Slumdog Millionaire: A Novel by Vikas Swarup Read Free Book Online
Authors: Vikas Swarup
a clutch of other orphan babies. All the other babies were collected, but no one came for me. A prospective mother and father would see me and exchange glances with each
other. There would be an imperceptible shake of the head, and then they would move on to the next cradle. I do not know why. Perhaps I was too dark. Too ugly. Too colicky. Perhaps I didn't have a cherubic smile, or I gurgled too much. So I remained at the orphanage for two years.
Oddly enough, the sisters never got round to giving me a name. I was just called Baby – the baby that no one wanted.
I was finally adopted by Mrs Philomena Thomas and her husband Dominic Thomas. Originally
from Nagercoil in Tamil Nadu, they now lived in Delhi. Mrs Thomas worked as a cleaner in St Joseph's Church and her husband as the gardener. Because they were in their forties without any children of their own, Father Timothy Francis, the parish priest, had been urging them to consider adopting to fill the void in their life. He even directed them to St Mary's Orphanage. Mr Thomas must have taken one look at me and immediately passed on to the next baby, but Mrs Philomena Thomas selected me the moment she saw me. I was a perfect match for her dark skin!
The Thomases spent two months completing the paperwork for my adoption, but within three
days of taking me home and even before I could be christened, Mr Thomas discovered that the void in his wife's life had already been filled. Not by me, but by a Muslim gentleman by the name of Mastan Sheikh, who was the local ladies' tailor, specializing in short skirts. Mrs Philomena Thomas ditched her old husband and newly adopted baby and ran off with the tailor, reportedly to Bhopal. Her whereabouts are not known to this day.
On discovering this, Mr Thomas went into a rage. He dragged me in my cradle to the priest's house and dumped me there. 'Father, this baby is the root cause of all the trouble in my life. You forced me to adopt him, so now you decide what to do with him.' And before Father Timothy could even say 'Amen', Dominic Thomas walked out of the church. He was last seen buying a train ticket for Bhopal with a shotgun in his hands. So willy-nilly I became Father Timothy's responsibility. He gave me food, he gave me shelter and he gave me a name: Joseph Michael Thomas. There was no baptism ceremony. No priest dipped my head into a font. No holy water was sprinkled. No white shawl was draped over me. No candle was lit. But I became Joseph
Michael Thomas. For six days.
On the seventh day, two men came to meet Father Timothy. A fat man wearing white kurta pyjamas, and a thin, bearded man wearing a sherwani.
'We are from the All Faith Committee,' the fat man said. 'I am Mr Jagdish Sharma. This is Mr Inayat Hidayatullah. Our third board member, Mr Harvinder Singh, representing the Sikh faith, was also to come, but he is unfortunately held up at the Gurudwara. We will come straight to the point. We are told, Father, that you have given shelter to a little orphan boy.'
'Yes, the poor boy's adoptive parents have disappeared, leaving him in my care,' said Father Timothy, still unable to figure out the reason for this unexpected visit.
'What name have you given this boy?'
'Joseph Michael Thomas.'
'Isn't that a Christian name?'
'Yes, but—'
'How do you know that he was born to Christian parents?'
'Well, I don't.'
'Then why have you given him a Christian name?'
'Well, I had to call him something. What's wrong with Joseph Michael Thomas?'
'Everything. Don't you know, Father, how strong the movement is against conversion in these parts? Several churches have been set fire to by irate mobs, who were led to believe that mass conversions to Christianity were taking place there.'
'But this is no conversion.'
'Look, Father, we know you did not have any ulterior motive. But word has got around that you have converted a Hindu boy.'
'But how do you know he is Hindu?'
'It won't matter to the lumpen elements who are planning to
other. There would be an imperceptible shake of the head, and then they would move on to the next cradle. I do not know why. Perhaps I was too dark. Too ugly. Too colicky. Perhaps I didn't have a cherubic smile, or I gurgled too much. So I remained at the orphanage for two years.
Oddly enough, the sisters never got round to giving me a name. I was just called Baby – the baby that no one wanted.
I was finally adopted by Mrs Philomena Thomas and her husband Dominic Thomas. Originally
from Nagercoil in Tamil Nadu, they now lived in Delhi. Mrs Thomas worked as a cleaner in St Joseph's Church and her husband as the gardener. Because they were in their forties without any children of their own, Father Timothy Francis, the parish priest, had been urging them to consider adopting to fill the void in their life. He even directed them to St Mary's Orphanage. Mr Thomas must have taken one look at me and immediately passed on to the next baby, but Mrs Philomena Thomas selected me the moment she saw me. I was a perfect match for her dark skin!
The Thomases spent two months completing the paperwork for my adoption, but within three
days of taking me home and even before I could be christened, Mr Thomas discovered that the void in his wife's life had already been filled. Not by me, but by a Muslim gentleman by the name of Mastan Sheikh, who was the local ladies' tailor, specializing in short skirts. Mrs Philomena Thomas ditched her old husband and newly adopted baby and ran off with the tailor, reportedly to Bhopal. Her whereabouts are not known to this day.
On discovering this, Mr Thomas went into a rage. He dragged me in my cradle to the priest's house and dumped me there. 'Father, this baby is the root cause of all the trouble in my life. You forced me to adopt him, so now you decide what to do with him.' And before Father Timothy could even say 'Amen', Dominic Thomas walked out of the church. He was last seen buying a train ticket for Bhopal with a shotgun in his hands. So willy-nilly I became Father Timothy's responsibility. He gave me food, he gave me shelter and he gave me a name: Joseph Michael Thomas. There was no baptism ceremony. No priest dipped my head into a font. No holy water was sprinkled. No white shawl was draped over me. No candle was lit. But I became Joseph
Michael Thomas. For six days.
On the seventh day, two men came to meet Father Timothy. A fat man wearing white kurta pyjamas, and a thin, bearded man wearing a sherwani.
'We are from the All Faith Committee,' the fat man said. 'I am Mr Jagdish Sharma. This is Mr Inayat Hidayatullah. Our third board member, Mr Harvinder Singh, representing the Sikh faith, was also to come, but he is unfortunately held up at the Gurudwara. We will come straight to the point. We are told, Father, that you have given shelter to a little orphan boy.'
'Yes, the poor boy's adoptive parents have disappeared, leaving him in my care,' said Father Timothy, still unable to figure out the reason for this unexpected visit.
'What name have you given this boy?'
'Joseph Michael Thomas.'
'Isn't that a Christian name?'
'Yes, but—'
'How do you know that he was born to Christian parents?'
'Well, I don't.'
'Then why have you given him a Christian name?'
'Well, I had to call him something. What's wrong with Joseph Michael Thomas?'
'Everything. Don't you know, Father, how strong the movement is against conversion in these parts? Several churches have been set fire to by irate mobs, who were led to believe that mass conversions to Christianity were taking place there.'
'But this is no conversion.'
'Look, Father, we know you did not have any ulterior motive. But word has got around that you have converted a Hindu boy.'
'But how do you know he is Hindu?'
'It won't matter to the lumpen elements who are planning to
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