Funny Boy by Selvadurai Shyam

Author:Selvadurai, Shyam [Selvadurai, Shyam]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781551997193
Publisher: McClelland & Stewart
Published: 2013-01-28T20:00:00+00:00

A few evenings later, Sonali, Neliya Aunty, and I were in the garden, searching for snails among the rose bushes, when we noticed a young man standing inside the gate, looking at us.

Neliya Aunty straightened up and said, “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Is Mr. Chelvaratnam in, madam?”

“He’s having a shower. You are …?”

“Jegan Parameswaran.”

“Oh,” Neliya Aunty said in recognition. “Come, have a seat.”

She ushered Jegan to a chair and then hurried inside to get my father.

Sonali and I stayed in the garden, looking at our visitor. He was clean shaven and had straight hair that fell over his forehead and was short at the back. His skin was very dark and had a healthy glow to it. He saw me watching him and smiled. His teeth, like his eyes, were brilliant against his dark skin. I returned his smile shyly.

“What are you doing?” he asked, noticing the pail in my hand.

“It’s for snails. We’re getting rid of them before they ruin the roses.”

He nodded.

At that moment my father came out onto the verandah. From the serious expression on his face I could tell that he planned to make the meeting as short as possible. When he saw Jegan, however, he stood still and stared at him as if he had seen a ghost. Jegan rose to his feet, alarmed.

“My God,” my father said finally in an awestruck tone, “I feel as if I have stepped back in time.”

Jegan smiled, relieved. “Yes, sir, I resemble Appa, a little.”

“Resemble!” my father cried. “You are him! All your gestures, your voice.”

He ran his eyes over Jegan and then, seeing that Jegan looked embarrassed, he pointed to the chair he had been seated in and said, “Come, come, sit, sit.”

My father sat down as well, still staring at Jegan. He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I am thinking about your father and our youth together.”

“Yes,” Jegan said, “he often spoke of it.”

“Did he?”

Jegan nodded. “Especially in those last months …” Jegan looked at his hands for a moment. “He was very proud of your achievements.”

My father stared at Jegan. He suddenly looked ashamed.

“Sir,” Jegan began to say, but my father held up his and.

“No ‘sir’ with me,” my father said, and his voice was filled with emotion. “You must call me ‘Uncle.’ ”

“Uncle,” Jegan continued, “my mother wrote to you –”

“Don’t worry,” my father said. “I’m sure we can arrange something.”

“Do you want to know a little about my background?” Jegan asked.

“What do I need to know? You are Buddy’s son. That’s good enough for me.”

Now Sonali and I looked at my father with unconcealed astonishment, recollecting the way he had threatened to quiz Jegan about his Tiger connections. He must have seen the expression on our faces, because he said to us crossly, “Where are your manners? Go and get a drink for our guest.”

We went inside to the kitchen.

When we came out onto the verandah again with Jegan’s drink, Amma and Neliya Aunty were seated with my father.

From the bemused

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