When the cab pulled to a stop at a ‘straat’ full of tall houses I felt the first tickles of excitement racing through every nerve. As we hauled out the bags from behind I heard a cry of joy. I turned around to see Mummy and Pappy with Ivo, still handsome though now his hair was grey as ash and his skin perhaps a little less taut but his perfect Aryan features remained just as I’d remember them from his old photographs. Then came Ilse, but she was not at all what I’d seen from the photos Pappy brought a few years back when he had revisited Belgium. She was supposed to be pretty but plump with greyish straight hair tied in a bun at the back and wearing huge earrings. Instead out stepped an Ilse dressed in a turquoise dress, prettier with shorter flaming red hair that curled at the end, and plumper than ever. There was someone else too, someone only Pappy had seen on his last visit. But Marnix had grown taller than Pappy had seen him last. Marnix is Satya’s little brother though he was hardly little anymore Hugs, kisses and cheerful laughter. We were welcomed home with ‘the same old warmth’ as Mummy puts it.
It was the queerest house I’ve ever been to. The hall was narrow and paneled with wood on all sides. The bikes were placed just before the narrower and steep stairs. The floors and the walls were mostly of wood. There were only two doors on the right, the first one led into the living room and the second to the dining area and the kitchen. I walked into the living room, a cosy little place. It looked oriental more than anything. It had a warm orangeish shade and the walls were half-hidden with pictures and tapestries, and shelves full of books and music CDs and curios from the various places they had been to. There was a comfortable sofa and several little stools. Of all I was most surprised to see a 3-foot tall sculpture of Shiva at one corner which synced perfectly with the rest of the room. As I tore my eyes from the living room towards the dining hall I caught sight of something else. The doorway was draped with a string of greeting cards. They were all for Ilse and Ivo. Of course! They had been married only a month ago. Funny isn’t it? They had lived together in the same house for 29 years and in perfect harmony and had even had children. I wondered if things like that ever happen in India.
* * *
Marnix was already busy setting the table laying out the forks and knives, and putting out the jars of jam, chocolate and cheese. He did this like his duty with such dignity that I felt ashamed at the thought of Mummy always having to tell me to clear our table. We hurried to help and found the glasses and plates. We had breakfast in the back yard just outside the kitchen. I checked the thermometer on the wall outside-it was around 20 degrees. It is warmer today they said which I am sure wasn’t true for Muscat or Kerala.
Breakfast was heaven. We had sandwiches with Ilse’s homemade strawberry jam, herb-cheese, apple cake, tea and coffee. My parents and Ivo and Ilse talked merrily more of old times while Marnix and we three listened, often quipping in.
Satya was not at home. She was living with her 40-year-old Ecuadorian boyfriend Pablo who apparently had no particular work at the moment. From the way Ilse talked about them we took the hint that she wasn’t too happy about their relationship. It was probably because he held no job to support themselves or because he’s about 20 years older than Satya or both. Satya was bit a rebel lately.
* * *
It was the queerest house I’ve ever been to. The hall was narrow and paneled with wood on all sides. The bikes were placed just before the narrower and steep stairs. The floors and the walls were mostly of wood. There were only two doors on the right, the first one led into the living room and the second to the dining area and the kitchen. I walked into the living room, a cosy little place. It looked oriental more than anything. It had a warm orangeish shade and the walls were half-hidden with pictures and tapestries, and shelves full of books and music CDs and curios from the various places they had been to. There was a comfortable sofa and several little stools. Of all I was most surprised to see a 3-foot tall sculpture of Shiva at one corner which synced perfectly with the rest of the room. As I tore my eyes from the living room towards the dining hall I caught sight of something else. The doorway was draped with a string of greeting cards. They were all for Ilse and Ivo. Of course! They had been married only a month ago. Funny isn’t it? They had lived together in the same house for 29 years and in perfect harmony and had even had children. I wondered if things like that ever happen in India.
* * *
Marnix was already busy setting the table laying out the forks and knives, and putting out the jars of jam, chocolate and cheese. He did this like his duty with such dignity that I felt ashamed at the thought of Mummy always having to tell me to clear our table. We hurried to help and found the glasses and plates. We had breakfast in the back yard just outside the kitchen. I checked the thermometer on the wall outside-it was around 20 degrees. It is warmer today they said which I am sure wasn’t true for Muscat or Kerala.
Breakfast was heaven. We had sandwiches with Ilse’s homemade strawberry jam, herb-cheese, apple cake, tea and coffee. My parents and Ivo and Ilse talked merrily more of old times while Marnix and we three listened, often quipping in.
Satya was not at home. She was living with her 40-year-old Ecuadorian boyfriend Pablo who apparently had no particular work at the moment. From the way Ilse talked about them we took the hint that she wasn’t too happy about their relationship. It was probably because he held no job to support themselves or because he’s about 20 years older than Satya or both. Satya was bit a rebel lately.
* * *
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