Free Swimming in the Monsoon Sea by Shyam Selvadurai Page A

stood around the barrel, which had been placed under the hole to catch the rain, squinting up at the rafters.
    “Bundle,” Uncle Lucky said, staring up at the hole, “haven’t you heard anything yet from Gineris and his sons?”
    “Of course I have, Lucky,” Aunty Bundle replied, a little defensively. “Mendis and I even drove out to their village. They’ve promised to come next week.”
    “But they did not respond to your initial telegram,” Uncle Lucky said. “You know how these village-types are, so lackadaisical. Next week can end up being next month. Why don’t I try and get another roof-baas. I have a good reference for one who lives right here in Colombo.”
    Aunty Bundle shook her head, stubbornly.
    “Aiyo
, Amma,” Selvi cried at her, “just get this other roof-baas, for goodness’ sake.”
    “No, no,” Aunty Bundle said. “Gineris will come. I trust him.”
    “But what if he doesn’t come before the party?” Mala demanded plaintively. “We will have to cancel our birthday. People can’t dance with a barrel in the middle of the living room.”
    “Gineris and his sons have always been our family baases,” Aunty Bundle said, folding her arms to her chest. “They will not let me down. Besides, I don’t trust these modern baases; they don’t know how to lay out tiles in the old style.”
    “Rubbish, Bundle.” Uncle Lucky gave her an exasperated look. “Tiles are tiles. Of course any roof-baas knows how to do it.”
    Selvi gestured with disgust to the open rafters and handmade red clay tiles of their roof. “I wish we lived in a modern house with proper asbestos roofing and a ceiling.”
    Aunty Bundle turned to her, annoyed. “You children don’t appreciate what you have. This house is a proper Sri Lankan house, not one of those awful Western models that are so unsuitable for the heat.” She was on one of her favorite hobbyhorses, the colonized minds of most Sri Lankans, including her own children, and she would have continued in this vein if Jane-Nona had not come out of the kitchen, bearing the drinks tray.
    “Ah.”
Uncle Lucky took the tray from her. “It’s time for my arrack and ginger beer. Let’s go out into the courtyard.”
    They were meeting together again to discuss the party and, once they were all seated, Aunty Bundle began with enthusiasm, having forgotten her previous annoyance. “Girls, girls, I’ve had a brilliant idea. Last night, at Chloe Coomaraswamy’s dinner, she had the most wonderful hopper woman. I have never tasted hoppers like that, so light and crisp and delicious. We could hire her to do hoppers for your birthday.” Aunty Bundle had a great fondness for these bowl-shaped crepes.
    “But what about godamba rotis?” Mala asked, as they were her particular favorite, “I thought we were getting a godamba man to set his cart up in the courtyard.”
    “We will do both hoppers and godamba rotis,” Aunty Bundle declared.
    They all nodded. This sounded like a wonderful idea.
    “And what about dessert, Amma?” Selvi asked. “My friend Otara knows this lady who makes lovely meringue and chocolate cream puddings.”
    They agreed they would consider that for dessert. But there would also be two birthday cakes from Perera and Sons and lots of trifles and soufflés and puddings. Then the discussion moved on to the number of guests. Aunty Bundle had brought a pad of paper and pen with her and they began to make a list. After they had put down their numerous relatives and family friends, the girls each gave the names of students in their class they wanted to invite. All the boys coming to the party would be relatives, or sons of family friends. When they were done, Aunty Bundle turned to Amrith. “And how about you, son? Any boys from your drama society?”
    He shifted uncomfortably.
“Um
 … no, Aunty.”
    “Well, that’s alright, dear.” She went back to the guest list, a look of concern in her eyes.
    As Aunty Bundle began to read the list, which