30 TEENAGE STORIES

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CHARACTER:DHODAMMA(MOM'S ELDER SISTER/DAD'S ELDER WIFE)for a child

They came in flocks in July and Shaila was used to their annual appearances—brightly coloured relatives from New Jersey, Los Angeles and Washington. Since she was a small girl losing her front teeth, then getting large new ones, she had taken their visits for granted, with the chocolates and clothes and trinkets they brought in their wake. Their arrivals and departures were inevitable and unremarkable, like the overseas birds flying overhead, on their way to Vedanthangal sanctuary in a later season.

 The rush of lunches and dinners among her relatives in Chennai, which broke out like a seasonal ailment in honour of these kinsmen from the United States, was quite a pleasant diversion. Shaila was usually happy to notice who had got taller, who had become thinner, who had got braces on their teeth, and so forth. But that was as close as she had looked.

 When her mother calmly announced over breakfast one morning that Shiv Kelladi, son of her father's cousin, Jaya and Dr. Manohar Kelladi, was coming to spend a month with them to "know India and his people in India better", Shaila was indignant. 

"Why here? Why can he not stay at Aunt Yamuna's house?" she asked, referring to her father's sister.

 "Because you know Apoorva is appearing for his Board exam this year. Their hands are already full," said her mother.

 "And you expect me to give up my room for him, don't you?" said Shaila, bitterly. Her brother, Sripati had only recently gone away to study at the Regional Engineering College at Trichy. Before departing, he had handed over his room with great ceremony to Shaila. 

Now this scene of many a battle between Shaila and her brother was to be tamely surrendered. No wonder Shaila was bitter.

 "No, no, dear," said Shaila's grandmother soothingly from the corner where she was sitting with her prayer books. "There is no need to give up your room. Jaya's son can put his things in my room and sleep on the divan." 

Shaila's mother looked as if this simple solution was not to her liking, since it involved no effort or sacrifice of any kind on Shaila's part. She would have said as much, if she was not getting late for the school where she worked as a special educator of children whose hearing was impaired. "Be pleasant about this, Shaila' she warned, "he's just a year younger to you. It might be fun." 

But Shaila doubted it very much. She waited for her mother to get out of earshot, then exclaimed to her grandmother, "You know how much I hate those American kids, Dhodamma! I do not even know what to say to them. Why did Papa and Amma have to agree to this?"

 "Do not worry, Shaila, he will probably be a wonderful chap. Even if he is 'American', as you put it, he is related to us. So getting to know him a little better cannot hurt, can it?"

 "I do not need to know him better. I already know," insisted Shaila. "Those American kids make me want to laugh—hiding behind their mothers, clutching their bottles of mineral water, laughing when we have not even made a joke and sitting glum when we have! Shiv can come here if he wants, but if Amma thinks I will baby sit him, she is mistaken." And picking up her cycle keys, Shaila made a grand exit for school.

 Dhodamma sighed.

 At first sight it did seem that Shaila's bitter description had been all too accurate. While his mother squealed with delight and hugged everybody at the airport, Shiv hung back, slightly bent under the huge nylon backpack that presumably contained his things. His shoes were branded and his watch looked good too, but he was built small for fourteen, and he hardly spoke.

 His mother, Jaya Kelladi, an executive with a multinational company, had always seemed a larger than life character to Shaila. She had a different hairstyle on each visit to India, this time it was a frizzy perm that made her look vaguely poodle-like. She was spending a few days with Shaila's family before flying off to Bangalore, Mumbai, Delhi, and finally back home to California. Shaila spent the time in a state of utter fascination with Aunt Jaya's clothes, her mannerisms, especially the gestures she made with perfect, gleaming, long red nails. Her conversation was riveting too, about her long drive to work, visits to the gymnasium where she worked out, the organic food she bought, the huge parties she and her husband hosted and attended among the Indian community.