out of her hair. “Wait! Stop!” cried Samira. She spoke in Hindi. “I saw a curl! Didi, I saw a curl in my hair, and you brushed it away!”
“No, baba. There was no curl.”
Nor would there ever be. Her hair was straight and glossy down her back, too sleek and stubborn for even a hint of a curl. She didn’t see how it swung as she moved and how it gleamed in the sunlight. All she knew was that her hair had no curl and was too slippery to withstand pretty ribbons, grips or bows.
Anil swung them high in the air when they arrived at his bungalow.
“Again!” squealed Mark. “Again, Uncle Anil.”
“Sammy! What a pretty yellow frock!” he stood back in mock amazement.
“But look, Uncle Anil, my petticoat’s even prettier.” She lifted her frock in front to show him.
“Really, Samira! Put your dress down. That’s not ladylike,” Ramona said, crossly.
A lady they’d never met hurried down the steps to meet them. Charles and Ramona shook hands with her, and Anil said to the children,
“Say hello to Aunty Sheila.”
“But where is Aunty Gita?” asked Mark in bewilderment. “I wanted to see Aunty Gita.”
There was an awkward silence. Anil cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Aunty Gita went away, now Aunty Sheila lives here.”
“Run along and play, children,” said Charles.
It was dark, and they couldn’t go outside. There was nothing for her and Mark to do while the grown-ups had their drinks in the drawing room. They drank their orange squash in the verandah, and Samira excused herself to go to the bathroom. She loved to see other people’s bathrooms and how she looked in their mirrors. She did not like the way she looked tonight, and the pony tail hurt her head. It was too tight. She untied the yellow ribbon Didi had tied on so tightly it made her eyes bulge, and pulled off the band underneath. That felt much better. But she still wasn’t comfortable. Her can-can petticoat was prickly and scratched her legs. It was very pretty with layers of white lace and little satin bows but very uncomfortable, nevertheless. She slipped it off and stepped out of it, rubbing her legs in relief.
Just then, Ramona called them to dinner, and she ran to the dining room to join the adults. In the car on the way home, Mark persisted in wanting to know why Uncle Anil had a new Aunty.
“But why did Aunty Gita go away?” he wanted to know. “I liked Aunty Gita.”
“Yes, you’ve established that,” said Charles. “May I ask why, exactly?”
“Well, she had….” he hesitated, blushing.
“She had what?” Ramona prompted.
“Big bosoms!” cried Samira triumphantly, smirking at Mark.
“No! Stop it.” He was embarrassed at being caught out.
“Mummy, tell her to shut up!” He glared at his sister.
“He said shut up!” cried Samira.
“Samira, behave. Mark, you know you’re not allowed to say ‘shut up.’ And Gita left because she had to go somewhere else,” said Ramona.
“Mummy, you won’t ever have to go somewhere else, will you?” he asked, anxiously.
“No, darling, I never will ever go anywhere else,” she promised.
In the morning, the telephone rang just as they were finishing breakfast.
“Sheila Memsahib,” Jetha announced.
“I’ll get it,” said Ramona.
“Hello, Sheila. Yes. This is Ramona.” She spoke into the phone. “Thanks so much for a lovely dinner. Oh? Really, she is so careless!”
Sheila informed her that Samira had left her can-can petticoat and her yellow ribbon in the guest bathroom.
“I also wanted to let you know that I’m leaving Anil,” Sheila said. “I’m going back to Calcutta on the next flight.”
Charles groaned when Ramona told him.
“Oh, no! We all know what that means. There’s going to be yet another ‘Aunty’ for us to explain to Mark!”
Samira’s bedroom was the dressing room off Mark’s room. Although it was much smaller than Mark’s and not really a bedroom at all, she was happy with it because she had been allowed to
“No, baba. There was no curl.”
Nor would there ever be. Her hair was straight and glossy down her back, too sleek and stubborn for even a hint of a curl. She didn’t see how it swung as she moved and how it gleamed in the sunlight. All she knew was that her hair had no curl and was too slippery to withstand pretty ribbons, grips or bows.
Anil swung them high in the air when they arrived at his bungalow.
“Again!” squealed Mark. “Again, Uncle Anil.”
“Sammy! What a pretty yellow frock!” he stood back in mock amazement.
“But look, Uncle Anil, my petticoat’s even prettier.” She lifted her frock in front to show him.
“Really, Samira! Put your dress down. That’s not ladylike,” Ramona said, crossly.
A lady they’d never met hurried down the steps to meet them. Charles and Ramona shook hands with her, and Anil said to the children,
“Say hello to Aunty Sheila.”
“But where is Aunty Gita?” asked Mark in bewilderment. “I wanted to see Aunty Gita.”
There was an awkward silence. Anil cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Aunty Gita went away, now Aunty Sheila lives here.”
“Run along and play, children,” said Charles.
It was dark, and they couldn’t go outside. There was nothing for her and Mark to do while the grown-ups had their drinks in the drawing room. They drank their orange squash in the verandah, and Samira excused herself to go to the bathroom. She loved to see other people’s bathrooms and how she looked in their mirrors. She did not like the way she looked tonight, and the pony tail hurt her head. It was too tight. She untied the yellow ribbon Didi had tied on so tightly it made her eyes bulge, and pulled off the band underneath. That felt much better. But she still wasn’t comfortable. Her can-can petticoat was prickly and scratched her legs. It was very pretty with layers of white lace and little satin bows but very uncomfortable, nevertheless. She slipped it off and stepped out of it, rubbing her legs in relief.
Just then, Ramona called them to dinner, and she ran to the dining room to join the adults. In the car on the way home, Mark persisted in wanting to know why Uncle Anil had a new Aunty.
“But why did Aunty Gita go away?” he wanted to know. “I liked Aunty Gita.”
“Yes, you’ve established that,” said Charles. “May I ask why, exactly?”
“Well, she had….” he hesitated, blushing.
“She had what?” Ramona prompted.
“Big bosoms!” cried Samira triumphantly, smirking at Mark.
“No! Stop it.” He was embarrassed at being caught out.
“Mummy, tell her to shut up!” He glared at his sister.
“He said shut up!” cried Samira.
“Samira, behave. Mark, you know you’re not allowed to say ‘shut up.’ And Gita left because she had to go somewhere else,” said Ramona.
“Mummy, you won’t ever have to go somewhere else, will you?” he asked, anxiously.
“No, darling, I never will ever go anywhere else,” she promised.
In the morning, the telephone rang just as they were finishing breakfast.
“Sheila Memsahib,” Jetha announced.
“I’ll get it,” said Ramona.
“Hello, Sheila. Yes. This is Ramona.” She spoke into the phone. “Thanks so much for a lovely dinner. Oh? Really, she is so careless!”
Sheila informed her that Samira had left her can-can petticoat and her yellow ribbon in the guest bathroom.
“I also wanted to let you know that I’m leaving Anil,” Sheila said. “I’m going back to Calcutta on the next flight.”
Charles groaned when Ramona told him.
“Oh, no! We all know what that means. There’s going to be yet another ‘Aunty’ for us to explain to Mark!”
Samira’s bedroom was the dressing room off Mark’s room. Although it was much smaller than Mark’s and not really a bedroom at all, she was happy with it because she had been allowed to
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