Malayali in London ~ Part-3

Chapter-1:

. . . Thiruvananthapuram . . .

Ammavam and I walk inside and sit down on the paaya with the rest of the family. Then my father begins to speak, “So we have a problem.” I cross my arms, sarcastically speaking, “It’s another Friday, what’s your point?” My father slightly laughs at my response. Everyone knows I hate Fridays. “No, that’s not my point. My point is that I got an email.” I shrug at that too, “So? What’s the problem with getting an email?” Father laughs at that too. Father talks very slowly for the taste of a Malayalee. It makes it hard to determine where exactly he finishes his sentence. I get the hint, “Come on Dad, you talk way too slowly. I can’t make out where the full stop is.” My father smiles, “I talk at a fair pace. You, just like all the other malayalees, talk very fast.”

“Anyway, back to the point. I got an email from an old friend and it's an acceptance letter. I have already cleared the interview and stuff but I didn’t tell you all because I didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case I didn’t clear it. It's not so common for that hospital to hire an Indian citizen, even though they might be of British blood. My friend told me in the email that I was accepted. Into the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery. In Southwark, London.”

We all look at each other, knowing what this means, if my father decides to take the job, we’ll be moving to London. Everyone but Amama knew what was going on. She began to ask us to translate. Ammavam does it for her. Will turns to Father, “So? Are you going to take it?” My father shrugs, “That’s why I called the meeting, so we can decide together. As a family.” His stubble-shaved face glances at all of us, expecting an answer. I can see my reflection in his clear eyes the colour of the sea I love so much. I look stunned. I am stunned. I can’t imagine living anywhere away from Thiruvananthapuram. I was born here, I grew up here, and my whole life’s been here. And if we do move to London, everything will be so different. Western lifestyles are completely different from a south-Indian lifestyle. Of course, I’ve been to London before, my father’s parents live there. But I never thought of living there. I look at my mother pleadingly. She looks just like I do, she doesn’t want to move either. But knowing my mother, she’ll probably choose what’s best for my father’s career. After all, she had dropped her chances of having a career in Delhi so that she could be with my father.

The silence is broken when my mother speaks, “They must be offering higher pay than here in Kerala. You’ll have a better chance of progressing in your field. There are better colleges for Indrakshi and better job opportunities for William. You should take it. My brother will take care of Amama, and we can move to London with you.” 

I knew it! I knew my mother; she’d always do what was best for the long run. I don’t hate her or am angry at her for taking this decision. I’d do the same if I were her. But I still can’t help but feel remorseful about the decision she took. My brother sighs and ammavam explains all that just happened to Amama, who agrees with my mother’s decision, in Malayali of course. We all get up, and Mother and Amama go to the kitchen to make dinner. Father goes to take a shower like he always does when he comes home from work. Will and I go to the upstairs balcony. The balcony is large enough to call it a terrace, we just stand there on the edge in silence for a minute. The crescent moon is shining above our heads and as if nature always opposes the vibe in the surroundings, it’s a beautiful clear night with the stars insultingly twinkling. Will’s voice breaks the silence, “That’s all it takes.” I sigh, “Yes, that’s all it takes. One email and fifteen minutes to change our lives.”