Read Online Motherland by Vineeta Vijayaraghavan - Free Book Online Page B

was cooler up here, chilly even. There was tall grass and soft curves of meadow near the road.
    â€œStop, stop,” Brindha screamed. She was peering out the window on her side.
    â€œWhat is it, Brindha?” my aunt said.
    â€œLook over there, see behind those trees. I think Sushmila Jain is there!”
    â€œWho’s Sushmila Jain?” I said. The driver had stopped short and leapt out of the car and was standing at the edge of the road. In the clearing outside Brindha’s window, a herd of people came into focus. There were women wearing full peasant skirts and carrying baskets of vegetables on their heads. There were men wearing turbans and white kurta pajamas with their hands clasped behind their backs holding hoes. They lined up in two rows facing each other, not moving.
    â€œWhat are they farming?” I asked.
    Brindha and Reema auntie burst into laughter.
    â€œIt’s a movie, Maya,” Reema auntie said. “Many movies are filmed in Ooty—that’s all that’s up here besides boarding schools and summer resorts.”
    Brindha said, “That’s Sushmila, over there, the tall beautiful one. Amma, can we get out of the car, please, so we can see better?”
    â€œWe need to get going,” Reema auntie said, even though she said this without herself turning away from the window.
    â€œJust for one song?” Brindha asked. Reema auntie nodded and we all got out of the car.
    The crew was trailing behind the actors and still setting up their equipment, and the director shouted for a run through of the scene. The two lines of men and women began a dance routine, the women dancing around their baskets, the men running off with them, the women running after the men, the men returning the baskets but only in exchange for a chance to hold their hands. Meanwhile, the star Sushmila Jain, who was wearing a sari rather than a peasant skirt, danced amidst her entourage, accompanied by a man with slick hair and black knee-high boots. They mouthed verses to each other, and then the peasant men and women mouthed the refrains. The songs would be added in later, but to help the dancers keep time, loud instrumental music crackled from two speakers. Sushmila Jain shrieked when one of the cameramen came up to her and dumped a bucket of water over her head. They started the dance routine over again, Sushmila’s pink chiffon sari now stuck to her body, her long untied hair gleaming wetly in the sun.
    â€œI guess the water was cold,” Brindha giggled.
    Reema auntie snorted, “Honestly, these movies are ridiculous.”
    â€œJayalalitha wants Sushmila to join her party,” Brindha said. Jayalalitha, who had been a film star before becoming a politician, had become Chief Minister of the state of Tamil Nadu last week. The previous state government had been dismissed because it was suspected of aiding the Tamil Tiger cause. Jayalalitha and her party were suspected only of general corruption.
    â€œI wish some of our film stars would just stay film stars and do what they know how to do,” Reema auntie said.
    â€œAmma, won’t you let me ask for Sushmila’s autograph since she might even become our next Chief Minister?” Brindha asked.
    Reema auntie snorted. “Definitely not. Let’s go,” she said.
    W E TUMBLED OUT of the car an hour later, in front of a trim white bungalow. It was a guesthouse of Sanjay uncle’s company, where my aunt and uncle stayed when they made overnight trips to visit Brindha at school.
    My aunt said, “It might be occupied by some other company people right now, so be polite. We’ll just stop in and have tea and change.”
    Reema auntie walked onto the porch, and a servant came to the door. He took our things and brought us inside. The sitting room had a high ceiling with two overhead fans swirling lazily.
    â€œDo you know who’s staying here right now?” she asked.
    The servant said, “It is a