One Hundred Shades of White. Preethi Nair
never say sorry, especially if I haven’t done anything wrong, so I continued to ignore him.
At playtime, Mark Fitzgerald and his big friend came up to me.
‘You don’t ever mess with me, Paki.’
I did not quite understand what Paki was so I told him I wasn’t a Paki and I hadn’t messed with him.
A crowd had gathered.
‘Not a Paki,’ he laughed, pushing me.
‘Well, why have you got dirty hair and that Paki smell? Bet you eat with your fingers an’ all. Look, Marty, we’ve got another new Paki,’ he shouted to the other boy.
At that moment, I envisaged Catherine Hunter’s golden locks and wished that I was still at my old school, twirling around aimlessly in the playground with a Hula-Hoop.
‘Bet you’ve brought some smelly sandwiches with you as well,’ he said, grabbing my bag.
Oh God, my lunch box. I hoped Amma hadn’t put in any masala potatoes between the bread or packed vadas. Mark Fitzgerald’s sidekick went to open it. I closed my eyes, fearing the worst, and then I heard the word ‘cheese’.
Thank you, Amma, thank you for not doing that to me.
‘It’s cheese,’ Mark Fitzgerald shouted, flinging the sandwich, and then he threw my bag at me.
That was the Kermit the Frog bag Achan had brought for me from America.
And then I don’t know what happened but something triggered in me and I went for him. I jumped on his back, pushing him to the floor, and pounded him with my fists. All the other children began screaming with excitement and shouted my name. Anger, hurt, sadness all came through my fists as I beat him, I couldn’t stop, and then Mr Mauldy prised me away, marching me into his office.
I ached all over.
‘This is no way to behave, Maya Kathi, especially not on your first day.’
I tried to explain that it wasn’t my fault, that Mark Fitzgerald had started it, but he wasn’t listening.
‘I’ll be watching you very closely. One more episode like that and you’re out. Do you hear me? OUT!’
I said nothing, I didn’t care. I was very, very tired and sad and wanted to sleep and forget everything.
When I walked into my class, all the other children began cheering. Miss Brown said there was no need for any of that and asked them to stop, but they continued. She added that poor Mark had had to be taken to the nurse’s office and then they began clapping. I didn’t really care and sat back down next to Fatima who asked if she could be my best friend.
I thought Amma would come to collect us after school but Maggie came instead, saying that Amma had got work at the factory and would be home later.
‘Did you have a good day, children?’
I said nothing. Satchin shrugged his shoulders.
‘You’ll get used to it. It’s always difficult at first, especially when you’re new.’
Used to it, used to it, we weren’t going to get used to anything. I would speak to Amma, she would make sure that we went somewhere better or find a way of sending us back to our old school.
‘We’re not staying,’ I said.
‘Not staying where?’ Maggie asked.
‘Here, here in this horrible place, in your horrible house,’ I said, as she opened the front door.
Satchin put his hands on his face.
‘Is that right?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Listen, young lady, let’s get a few things clear and then you and me will get on fine. Be grateful, because this is the best there is at the moment and if there wasn’t this you’d be out on the streets.’
There were no beaches in London, that’s why she said streets.
‘Think of your mother. She’ll be working hard all day so she can put some dinner on the table for you, so the least you can do is be grateful; at least she’s there for you.’
I thought again about the children with no Achans and Ammas who couldn’t ever have a balloon, how sad they looked, and then about the fight. It started because he threw my Achan’s bag. What would happen if Amma went too? We would be like those children, out on the streets.
I must have looked frightened as Maggie bent down and looked at me. ‘I’m sorry to be hard with you, darling, but it’s going to be a little difficult at first. That’s always the way it is, but it will get better, I promise you, it will get better, but you have to try and be strong and be good for your mother.’
I looked at her and told her about the fight and what Mark Fitzgerald said to me and how I beat him and I couldn’t stop. Tears rolled down my face.
Maggie picked me up and cuddled me. ‘I’m sorry, darling, not everyone is like him and by the sounds of it you won’t have any problems with him no more.’
She kissed my cheeks and made me feel safe, like I could believe what she told me.
‘Now, would you like something to eat?’ she asked.
Satchin and I nodded and Maggie took us upstairs and made us fishfingers and spaghetti hoops whilst we watched her black and white television and waited for Amma.
Amma came home later looking exhausted. ‘Did you have a good day, makkale?’
‘Good,’ Satchin replied.
‘It was really good and we made lots of new friends,’ I added.
Ammamma said sometimes you had to do things just to make other people happy and then it would make you feel happy, but I didn’t feel anything when I said that. Maybe it was because I felt bad about what I had done to Mark Fitzgerald.
Amma thanked Maggie.
Maggie said it had been no trouble and that we were really good kids.
We went downstairs and went to bed.
The next day Amma got up and went to work early and left us all the breakfast things prepared. Satchin served it all and then washed up and took me to school because Maggie was busy. It was a straight road, left at the crossing and then straight again. It wasn’t difficult, but we followed the other mothers and children just to make sure we got there. I don’t know why I expected it to be different. The children were much nicer to me but there was still sadness, a sadness which was built into the school walls. There were no pictures or singing in the corridors and assemblies were endless prayers and hymns that none of us could identify with, nobody brought in their toys to show the other children; maybe they didn’t have any. You couldn’t really sit assemblies out even if you wanted to. Fatima did, insisting her father would get angry as they were Muslims, and she was taunted regularly, but preferred this to what her father would do if she attended. I wanted to sit out with her but just got on with learning the Lord’s Prayer.
Assembly was Mr Mauldy’s time for imposing his authority with threats of caning for misbehaviour. He held the cane firmly in his hand as he spoke from the stage and lashed it against the podium, but nobody took any notice. What was another beating in the scheme of things? Then came the occasional morale-boosting song, introduced more as an afterthought that maybe this was the way to go:
‘I love the sun, it shines on me, God made the sun and God made me. I love the rain, it splashes on me, God made the rain and God made me.’
The bullies laughed at the absurdity that there could even be a God, let alone one sitting and making the sun and the rain, and glared at those who were heartily singing away. They had antennae to identify the weak: nobody could really blame them, for this is what they learnt at home. You had to pretend to be strong, even if you weren’t, or you had to find some way