One Hundred Shades of White

‘You mean how, Maya, not who.’

That was the first time he had laughed since that day. It was worth saying ‘who’ if it made him laugh. How/who, it didn’t really matter, because Ammamma didn’t read English anyway. It was just so that she would get something from me to let her know that I hadn’t forgotten her and I wanted to send it because I needed her now. Amma lit a candle and burnt an incense stick and placed it near her bronze figurine of a little Goddess with many arms and thanked Her for whatever she had sent. Momentarily, the scent masked the dampness and put us to sleep. It took me back to the veranda, waiting for my Achan, who would scoop me up and tickle me, or back to the big house when he came in late at night, kissing me and saying, ‘Who is my best little Mol?’ As morning approached, I had fragments of dreams of my Ammamma, the smell of the sea vividly invading my senses as we were running along the beach, or as I sat on the side, watching her swimming with all her clothes on. Occasionally, it didn’t make any sense, like when she appeared in a red telephone box. I promised whoever was listening out there that I would never complain if I could have those days back with the two people that I loved most. I awoke to the smell of that urine-stained mattress.

Amma got up early that morning and insisted on washing and oiling our hair. ‘You want to look good for your new school don’t you, makkale?’

I thought it was best not to make a fuss because she seemed sad at the prospect that it was the last time she would be able to do that for us. ‘If I get work at the factory, I will have to be up very early and go before you wake up, so I won’t have time to do this for you every day, not for a little while anyway.’

She helped us get dressed and Maggie came down to get us. Maggie said she would be back for Amma in half an hour to take her to the factory. We kissed her goodbye and left her to get ready. ‘Be good,’ she shouted through the window.

Maggie held our hands but Satchin released hers as we began walking to school. We passed derelict buildings, shops that were boarded up and covered with graffiti. Some said simply ‘Pakis out’. These Pakis were everywhere, according to the graffiti. ‘Who are they?’ I asked Maggie.

‘You’ve not to take any notice of that sort of thing. Do you hear me children? Just silly people giving other people nasty names.’

There were empty beer cans sprawled along the way, which had been dented by heavy fists or feet, and a group of punks crossed the road. Their hair colour reminded me for an instant of the exotic birds we had back in India. I looked at my brother to see if he had thought so too but he was somewhere else, looking down at his feet. This was the ten-minute walk to school that we would grow so familiar with, and then we went into a very old, grey building.

Maggie accompanied us along the corridor to see Mr Mauldy, the headmaster. He asked us lots of questions and gave us a stack of forms which needed Amma’s signature. We said we could sign right there as Satchin was the one who normally signed for her when Achan wasn’t around. Maggie smiled at the headmaster, saying that we were always joking around like that, and she took the forms and put them in her handbag, adding she would make sure that my mother got them. He smiled at us uncomfortably and then he took us down the corridor to show us to our respective classrooms.

My new teacher was a lady called Miss Brown; she didn’t have the warmth of Miss Davies and when she smiled she revealed a set of piano teeth, with a protruding e flat. ‘This is Maya, everyone say hello,’ she said, introducing me to my new class. ‘This is Maya,’ she repeated. Everybody talked over her. She shouted at the top of her voice and they stopped for a few seconds and looked at her apathetically. Nobody volunteered for me to sit next to them and I could feel the hostile eyes of a boy in the front row. Miss Brown pointed to the back of the class to a seat next to a small girl. I went over to her and as I took my seat I smiled nervously at her. She smiled back, saying that her name was Fatima and she gave me a yellow fruit gum. This act of generosity meant so much at the time but, weeks later, I realised that she had packets and packets of them as her mother worked at the sweet factory and the yellow ones were the ones she didn’t like and so discarded without a second thought.

Miss Brown was teaching the colours of the rainbow and was asking if anyone knew what followed red. I knew all the colours because in the old school we had learnt a song. I kept putting my hand up and answering questions and the boy in the front row kept looking back at me. I smiled and then he squinted his eyes at me so I ignored him. This aggravated the situation because he mouthed something back, to which I shrugged my shoulders, indicating that I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

‘He’s Mark Fitzgerald, you can’t mess with Mark Fitzgerald like that, say you’re sorry,’ said Fatima.

‘But I haven’t done anything.’

‘Just say sorry or there will be trouble,’ Fatima urged.

I never say sorry, especially if I haven’t done anything wrong, so I continued to ignore him.

At playtime, Mark Fitzgerald and his big friend came up to me.

‘You don’t ever mess with me, Paki.’

I did not quite understand what Paki was so I told him I wasn’t a Paki and I hadn’t messed with him.

A crowd had gathered.

‘Not a Paki,’ he laughed, pushing me.

‘Well, why have you got dirty hair and that Paki smell? Bet you eat with your fingers an’ all. Look, Marty, we’ve got another new Paki,’ he shouted to the other boy.

At that moment, I envisaged Catherine Hunter’s golden locks and wished that I was still at my old school, twirling around aimlessly in the playground with a Hula-Hoop.

‘Bet you’ve brought some smelly sandwiches with you as well,’ he said, grabbing my bag.

Oh God, my lunch box. I hoped Amma hadn’t put in any masala potatoes between the bread or packed vadas. Mark Fitzgerald’s sidekick went to open it. I closed my eyes, fearing the worst, and then I heard the word ‘cheese’.

Thank you, Amma, thank you for not doing that to me.

‘It’s cheese,’ Mark Fitzgerald shouted, flinging the sandwich, and then he threw my bag at me.

That was the Kermit the Frog bag Achan had brought for me from America.

And then I don’t know what happened but something triggered in me and I went for him. I jumped on his back, pushing him to the floor, and pounded him with my fists. All the other children began screaming with excitement and shouted my name. Anger, hurt, sadness all came through my fists as I beat him, I couldn’t stop, and then Mr Mauldy prised me away, marching me into his office.

I ached all over.

‘This is no way to behave, Maya Kathi, especially not on your first day.’

I tried to explain that it wasn’t my fault, that Mark Fitzgerald had started it, but he wasn’t listening.

‘I’ll be watching you very closely. One more episode like that and you’re out. Do you hear me? OUT!’

I said nothing, I didn’t care. I was very, very tired and sad and wanted to sleep and forget everything.

When I walked into my class, all the other children began cheering. Miss Brown said there was no need for any of that and asked them to stop, but they continued. She added that poor Mark had had to be taken to the nurse’s office and then they began clapping. I didn’t really care and sat back down next to Fatima who asked if she could be my best friend.

I thought Amma would come to collect us after school but Maggie came instead, saying that Amma had got work at the factory and would be home later.

‘Did you have a good day, children?’

I said nothing. Satchin shrugged his shoulders.

‘You’ll get used to it. It’s always difficult at first, especially when you’re new.’

Used to it, used to it, we weren’t going to get used to anything. I would speak to Amma, she would make sure that we went somewhere better or find a way of sending us back to our old school.

‘We’re not staying,’ I said.

‘Not staying where?’ Maggie asked.

‘Here, here in this horrible place, in your horrible house,’ I said, as she opened the front door.

Satchin put his hands on his face.

‘Is that right?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Listen, young lady, let’s get a few things clear and then you and me will get on fine. Be grateful, because this is the best there is at the moment and if there wasn’t this you’d be out on the streets.’

There were no beaches in London, that’s why she said streets.

‘Think of your mother. She’ll be working hard all day so she can put some dinner on the table for you, so the least you can do is be grateful; at least she’s there for you.’

I thought again about the children with no Achans and Ammas who couldn’t ever have a balloon, how sad they looked, and then about the fight. It started because he threw my Achan’s bag. What would happen if Amma went too? We would be like those children, out on the streets.

I must have looked frightened as Maggie bent down and looked at me. ‘I’m sorry to be hard with you, darling, but it’s going to be a little difficult at first. That’s always the way it is, but it will get better, I promise you, it will get better, but you have to try and be strong and be good for your mother.’