"Sarita, I think you are getting lazy,” Venny said, flopping down in his chair. “You had a whole two hours and the counter was still covered in dust. Perhaps a visit to Dādī next week is just what is needed to get you focused?”
“I’m sorry, Pappa, I will do better next week. I’m really sorry,” Sarita said and shuffled closer to her mom sitting next to her on the couch.
“You have to give the child a break, with everything that has happened and all,” Achala said and wrapped her arm around Sarita. “Besides, your mom always just talks about the fire that will rain down. I tell you, sometimes I think I should help Sarita with the cleaning on Sundays.”
“She is your mother,” Venny said.
“In law,” Achala replied.
“Anyway, I know Sarita has been through a difficult time, but ... I have very high expectations.” Venny dabbed his thumb against his moustache. “You are such an exceptional child – I will always expect more.”
“I know, Pappa, I won’t let you down again.”
“You didn’t let me down.” He shook his head and shot Achala an accusatory glance as if it was her fault that Sarita felt that way.
Venny started running his thumb across his moustache from side to side. “Your mother and I have been talking about next year.” He very nearly lost his train of thought as he saw Achala in the corner of his eye nodding in agreement for once. “I spoke to Uncle Sanjay, and he said there is this really good school in Jaipur – it’s where his wife’s family is from. We started talking and, well, we think it might be best if you finished school there.”
“Pappa, I—”
“Have I finished talking?” Venny lifted his index finger and Sarita dropped her head. “It’s a really good school, and Jaipur has lots of culture and history, all the things you love. With everything happening in South Africa at the moment, I just – we just – think someone with your talent will be limited here. In India, it will be our people, your people, none of this apartheid nonsense.”
“But I’m South African, not Indian. The closest I’ve been to India is Durban.”
“You can’t say things like that! You will always be Indian first. Everything here is just temporary. You are Indian by right, it’s in your veins. All these so-called South Africans, the racist whites and the self-serving blacks, don’t care one little bit about you. They would send you back to India on the first available ship if they had the chance, and call you a sugar-cane-plucking, good-for-nothing coolie, and tell you that you don’t belong. This is not our country, Sarita, it never will be. We make do, but here we will never be more than visitors. Looking from the outside in.”
“Our whole family is here, everyone is doing well, we have businesses, money, houses—” Sarita said.
“But no respect. To them, we will always be just a bunch of thieving, underhanded, cannot-be-trusted intruders.”
“Do you genuinely believe that, Pappa?”
“Yes, with all my heart.”
“But you are well respected. I’ve seen how the white people speak to you, with respect. I’ve seen how black people speak to you, also with respect. And in the Indian community people look up to you,” Sarita said.
“It’s all just for show. Behind the smiles and the handshakes is a cesspit of hate, thinking of ways to get rid of us.”
“If it’s so bad, why don’t you go back to India? Take our whole family, jump on a boat and go. Live in Jaipur and visit museums?”
“Don’t be cheeky, Sarita, he’s your father,” Achala said.
“It’s too late for us. We must make it work here. We have to face the hate, and find ways to get through each day, find small opportunities to change things, to build a home here, where we are at least tolerated, if not accepted.”
“It all sounds like doom and gloom, Pappa. It’s not that bad, is it?”
“You are a child; you are sheltered from the bad things. You don’t see what we see.”
“But I don’t want to go to India. I heard the secondary school in Dundee is really good. Can’t I just go there?”
“Sarita, we don’t even have family in Dundee. What in the world do you want to do out there?” Achala asked.
“It’s close. I can take a bus, or a taxi or something, and still live at home – it’s only for two years.”
“No, Sarita. The decision has been made. You’re going to Jaipur,” Venny said, leaning forward.
“Where am I going to stay? What will I do? Our family isn’t even from that region.”
“You will stay with Uncle Sanjay’s wife’s cousin. They said they would be happy to have you.”
“They are complete strangers!”
“They are basically family. You cannot call Uncle Sanjay’s family strangers – that is very disrespectful,” Venny said.
“Do I have any say in this?” Sarita asked, her eyes welling up.
“As long as you are a child in my house, I will be the one making decisions,” Venny said.
“You always go on about the injustice of it all, that this country isn’t a democracy. Well, your own house isn’t even one. How can you complain about the government if you do exactly the same?”
“Sarita!” Achala exclaimed.
“It’s not fair, I don’t want to go. South Africa is my home, not India! It’s not fair,” Sarita cried, jumping up. She ran to her room and slammed her door shut.
Achala started to get up but Venny stopped her.
“She’s a child. This is a big change. Give her a moment to process it. One day she’ll thank us, one day when this country is torn apart by civil war and she is married to a wealthy man from a good family in India.”
Achala dropped her face into her hands and cried softly. Venny reached for the packet of cigarettes in his shirt pocket, took one out and inspected it for a few seconds before placing it on his bottom lip and lighting it. He took a deep drag and watched the smoke trickle out of his mouth. Achala was still crying. It was the right thing, he thought; it was the only way.