Rainbow Dorm Diaries

May 1992 ARTHI The glorious orange-red blossoms of the Gulmohar tree shone in the bright sunlight. It was a splendid May morning and Arthi swung out of bed grinning from ear to ear. Sunday was her favourite day of the week. That was the only day she was left to her own devices, which meant she could get up way after her normal wakeup time of 6 am and do whatever she pleased, which normally meant curling up lazily in bed with a book or two after an enormous breakfast. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food and she quickly rushed through her morning ablutions. She took the steps two at a time and flung herself into the dining room where the table was laden with all sorts of breakfast goodies. Her parents were not down yet and so she ran around the oval, teak table lifting the tops of the dishes to unearth their treasures. Her eyes glistened with delight as she took in the spread- crispy, golden-brown masala dosa, light-as-a-feather idlis, a piping hot aromatic sambar and three different coconut chutneys colored green, white and orange. Arthi was a foodie and her mother often said the words ‘bottomless pit’ were created for her. Shanti Akka, their all-in-one cook-cleaner-nanny made the best food in the whole world. She was a rotund, greying, ageless member of the house. She had been around since Arthi was an infant. Arthi skipped happily to the kitchen, her curly black hair bouncing as she went. ‘Shanti Akkaaaaa! The breakfast looks amazing,’ she complimented in Tamil. Shanti Akka gave her a merry smile that lit up the entire kitchen. She loved Arthi dearly. The sound of raised voices pierced the warmth and aroma of the kitchen. They were fighting again! This is going to be one of those days, thought Arthi, her smile slipping from her face. Shanti Akka quickly closed the kitchen door, hoping to keep the nasty arguments away from Arthi. But the voices got louder and angrier. Arthi stood rooted to the spot and listened to bits and pieces of the heated conversation that came through to the kitchen. She heard her name a couple of times and something about school and discipline. She winced at some of the ugly words that reached her ears, turning them pink. Her parents were always fighting; at least as far back as she could remember. Thank God they haven’t thrown things at each other today, she thought. The last fight had been an ugly one and Shanti Akka was the one left picking up pieces of broken vases and porcelain plates while Arthi watched in horror. ‘I think they’ve stopped now. Why don’t you go in, ma, and eat your breakfast. I’ll make you a fresh, hot masala dosa right away,’ said Shanti Akka, gently prodding her towards the dining room. Arthi nodded and carefully opened the kitchen door and quietly made her way to her place at the table. Both her parents were engrossed in their individual newspapers now. Her father read only Tamil papers and her mother only English. Her father peered out from behind his paper when her chair creaked. ‘Arthi, what plans for the day?’ he asked. ‘Nothing, Appa.’ ‘Hmm.. children these days don’t have the focus we had during our day. Did you read today’s paper?’ ‘No, Appa. I just woke up and came down.’ Her father snorted and muttered something unflattering about her reading habits and lack of interest in current affairs and buried himself in the paper again. Arthi exhaled in relief, she hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath in the first place. Her interactions with her father always ended the same way, with a snort of disapproval or disappointment or disgust. He had always wanted a son but the gods had thought otherwise. She looked over to the other side of the table and saw her mother smiling at her. People said she was a carbon copy of her mother: with skin the colour of strong, filter coffee, lively black eyes and wild, curly hair. They were poles apart from her father who was tall, fair and very Aryan. He was a typical Tam-Bram, handsome and brilliant but with a vicious tongue. Shanti Akka bustled in with a golden masala dosa that stood out like the wing of a Boeing 737 and Arthi was grateful for the diversion. The only sound in the dining room was of delicious food being put away into eager stomachs and the occasional sound of cutlery. To Arthi, this was what peace sounded like. Arthi’s parents argued about everything under the sun: politics, family, work, holiday destinations, friendships, money! She wondered why they got married and why they still stayed together if they didn’t get along. Her cousins had told her that people there got a ‘divorce’ if they were unhappy with each other. And to Arthi her parents seemed to fit the bill for getting this thing. They were definitely unhappy and especially unpleasant around each other. With breakfast out of the way each member of the family made their way into their individual comfort zones in the house, as far away from each other as possible. An uneasy truce reigned and no one wanted to rock the boat. Arthi crept back into bed with her latest book, Anne of Green Gables. She had just reached the third chapter when she heard a knock and her mother’s curls popped in. ‘Arthi, kanna, I need to talk to you about something,’ she said. ‘Sure Amma,’ Arthi replied, putting down her book. Arthi loved her mother to bits (except when she was yelling at her Appa). She wanted to be just like her- smart, intelligent, always laughing and full of fun. All her friends liked her Mum; she threw the best birthday parties in town and never nagged her like the other mothers. Her friends envied their easy, open relationship. ‘Kanna, remember I told you about this school in Ooty where some of my cousins studied years ago?’ Arthi nodded slowly, not sure where this was going. ‘It’s called the Royal Academy for Young Women and it’s over a 100 years old. It’s a fantastic boarding school and it would be perfect for you.’ Her mother’s words came out in a rush, all together. Arthi felt like she was hit by a tsunami. What? No Amma, no Shanti Akka, no Tessy (her best friend) and no old school. It sounded like a recipe for disaster. ‘Perfect for whom? Definitely not me!’ she thought instantly.