Swimming in the Monsoon Sea Read Online Free PDF Page A

she wanted to take and was always terribly proud of her achievements. If he needed advice, he talked to Miss Rani.
    Once Uncle Lucky was seated in his office, he called on Miss Rani to take over Amrith. She installed him at an old typewriter in the corner, put a book of typing exercises in front of him, and showed him how to keep his hands on the keys, his wrists curved upwards. As Miss Rani bent over him to demonstrate the first exercise —
ff jj ff jj dd kk dd kk ss ll ss ll aa;; aa;;
— he looked at her and wondered, as he often had, about the nature of her relationship with Uncle Lucky. Amrith was sure she was not his mistress because Uncle Lucky adored his wife and considered men who had mistresses to be cads. Also, Aunty Bundle heartily approved of his generosity towards Miss Rani. (And besides, Amrith could not imagine Miss Rani, with the ash on her forehead, being anyone’s mistress.) It was Uncle Lucky’s peculiar reverence for her, as if Miss Rani was a treasure that he had discovered by accident and looked after with great care, that puzzled Amrith.
    Miss Rani came by occasionally to offer words of encouragement and to correct his errors. The precision and effort it took to gain command over his fingers was so absorbing that Amrith was surprised when there was astirring amongst the staff, the clang of tiffin carriers being opened up, the smell of rice and curry in the air. He had really enjoyed his time in this cool high-ceilinged office with its hum of activity; really enjoyed the challenge of mastering the typing exercises.
    When they were standing on Chatham Street, waiting for Soma to bring the car around, Amrith glanced at Uncle Lucky and felt a great love for this man, who had always looked out for his interests.
    During that terrible time of his mother’s funeral, Uncle Lucky had stood behind him like a rock, while Aunty Bundle, in her grief and guilt, had fallen to pieces. It was Uncle Lucky who had told him how his parents had died — the awful and mysterious circumstances surrounding their death. But, before Uncle Lucky had done so, he had put his hands on Amrith’s shoulders, looked him keenly in the eyes, and said, “I want to make you a promise, son. You will never, ever, be a stranger in my house.”

4
The Barrier of the Past

    A mrith’s black mood returned with greater ferocity that afternoon, from having been held in abeyance for a few hours at Uncle Lucky’s office.
    Storm clouds had been gathering all through lunch and, finally, just when the family began their afternoon rest, there was a crash of thunder, a burst of lightning, and the rain poured down from the skies without any preliminary drizzle (as it often did during a monsoon). Amrith lay on his bed, his hands cupping the back of his neck, his room darkened by the torrent outside. He felt that familiar inner blackness come in and sweep him out, like a current. Once again, he was helpless against its power — like being held underwater in the salty murkiness of a churned-up sea.
    These black moods were quite recent and they frightened him. They had started about a year ago, around the time he turned thirteen. With his changing body, it seemedthat a change had occurred within. When he thought of himself before he was thirteen, it was as a dashing-about child, with no thoughts distinct from the dictates and actions of his body. As he passed into his teenage years, his mind seemed to separate more and more from his body, causing him to see himself from a distance. And this detachment, paradoxically, had brought a great flooding of emotions. In the past, his sense of sadness over the loss of his mother had been confined, for the most part, to her death anniversary and, perhaps, a little at Christmas. But now he felt dejected quite often. Her absence made him aware that he had no real family. His relatives on both his father’s and mother’s sides wanted nothing to do with him. His parents had married against the wishes of their