|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedablkeq
 

d closed her eyes behind her rat-fil-
ters. (“It takes all kinds” she told herself.) “S. V. S. Kurup!” The scornful boy set up
a howl as his mother pushed him into the doctor’s room. Rahel and Estha left the
clinic triumphantly. Little Lenin remained behind to have his nostril probed by Dr.
Verghese Verghese’s cold steel implementsand his mother probed by othersofter
ones. That was Lenin then. Now he had a house and a Bajaj scooter. A wife and an
issue. Rahel handed Comrade Pillai back the sachet of photographs and tried to leave.
“One mint” Comrade Pillai said. He was like a flasher in a hedge. Enticing people
with his nipples and then forcing pictures of his son on them. He flipped through the
pack of photographs (a pictorial guide to Lenin’s Life-in-a-Minute) to the last one.
“Orkunnundo ?” It was an old black-and-white picture. One that Chacko took with
the Rolleiflex camera that Margaret Kochamma had brought him as a Christmas
present. All four of them were in it. LeninEsthaSophie Mol and herselfstanding in
the front verandah of the Ayemenem House. Behind them Baby Kochamma’s Christ-
mas trimmings hung in loops from the ceiling. A cardboard star was tied to a bulb.
LeninRahel and Estha looked yilai：
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|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedablkzp