Jasmine Skies by Sita Brahmachari

Author:Sita Brahmachari [Brahmachari, Sita]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781447205890
Publisher: Bolinda Digital Pty Ltd

My head hits the back of the seat with a thud.

‘Kali statues, Rajasthani wall hangings, jewellery . . . anything you want to find, it will be there!’ Manu chatters on. At first I think he must be talking to Anjali, but then I see that she’s also asleep, head lolling against the window. Now I remember Manu was telling me that his wife has a stall in the market and I suppose I must have dozed off for a second without him noticing.

I walk around the little stalls, wondering how it’s possible to have so many beautiful ornate things in one place: papier-mâché candle holders painted in the most delicate colours, handwoven tablecloths, paintings on silk, bags, bedspreads, decorated pots, statues of bronze and silver, little tables and ornaments inlaid with mother-of-pearl, embroidered Rajasthani wall hangings glinting with a thousand mirrors, (Anjali tells me she bought hers from here), puppets in the shape of every kind of person and animal, a carved family of sandalwood elephants, a tiny stone sculpture of an owl carrying a baby inside its tummy . . . I could buy something at every stall. Anjali’s being so generous, but I wish I had my own money. For Laila I choose the puppet, for Krish the family of elephants, for Dad I get a board game in an engraved wooden box, for Mum one of the mirrored wall hangings and for Millie I buy the owl. That just leaves Jidé, and it’s taking me longer to find anything for him than for everyone else put together. We’re also still looking for clothes for me.

‘This boyfriend of yours must be a very special person,’ Anjali says, raising her eyebrows.

‘He is,’ I agree.

I step behind a curtain at the back of a clothes stall and try on the simple block-print salwar-kameez Anjali’s picked out. ‘I believe it’s your favourite colour!’ she says as I inspect myself in the mirror. It’s pretty and the orange cotton’s cool against my skin and it fits. It’s a bit like my other one but I’m not in the mood to keep trying things on. I pull back the curtain.

‘You look lovely. Why not keep it on?’ says Anjali.

We buy the salwar-kameez and then browse more stalls looking for a present for Jidé.

‘Maybe Janu could carve him something?’ Anjali suggests. I know she’s trying to be helpful, but my stomach clamps. The truth is I can’t find anything for Jidé because I keep thinking of Janu and wondering when I’ll see him again, and that just feels so wrong. ‘Come on, let’s get some refreshment,’ says Anjali, taking me by the arm and leading me into a homely open-air cafe, with crates for tables, gingham tablecloths and rattan chairs. Suddenly my tummy rumbles so loud that the girl sitting next to me giggles.

‘Cinnamon and orange, mango and lychee, passion fruit and lime . . .’

Anjali reads me the list of teas to choose from as we relax in the shade of an umbrella.

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