.
    â€œThe Indian Prince thought: what a smart and civilized
people! And he gave our ancestors permission to live in his kingdom!”
    â€œShabash! Well done!” say the Parsees, regarding each other with admiration and congratulatory self-regard.
    â€œBut as you see, we have to move with the times,” roars the colonel, his oratorical capacities in full form. “Time stands still for no one!”
    â€œHear hear! Hear hear!”
    Even I applauded on cue.
    â€œTime and tide wait for no man!”
    Thunderous applause.
    â€œLet whoever wishes rule! Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Christian! We will abide by the rules of their land!”
    A polite smattering of Hear hears! The congregation, wafted on self-esteem and British proverbs, does not want to be brought back to earth.
    â€œAs long as we do not interfere we have nothing to fear! As long as we respect the customs of our rulers—as we always have—we’ll be all right! Ahura Mazda has looked after us for thirteen hundred years: he will look after us for another