‘I don’t have any amour to chink,’ I hissed.
‘Oh, please! I’ve never seen anyone so guarded.’
‘Enjoy your dinner,’ I snapped, snatching my plate to eat in peace in my study.
My mother’s house had been a curious place. She was ashamed to be Sri Lankan, yet she aspired to be ‘someone’, a luminary within the Sri Lankan community in Sydney. Ryan and I spent most of our childhoods being stationed outside Sri Lankan community meetings while mother attempted to get onto some committee or other.
‘Stupid curry-smelling Lankans. Bloody useless, the lot of them,’ Anoja would complain, mere moments after having begged herself a lunch invitation from the high commissioner’s wife.
When I left Sydney I left all that baggage behind me. It’d been a long time since I’d been a part of any scene, and I rarely had to confront the fact that I was even Sri Lankan. I could go for weeks forgetting I was any different to anyone else, until I’d see my dark skin against the paleness of one of my patients.
But working at close quarters with the Nairs, I felt the distinction between myself and the other Australian nurses acutely. Not that the Nairs discriminated against them in any way – in fact Raju and Shanthi went out of their way to be hospitable to them – it was just that they were more comfortable with me and were more likely to lapse into uncomfortable family conversations in my presence. And to their son’s sadistic pleasure, his parents loved to drag me into the conversation too!
‘Could you please tell my mother that there is nothing wrong with going for a swim at six in the morning and that walking through dew will not kill me?’ Lucky said one morning coming in from the beach. ‘You’re a doctor. You understand germ theory. Could you speak to her?’
‘I have no desire to see anything more of Australia before I die, Laksman. I am quite content to be here with your father and you. Tell them, Marion. Tell them that I am in no state to be travelling anywhere,’ Shanthi insisted.
‘Don’t you think he works too much? Tell him, Marion – tell him to take a break. He’s been working all night! Tell him he’ll have a heart attack by the time he’s forty and hasn’t even had any children!’
But being so close to them allowed me to experience some of the most touching moments I had seen in my life. Lucky cuddling up with his mother at any given opportunity. The entire family lying close together on Shanthi and Raju’s big bed, as if to store up skin memories for when the mind memories eventually faded.
And when Lucky was not spending time with his mother, he was furiously working on his plans to resurrect his father’s business in Sri Lanka. I heard snatches of his conversation, though I didn’t understand much.
‘Guru Hirantha died a few years ago, but Guru Sakunthala and Guru Sindhu have indicated that they would love to return to the mill.’
‘Have you found Guru Lakshmi?’ his father asked.
‘Not yet, but I am still looking. Hey, have you done your stretches? Come. Have you done them? Tell him, Marion. You’re a doctor. Tell him he needs to do his exercises daily!’
‘Which brings me to another important point,’ Shanthi interjected bossily. ‘It is time you got married. Find a good woman who’ll look after you and your father. Tell him, Doctor, tell him that it is time to settle down. We’ve put the feelers out, Lucky. There are several good prospects for a bride for you.’
I smiled evilly at Lucky’s discomfort, chiming softly in with. ‘Yes, Lucky, it is time to make some woman very un-lucky!’ I whispered so only he could hear and smirked at his discomfort.
‘If I have told you once, I have told you a million times, I will not get married to some Tamil Nadu princess with a penchant for shoes, sarees and the use of my charge card at Selfridges,’ he told his parents.
‘Not all Tamil Nadu women are like that!’ his mother protested. ‘There are educated women in Tamil Nadu who’d want nothing of your money!’
‘That is where you are wrong, Amman,’ Lucky snorted. ‘If they are educated, they are worse. Then they will abandon everything to make money themselves!’
‘You are my son, but you are an idiot!’ his mother rebuked him. ‘Don’t be a woman-hater just because you don’t want to get married.’
‘If you don’t want to marry an Indian girl, why not a foreigner?’ Raju asked. ‘You know we would not object.’
‘But why do I need to marry? Why can’t I just stay the way I am for the rest of my life?’
‘But we would rather you have a partner in life. Someone you can depend on. Someone who will love you and look out for you,’ Shanthi said. ‘Don’t you agree, Doctor?’ she asked.
‘Entirely. I think it’s high time your son had someone to keep him in line.’
‘Exactly! So have your parents arranged a marriage for you yet?’
‘Mrs Nair . . .’ I said.
‘Call me Aunty . . .’
‘Err . . . okay . . . Aunty. Like Lucky, I have no interest in getting married. I’m quite happy as I am.’
‘What is this nonsense! What do your parents think of this?’ Shanthi cried. Now it was Lucky’s turn to smirk.
‘I am not very close to my family.’
‘But you are such a lovely young woman! Your parents must be odd people!’
‘Amman!’ Lucky gasped. ‘You can’t say that to a stranger!’
‘Marion is not a stranger. She is a good Sri Lankan woman. A person of subcontinental descent! And I am dying and I can say whatever I want.’
‘Shanthi, don’t interfere,’ Raju said, but his wife took no notice.
‘Yes, your parents must be very odd people. I stand by what I say. Any parent would be proud to have such a pretty and intelligent girl for a daughter. And if you were my girl, I would have married you off within days of you graduating from medical college!’
‘Well, I should be thankful for small mercies then,’ I parried with a smile.
‘So, do you have a boyfriend?’ Shanthi insisted.
‘Sort of.’
‘Sort of? What does that mean? Tell me you aren’t one of those women who likes other women. Unnatural, if you ask me.’
In the background, both Raju and his son were giggling.
‘No, I am not gay, and, yes, I have a boyfriend,’ I confessed reluctantly.
‘What sort of a man is he?’
‘He is a fellow doctor.’
‘Indian or Sri Lankan?’
‘Australian, actually.’
‘Well, that is of no use,’ Shanthi Nair said. ‘You want a good Indian or Sri Lankan man who’ll understand your culture.’
‘Or both,’ Raju suggested. Which was when I noticed him glancing slyly between his son and me.
How I ended up on a crowded tram on a scorching Saturday afternoon filled with drunk cricket supporters, a basket full of food on my lap and an even larger parcel of silk paintings next to me is, quite frankly, beyond me.
‘Smells delish, love,’ a middle-aged man slurred happily.
I smiled politely and ignored him. I’d been too busy to remember to cancel my movie date with Simon and couldn’t think of a convincing excuse to get out of it at the very last minute. To add to my woes, Raju and Lucky had been there when I’d taken the call from Simon confirming the night. ‘Simon, I’ve been working really hard lately – I’m really not up to seeing you tonight,’ I’d said.
‘My dear, why don’t you leave early!’ Raju had insisted, interrupting my conversation. ‘Kristen is an extremely competent nurse and Shanthi has been doing so well.’
‘You can’t let the doctor go early to see her boyfriend. This isn’t a prison, and we don’t allow for conjugal visits,’ Lucky butted in.
‘You aren’t too old for me to take you across my knee, Lucky!’ his father had replied angrily before apologising profusely to me. He now insisted that I leave early. ‘Please, doctor. As a way to say you forgive us for our rude son.’
Since I was pretty sure Simon had overheard the whole conversation, I couldn’t tell a
bare-faced lie and pike on him. So my plans to have a lovely afternoon down on Smith Street in Collingwood riffling through yards and yards of silk had been totally scuppered.
It got worse as I was halfway home from Brighton, when Simon had texted me to pick up a picnic basket from the food hall at David Jones. ‘It’s not out of your way, hop off the tram on Bourke Street, and Bob’s your uncle, you’ve got food for us all!’
So now I had not only a large silk painting with me on the tram, but an extra large picnic hamper as well. By the time I made it to the fabric warehouse after getting off the tram and trudging down Smith Street in the heat, my temper was fuzzier than my curly hair.
‘Eh, Missy! I thought you were going to miss our appointment today,’ a squeaky voice greeted me from behind the counter.
‘Have I ever missed one of our appointments? Hey, where is everyone?’
‘It’s well after six, Missy Marion – everyone has left. I keep shop open especially for you,’ the office manager said.
Nimal was a very small man – long-term malnutrition during his childhood in Sri Lanka was to blame. I’d first met him during a psychiatric consult when I was an intern. He was being treated for post-traumatic stress disorder. It’d taken him about twenty years, but he’d learned to talk properly again after having become a psychosomatic mute after witnessing a violent incident when he was just a child.
‘So, so . . . show me,’ he demanded in his heavily accented English. He still seemed unsure about using his voice.
I needed no second invitation and immediately laid out the fabric paintings. If my work as a doctor was a labour of love, them my fabric painting was a labour of joy. I’d painted a series of stylised ducklings and little goslings. Perfect patterns for a child’s layette or bedcovers in bright tropical colours. As always, Nimal showered me with heartfelt compliments. I loved to show him my work.
‘Where is the boss?’ I asked as he measured out ten metres of silk as barter. I designed and painted silk templates for the textile manufacturers to take back to Sri Lanka, and they kept me supplied with silk.
‘He is upstairs talking to another businessman,’ Nimal replied, carefully folding the silk. ‘Where are you going after this? Do you want to join Mahinda Sir and I for dinner?’
‘I am going to a picnic, so no, but thank you,’ I replied, retying my ponytail and turning my face towards the fan in the corner. Despite the high ceilings in the warehouse, the heat was oppressive. Sweat trickled down my back and arms.
‘And she doesn’t like curry,’ a familiar voice mocked from above. I looked up to the mezzanine level to see Lucky come down with Mahinda, the owner of the warehouse.
‘Lucky, I didn’t know you knew Marion,’ Mahinda said. ‘It was her fabric paintings I was showing you. She’s our freelance fabric designer.’
‘But she’s a doctor,’ Lucky said, puzzled.
‘No, she’s the best fabric designer we work with. Completely self-taught!’
‘What are you doing here?’ I snapped at Lucky. ‘Did you follow me?’
‘Of course not! I have business with Mahinda here. He’s helping up me set up a silk farm in Sri Lanka.’
‘Oh!’ I replied, feeling a little foolish. ‘Well, then, I’ll see you in a few weeks, Mahinda, and I will see you, Lucky, on Monday at the house,’ I said, quickly grabbing my things and bolting out.
As I struggled down Smith Street to catch the tram back down St Kilda Road to the Botanic Gardens, I saw Lucky drive past in his BMW in the other direction.
As I waited for the tram, I wondered how such lovely parents as Shanthi and Raju Nair had produced such a douchebag for a son. I mean really. He was such a pompous tool. I stood there thinking about suitable retorts to cut him down, then I thought about just ignoring him. Yes, I decided. I would ignore him.
Which is why it took me forty minutes at the tram stop to realise there were no trams coming past, on either side of the road. I looked at the Metlink app on my phone and there it was in bright red letters – all tram services had been suspended.
What was I going to do? The open air movie at the Botanic Gardens was going to start in a little over forty-five minutes and I hated being late.
I looked up and down Smith Street hoping for a cab but there were none to be found, just lots of people starting to stroll out onto the street now that the heat of the day had passed. I was starting to panic when I heard a beep behind me.
‘Come on. Get in,’ Lucky said, rolling down the window to treat me with a blast of cold air from inside his car.
‘Why?’
‘I’ll take you where you want to go.’
‘I’m just waiting for a cab,’ I said loftily.
‘You’ll be waiting for a long time. Traffic is blocked up for ten kilometres both sides,’ Lucky informed me, tapping on the radio.
‘How did you get around?’
‘GPS.’
I am many things – introverted definitely, aloof most likely, even cold maybe. But stupid I am not. ‘Fine then,’ I muttered gracelessly as Lucky popped open the boot so I could put my things in it.
‘Where to?’
‘The Botanic Gardens. They’re having an Audrey Hepburn movie marathon tonight.’
‘I love Audrey Hepburn too!’ Lucky smiled at me genuinely for the very first time.
‘This is so gay,’ Simon observed and not for the first time that night.
He and his mates Davo and Bingo had polished off a six-pack of stubbies each and it wasn’t hard to tell.
‘Why is it black and white? Couldn’t they colour it in?’ Bingo slurred.
‘Ran out of money, mate . . .’ Davo chimed in.
Davo’s and Bingo’s partners had switched off too. Jenna was tweeting updates on her phone and Carly was only half-watching the movie as she spent the rest of the time swatting away mosquitoes.
But I loved Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina. I felt myself tearing up when Sabrina’s young heart was almost broken by the philandering younger brother – why could she not see she was meant for the older workaholic brother and not the younger one? I taken by surprise when I felt a gentle nudge the dark – it was Lucky, offering me his handkerchief.
‘I don’t cry,’ I muttered.
‘Didn’t think you could,’ Lucky snapped back. ‘But it’ll help you get that bit of dirt you’ve had stuck in your eye since we got here.’
I still couldn’t believe he’d invited himself along.
‘Hi, I’m Lucky Nair,’ he’d said, introducing himself to Simon while helping me unload the picnic hamper from his boot.
‘Fine set of wheels you’ve got there,’ Simon had drooled. ‘Is that an M Series Sport?’
As they started talking about cars I tuned out, until Simon squealed like a girl. ‘You’ve got freebies to the Grand Prix? You shitting me? Grandstand? Mate – come watch the movie with us!’
I sent Simon a death stare but he blithely ignored me. In fact he ignored me for the rest of the night; more interested in Lucky’s knowledge of European automobiles than me!
So what was supposed to have been a romantic movie outing for three couples ended up being the three girls serving food and wine to the boys while they argued over the cars they would drive if they could.
‘My mate’s got an Audi TT. The problem is that it’s not steady. They spin out really easily,’ Davo opined.
‘You want to try the Skoda, mate. Built by Volkswagen, only half the price,’ Bingo chimed in.
‘Can’t go past a BMW, I say,’ Simon said.
I didn’t get it. A car was a car was a car. I got a Toyota soon after I’d graduated from university and I’d driven it ever since.
‘I’m heading out to the track on Phillip Island on Tuesday. I have three BMWs back in India and the MD called me and asked me to come and test-drive another here,’ Lucky had said. ‘Come with me. We’ll go for a spin.’
‘Excellent! I’ll call in a sickie at work,’ Simon said.
But as the evening progress
ed, I could not help but notice the real difference between Lucky and Simon and his mates. While Simon and his mates lolled around like overgrown adolescent boys discussing cars and the footy, Lucky did not think twice about joining the girls’ conversation.
‘Can I help you serving those mussels? Here you go, all you needed was a dash of lemon.’
When Jenna moaned about a dress she’d love to buy but couldn’t because she felt it was more suitable for a younger woman, he interjected. ‘Don’t let adolescent girls define fashion. You are a grown woman. You define what younger women wear. Women of age and experience should be leaders, not the other way around.’
And in the final scene of the film, when Sabrina left New York on a ship bound for Paris with her heart broken, I felt Lucky move closer. My ‘boyfriend’ was snoring, sprawled on the grass like a lump. Lucky didn’t touch me or anything – he just let me know he was close.
‘You don’t have to drive me home,’ I insisted as he poured Simon into a cab and sent him on his way.
‘Come on, I’ll drop you off on my way. It’s not out of the way. It’s been good for me. I haven’t watched an old movie for a while. With all that has been happening, I’d forgotten how much I love simple things.’
‘Just enjoy your mum while she’s with you, Lucky. Just enjoy her. But don’t stop living. You’ve spent the last three weeks constantly at her side – it’s good you got away for a while.’
‘Actually my dad texted me to say thank you for allowing him and mum some private time,’ Lucky giggled as he put his car into gear and drove back onto St Kilda road.
‘It must be lovely to be a part of such a loving family. To have grown up with parents who love each other so much,’ I whispered softly in the darkness.
Lucky turned to stare at me as he stopped at a traffic light. The lights from the Shrine of Remembrance cast odd shadows around us. ‘Dr Gamage, all that glitters is not gold,’ he said softly.
I could still remember the first time I got a stick of crayon and a bit of paper. I must have been about four. Oh no! Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t have a deprived childhood or anything. My father Albert was Director of Engineering and Infrastructure at Sydney Rail and my family was never short of money. My brother Ryan studied at one of the most exclusive private schools in Sydney while I went to a state school not far from home.
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