Columbia University Press, 306 pp., $17.50 (paper)
There was an old man with a boy in the train compartment from Delhi to Jaipur, and a couple with two children. The younger of these was a little boy of about two, beautifully dressed and sucking fitfully on a bottle of fruit juice. The elder, a girl of about seven in sandals and a stained dress, sat by herself in a corner and spoke to no one. The boy—his nickname seemed to be Zuzu—whimpered until he could be taken on his father's lap: 'He always wants Daddy most—unless he wants to sleep, then he goes to mother,' said his father. Was the girl their daughter, I asked? 'No. Attendant.' Was school not compulsory for her? 'But she is poor. The poor don't bother.' The unnamed seven-year-old was called over to massage her mistress, her dark hands against creamy wrists, and later to mind Zuzu.
Review, 2822 words
To read the full text of this piece, please choose one of the following options:
|
If you are already a subscriber to the Review's electronic edition, please sign in: |
To subscribe to the electronic edition, please press the button below. |
To purchase access to this article for $3, please press the button below. |