{"id":183,"date":"2011-05-19T09:55:07","date_gmt":"2011-05-19T09:55:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/?page_id=183"},"modified":"2012-01-30T09:38:24","modified_gmt":"2012-01-30T09:38:24","slug":"pratap-reddy","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/writings\/fiction\/pratap-reddy","title":{"rendered":"Pratap Reddy"},"content":{"rendered":"

Her White Christmas<\/strong><\/h1>\n
Pratap Reddy<\/strong><\/h6>\n

Wearing a thin, hand-knitted cardigan over her crumpled sari, Prema Sudhakar looks all of her sixty-odd years. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s late in the evening as she anxiously scans the collage of unfamiliar faces besieging her in the foyer of Pearson airport. \u00c2\u00a0A young south Asian male enters the terminal, but noting his beard her glance slides past him. But the stranger walks right up to her.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Hi, Mom, he says.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Shyam! I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t recognise you!<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Have you been waiting for long, Mom?<\/p>\n

Relief floods over Prema, moistening her eyes.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c No, only a few minutes. Where\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Shilpa?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s at work.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c In her condition, she shouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t be going to work, Shyam.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Mom, things are different in Canada.<\/p>\n

Shyam takes charge of the luggage and they proceed to the parking lot. Out in the open, Prema shivers.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll need warmer clothes, Mom. Snow is expected next week.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Do you think I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll get to see a white Christmas?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m sure you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll have your wish. The two winters I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve seen were pretty bad.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Will I be able to see the Aurora Borealis, too?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Idiot! To think that your mother was a Geography teacher!<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c By the way, how\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Anu?<\/p>\n

Anu is his sister who, as of now, is living along with her husband in Austria in an unpronounceable town on the Danube. They are both artists and have a habit of washing up in the unlikeliest of towns in the world.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Shyam, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s you who ought to be telling me how Anu is. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s your little sister and she lives abroad like you.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Maybe, Mom, but Europe is pretty far away from Canada. At the moment, we cannot afford to visit her.<\/p>\n

Haze hangs like a giant\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s breath over the city. They seem to be driving forever, tailing a never-ending procession of red lights. The car slows as they enter the street where Shyam lives. In the thickening dusk all the houses look alike in their drabness, pinpricks of light oozing out from within.<\/p>\n

Shyam stops the car and steps out to open the car-door for his mother.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Welcome to Canada, Mom!<\/p>\n

Prema trembles as a gust of polar wind washes over. She follows her son, her shoes scrunching over fallen leaves. They enter a narrow row-house, one of many pressed together like slices in a loaf. Inside, an enormous staircase fills the hallway.<\/p>\n

Prema sits down on a stool, and unbuckles her shoes.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Mom, you relax in the living room while I fetch your suitcases.<\/p>\n

Prema chooses to potter around the house: a few spartan and mismatched pieces of furniture \u00e2\u20ac\u201c procured exclusively from garage-sales \u00e2\u20ac\u201c are deployed here and there. On the kitchen countertop there are a pile of flyers and two unopened envelopes addressed to a Jojo Mbele.<\/p>\n

The glass front-door closes with a crash. Shyam comes in, lugging two enormous suitcases.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Mom, would you like to have dinner?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m full, I had something called Asian vegetarian meal on the plane, she says, pulling a face.<\/p>\n

Shyam unearths a packet of frozen rotis and a dish of leftover curry from the fridge. While he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s heating them, Prema, who has already nosed around the kitchen, sets the table.<\/p>\n

When he finishes his dinner, Shyam roots out a card from a kitchen drawer.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Let\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s call Dad, he says.<\/p>\n

He punches in a long series of numbers, frequently peering at the card. He disconnects, and dials again. He does this repeatedly while Prema regards him like an implacable deity.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c We use a card to call India. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s much cheaper.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not surprised, says Prema.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s ringing! Hi, Dad! I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m good. How are you? …Mom, talk to Dad.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Hello! I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m fine\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I guess she must be OK, she has gone to work\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6yeah, you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve heard it right. Is the maid coming to work every day?…I know it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s only a day since I left India…Goodnight…Yes, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s night here…Goodbye!<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Mom, you must be tired. May I show you to your room? It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s on the second floor.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll wait for Shilpa.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c It will be midnight when she returns.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t mind. How does she come back?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I pick her up from the factory.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c No wonder you look so thin and tired. By the way, the beard doesn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t suit you.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I knew you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d say that, Mom. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d like to go to my room now. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve had a long day.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Suit yourself. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll watch TV until Shilpa \u00e2\u20ac\u00a6<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Prema stops short and her eyes widen. A young black male has just emerged from the staircase that leads to the basement. Dressed in a T shirt and a pair of shorts, he smiles at them.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Did I startle you, the man says.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Mom, this is Joe, our tenant.<\/p>\n

Prema somehow manages to find her tongue.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Pleased to meet you, she says.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Same here. Sorry to intrude, but I won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t take more than a minute.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Take your time. No hurry, says Shyam.<\/p>\n

When Joe goes into the kitchen, Prema sits down on the sofa looking shell-shocked.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Joe was renting the basement room when we bought the place. He came with the territory, so to speak.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know what to say.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Mom, we need every penny we can lay our hands on. You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve no idea of the mortgage payments…<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Shyam, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m unable to understand how you could give a perfect stranger such… free run of your home!<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Joe\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a very nice guy. He only comes up once or twice a day to do his cooking or use the toilet.<\/p>\n

Prema shoots up like a rocket from the sofa.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Please stop! I think I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll go to my room.<\/p>\n

The next morning when Prema wakes, a pallid sun pretends to shine outside. The silence in the house is almost sepulchral \u00e2\u20ac\u201c no birdsongs, no traffic sounds, nothing. Still groggy with jetlag, Prema forces herself to get up and go downstairs. She finds nobody about: it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s as if the house is standing stock-still, holding its breath.<\/p>\n

Prema makes herself a cup of coffee.\u00c2\u00a0 Unable to find a newspaper, she goes through the stack of flyers. Later she tries to switch on the TV, but the universal remote proves to be too much of a challenge. She returns to the kitchen and cooks a south Indian breakfast, enjoying the explorer-like thrill of looking for, and finding, various vessels and ingredients.<\/p>\n

At around noon, Shilpa comes out of her bedroom. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s wearing a kind of long loose T-shirt and seemingly little else.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Shilpa! How nice to see you!<\/p>\n

Prema walks up to Shilpa and puts her arms around her.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c How are you feeling, my child?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Good, thank you.<\/p>\n

She sounds formal, even standoffish.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Are you taking good care of yourself?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Yes. Amma, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m sorry, I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t get to see you yesterday. You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d gone to bed when I came back.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Never mind, dear. Would you like to have some upma?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Did you make it? How quickly you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve learned to find your way around the house!<\/p>\n

The second statement almost sounds like a rebuke. Ignoring it, Prema talks about the day Shyam was born. Shilpa remains mostly silent as she mechanically devours the breakfast.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c …It was in the middle of the night and we went in a rickshaw to the hospital. Can you believe that?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Amma, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m sorry, but I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll have to go and get ready now.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s OK, my dear. How do you go to work?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c My supervisor picks me up.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Oh.<\/p>\n

Shilpa returns, wearing an ill-fitting top and a crumpled pair of trousers.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Everyone at the factory dresses like this, says Shilpa.<\/p>\n

She gets into a scuffed pair of work-boots, and yanks out a genderless coat from the closet.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t wait for me, Amma. Have your dinner with Shyam.<\/p>\n

Prema peeps though the front window. She sees a dusty red pick-up drawn up on the road. Before climbing into the vehicle, Shilpa turns and looks at the window.<\/p>\n

Prema steps back, as if stung.<\/p>\n

Soon Prema takes complete charge of the house. Quickly learning the intricacies of the clothes-dryer, dishwasher and vacuum-cleaner, she sets about cleaning the house with the earnestness of an exorcist trying to dislodge demons.<\/p>\n

One afternoon, after a frenetic bout of cleaning, she digs out a couple of incense sticks from her suitcase and lights them in the drawing room. Lazy curlicues of smoke rise, spreading the fragrance of sandalwood. Then all hell breaks loose.<\/p>\n

A smoke-detector in the hallway begins to tweet, and then another joins in, creating an infernal cacophony. Prema stands paralysed, her mind numb. Then she hears heavy footsteps racing up from the basement.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c What\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s happening? says Joe.<\/p>\n

He throws the offending joss-sticks into the kitchen sink and turns on the exhaust. The smoke-detectors fall silent, and Prema feels a rush of affection for Joe.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Thank you so much. I just didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know what to do.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Lady, if you really want to play with fireworks, do it in the park down the road, OK?<\/p>\n

When Shyam returns from work, Prema recounts her escapade.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Where did you find a matchbox to light those damn things?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been on the look out ever since I came. Yesterday, when I was dusting the furniture I found a cigarette-lighter wedged in the side of the loveseat.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Funny, neither Shilpa nor I smoke.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Shyam, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been looking for an electric iron, too. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d like to wear pressed clothes even if you and Shilpa don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t care to.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Point taken. We\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll buy one today. Anyways, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s time I got you some winter clothes.<\/p>\n

Later, they drive down to a nearby mall. The trees along the way are bare; yellow and orange pools have collected on the ground as if the trees have sprung a leak.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Is everything OK between you and Shilpa?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Why do you ask? Of course everything is OK!<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Things don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t seem the same. Shilpa has become so ….so remote.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201cMom, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s your imagination. Life can be very stressful for immigrants. Besides, even when we were living India, you never quite liked Shilpa just because she comes from a different province.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c You know that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s nonsense, says Prema.<\/p>\n

At the store, they pick up a coat, gloves and snow-boots, all from a section marked \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcClearance\u00e2\u20ac\u2122. Unable to find an iron there, Shyam, wheels the cart to the aisle which carries small appliances. To his mother\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s wonderment, he homes in unerringly on the cheapest one.<\/p>\n

A few days later, it snows for the first time. It starts off gently like a shower of jasmine petals but soon turns into an uproarious maelstrom. Prema, who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s all alone in the house, shuffles timorously to the window to take a peek: the entire neighbourhood is being submerged in drifts of fleece.<\/p>\n

In the afternoon, the sky clears as if by magic and sunlight spills like molten gold on to the landscape. Prema puts on her winter gear and ventures out into the yard. Her legs sink almost knee-deep in the snow. She pulls out her gloves and scoops up handfuls of snow to make a snowball. Feeling shy all of a sudden she tosses the ball away and returns indoors \u00e2\u20ac\u201c happy as a child.<\/p>\n

In the days that follow there are a few flurries and some rain \u00e2\u20ac\u201c but hardly any snow. Prema has a sneaking feeling that she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll never get to see a white Christmas.<\/p>\n

One afternoon, when Prema is single-mindedly pressing clothes, the door bell rings. Setting the iron down on its rump, she goes to open the door. There\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a young white male standing at the doorstep. Prema sees a red pick-up idling in the driveway.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve come for Shilpa, he says.<\/p>\n

He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s unshaven and reeks of nicotine. His eyes are sapphire blue.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c She should\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been ready by now. Let me go up and see.<\/p>\n

Upstairs, Shilpa\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s fast asleep. Prema doesn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have the heart to wake her. She creeps back downstairs<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201cShilpa\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s resting. She will not be able to come to work.<\/p>\n

The young man leaves, looking peeved. The truck backs out with a roar and races away.<\/p>\n

Prema returns to her ironing; however much she presses, sometimes it isn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t easy to flatten all the wrinkles.<\/p>\n

When Shilpa emerges from her room in the afternoon, she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s cross.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I wish you had wakened me, she says.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Shilpa, this is your first pregnancy. You must be careful, child.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I know. But I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t like losing a day\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s pay.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Why? Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you have sick leave, or something?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c No work, no pay. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s as simple as that.<\/p>\n

When Shyam returns from work, he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s drawn into the debate even before he can kick off his boots.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Shilpa, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s time you stopped going to work, he says.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s you who insisted I take up a job.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Yeah, we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve a big mortgage to pay off. You wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t listen when I said this place was too big for us.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201cThis isn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t the time to argue. Shilpa\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s health is the first priority, says Prema.<\/p>\n

Shilpa begin to sob, and Shyam rushes to console her. Prema goes into kitchen to make her son a cup of coffee.<\/p>\n

On the night before Christmas, Prema looks out of her window: there are coloured lights hanging outside some houses. A few stubborn daubs of ice remain on the rooftops but the street is bereft of snow. A bedraggled patch of grass is plainly visible under the street lamps.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Well, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s going to be a green Christmas, she says to herself.<\/p>\n

Prema has a dream in her sleep: It was Shyam\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s wedding: Shilpa made an entrance wearing a red bridal sari, while the band played a traditional tune. The very next moment, Shilpa was seen in jeans and a T-shirt. Outraged, Prema turned to look at Shyam. But the man seated in front of the sacred fire was not Shyam but Joe. The musicians beat loudly on the drums.<\/p>\n

Prema\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s jolted out of her dream; there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s someone knocking on her door.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Mom, I think Shilpa\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s in labour. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll have to take her to the hospital.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Do you want me to come with you? asks Prema, opening the door.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c No, Mom. If we need anything, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll call you.<\/p>\n

Carrying an infant car seat, and a small duffel bag packed with Shilpa\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s belongings, Shyam and Shilpa leave for the hospital.<\/p>\n

Prema goes back to bed, but sleep eludes her. She makes herself a cup of strong south Indian coffee, and watches TV with indifference. She dozes off into sleep and shakes herself awake alternately.<\/p>\n

At around 10 am the phone rings.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Mom, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a boy! says Shyam.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Congratulations! I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m so happy for you.<\/p>\n

Later, Shyam takes Prema to see the newborn. The baby is in a bassinet beside Shilpa\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s bed. Shilpa looks pale and tired.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c How are you feeling, my child? says Prema.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I’m fine.<\/p>\n

Prema picks up the child, uttering sweet nothings in Telugu.<\/p>\n

The baby is pink and roly-poly, with brown, downy hair. Even as she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s cradling him in her arms, the baby opens his eyes. For a fleeting moment, a pair of sapphire-blue eyes stares back at her.<\/p>\n

Prema hands over the baby to Shilpa, as if they are playing hot potatoes.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Anything wrong, Mom? asks Shyam.<\/p>\n

Prema looks at Shilpa. But her daughter-in-law\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s face is turned away. They sit for sometime in awkward silence. A puzzled Shyam offers to take Prema home.<\/p>\n

On the way back, Shyam puts on the radio. A gabbling DJ offers to play one of Irving Berlin\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s best pieces.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Please switch off the radio! says Prema.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Why, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the White Christmas! Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you want to listen to it?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c No! You must make the reservation for me to return to India.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c You can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t go back now, Mom!<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Shyam, don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t argue with me. Please do as I say.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Shilpa will be disappointed, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m sure.<\/p>\n

Unannounced, it starts to snow. It falls like salt and bounces off the windscreen. The flurries grow thicker and the road looks paved with stardust. When Shyam brings the car to a halt on their driveway, Prema steps out. The fresh snow crackles underfoot.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Mom, you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve got to see a white Christmas after all.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c If you ask me, Shyam, it has been a blue Christmas.<\/p>\n

A few days after his mother returns to India, Shyam\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s father calls him.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Dad, you hang up. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll call you back, Shyam says.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t bother, Shyam. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve heard of your phone cards. Nowadays international calls have become quite cheap in India too.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Dad, how is Mom? She became very upset when she was here \u00e2\u20ac\u201c I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know why.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Your mother\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s fine. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s gone to the club for a game of rummy. About your mother becoming upset \u00e2\u20ac\u201c that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the reason why I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m calling you. Shyam, don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t take this to heart \u00e2\u20ac\u201c she has got it into her head that the child is not yours.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s nonsense!<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m sure it is. Your mother bases her suspicion on the colour of the baby\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s eyes, says his father.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t believe it! Dad, you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve met Shilpa\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s relatives \u00e2\u20ac\u201c quite a few of them have light-coloured eyes.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I know, Shyam, that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s what I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been trying to tell your mother. Shilpa hails from the west coast of India, and it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not uncommon for people who live there to have irises that are not black. Shyam, you should not feel very bad \u00e2\u20ac\u201c in fact, you should know your mother better.<\/p>\n

Shyam is quiet for a few seconds.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Shyam, are you there?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c Yes, Dad, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m here. Is she still upset?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c No. She seems to have gotten over it apparently. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s planning a trip to Austria.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s good to hear. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m sure Anu will be able to keep her happy.<\/p>\n

His father chuckles.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u201c I won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t bet on it, Shyam. Your mother wants to see the blue Danube. I hope the great river will live up to its reputation.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Her White Christmas Pratap Reddy Wearing a thin, hand-knitted cardigan over her crumpled sari, Prema Sudhakar looks all of her sixty-odd years. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s late in the evening as she anxiously scans the collage of unfamiliar faces besieging her in the foyer of Pearson airport. \u00c2\u00a0A young south Asian male enters the terminal, but noting his […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":96,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"authorpage.php","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-183","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/183","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=183"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/183\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":919,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/183\/revisions\/919"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/96"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=183"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}