Imperfection

She hardly felt its weight as she turned over the soft roll between her fingers. Running her finger along its whole length, she absentmindedly brought it close to her nostrils, taking in its scent, and traced her lips with one end. She sat with her legs crossed over each other, her Prada shoes glinting under the flamboyant lighting of her office. The office was of a magnificent size, her desk carrying some of the latest development in technology and the furniture reflecting anything but modesty. Lights were nestled in the walls in every peculiar way possible. She picked the yellow rectangular box and swirled the fluid inside. She raised her thumb to a tiny catch at the top of the box, her perfectly manicured nail gleaming under the lights. She deftly pressed the lever down in a swift movement, causing an angry flame to burst out of it. She brought it closer and watched as the flame hungrily consumed the white papery stick.

                Ananya had the perfect life. Numerous pairs of eyes stared at her not being able to get enough of her skin deep perfection wherever she went, she had a company full of people to boss around, and she got most of her things done by assistants and servants. Her refusal to accommodate, her expectation for all to adore her, and her perception that no one would be on par with her deprived her of a life companion. It wasn’t surprising, really. She turned back to her laptop screen. It was still showing the same mail. She had been assigned to Luanda, and if she managed to plant conviction in the hearts there, the position she had been waiting for would be hers. There was nothing more to think about. She pressed her cigarette into the ashtray causing it to crumble to dust. Her fingers danced over the keyboard then clicked the ‘send’ button.

                

              Her flight had been of utmost comfort. Dishes at her fancies, scotch to her pleasure and seats of her choice. As she walked out of the plane and into the airport, she looked around the small building in disgust. She had never seen walls dirtier than these, or floors matted with so much of dirt that her open-toed silver Gucci shoes left shoe prints on the dirt. Clearing the immigration checkpoint at which officers not involved with her admittance were busy eyeing her, she gingerly reached out her hand to take back her passport very carefully so as to not touch the man or the metal table top that reeked with a funny smell and glistened with grime. Anger rising in her veins, she walked briskly to the tiny exit door and rummaged her handbag for her phone.

                Mr. Jenkins, Ananya’s boss, was a man in his early fifties. He ran this company with the help of his childhood friend Mr.Rumi, whose son did everything a boy without a mother would do. Mrs. Rumi had succumbed to a respiratory disease when their son was very young. And Mr.Rumi, keeping his work top priority had lost his son as well. The phone rang. Jenkins looked at the caller ID then smiled and winked at Rumi. He tried to keep humour out of his voice as Ananya’s voice boomed over the speaker. He hardly heard what she was saying as he played with his paperweight.

                “Yes, yes my dear. Remember, it’s all for this company. You’re the best we have. Why would I have sent you otherwise? You’re the only one qualified to...” Jenkins stopped short as more shouting interrupted him. He had barely managed to stifle a laugh before he ended the call. He turned back to Rumi and put a long arm around his friend.

                “I think the job is definitely your son’s, partner.” Both men laughed and walked out of the door, arms resting on each other’s shoulder.

                Ananya would have slammed the phone down if she could. She took a deep breath and walked out of the exit door. It was rather empty. Maybe not many people were expected at airports in places like this. She looked far ahead. Dry earth, dry earth, and more dry earth was all she saw. A few rickety cars stood around here and there. Other than that, there were no vehicles, or greenery, or civilised looking people. They were all staring at her. She looked at their ragged clothes and uncovered feet. For the first time, she was not very sure why she was being gawked at. She looked a little lower then spotted a withered paper that bore the name ‘Anyanya’. Behind the paper stood a short, small framed man who grinned at her from ear to ear. Before she could walk towards him he ran to her and collected her luggage from her. He half ran, trying to show her the way while he chanted “Welkam madim, welkam madim, this way madim!”

                Her pick up vehicle was a wobbly assumed-to-be-white car of a make she was unable to identify. From what she had already seen she would not have been surprised if someone had taken parts from different places and assembled them together. Trying not to think about it, she spread a paper bag over the seat before she got in.

                “Madim! No woari! I clean alldy!” he flashed his ear to ear grin again.

                Ananya had to pretend to be asleep to avoid conversation with this over eager man but she did not dare rest her head against the seat. As a result, she looked like a statue with closed eyes and very stiff limbs being held as close to each other as possible. She still couldn’t believe that she was in a place that smelled and looked like this. If this was a nightmare, she hoped that it would end very soon. Her eyes flew open as the car jumped to a stop.

                “Sorry madim! Big cow crossy!” he smiled apologetically.

                A few hours later, she felt something soft prodding her. She woke up to find herself sleeping comfortably on terrible looking seats at the back of a car and she instinctively wiped away saliva that had begun to escape the corner of her lips. She sat up suddenly remembering where she was and was greeted by at least ten wide grins. The car door was being held open by two kids and her driver had tried waking her up by tapping her with a browning towel, afraid to touch her in case he ruined her perfect skin. The kids were of many sizes and mostly the same shapes. They had thin wiry limbs and distended pot bellies. Their skin stretched over bone mostly. They looked at her with wide eyes and hopeful smiles. Most of them wore loin cloths and their scrawny toes were caked with dirt and mud. She continued to watch them as she felt pangs of an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

                “This way madim!” Her driver, whose name she found out later was Shakur, led her to a small earthen hut. She had to bend to enter the door. She kept reminding herself to take deep breaths and talk herself into not fainting. She had never pitied herself more than this in her life so far. A huge pot stood over carefully arranged coal that shone a brilliant amber. A woven mat had been placed on the other side of the room and in front of this mat were plates of different sizes that seemed to be made of dried leaves. She consoled her heart hoping it would calm down as she saw her luggage at the corner covered in layers of dirt. She would have to dispose them as soon as she got back. She brought back her concentration to the small couple who were standing in front of her with their hands clasped together. The entrance to the hut was now filled with bodies and heads and soft chatter. She looked at the mat again then back at Shakur.

                “I really just want to sleep,” Ananya said in a tired voice. What kind of sleeping arrangements she was going to have, she was too terrified to even think about in case her imagination got the better of her.

                “No, no madim! You eat. Then Saar come, you go big bed!”

                Before she could decide what he meant, there were sounds of exclamation from the crowd at the entrance and they made way to let someone in. It was a tall man with a big build, squared jaws and heavy set brows. He wore a clean set of formal attire and to Ananya’s relief, a pair of shoes.

                “Miss Anyanya?” he asked in a deep voice and in an accent she could thankfully understand.

                “It’s Ananya.” She said as she rejected his extended hand and put her hands together in a traditional Indian welcome gesture. Being Indian had its perks sometimes.

                “Ah yes,” he said as he retracted his hand. “I am Waiyaki. Please come with me, I will brief you on your assignment while we take you to your hotel.”

                Kids ran to take her luggage and load it into the car. This car, was more acceptable than the cart she had arrived in.

                “Madim you no eating?” asked Shakur in a clearly disappointed voice. Ananya looked at the man. She came from a place where she ordered people around because she knew they were afraid of her. But they always did it for the money she paid them monthly. If she was to take away that benefit, she might even find her food poisoned. But this man, here, had not a clue who she was or where she was from, and he was begging her to eat food that he probably couldn’t afford for his family. She peered into the big pot. It held thick yellow liquid with tiny yellow lumps floating on it.

                “What is this?” she asked Shakur.

                Absolutely delighted at her question, he said “Ugali mash up madim!”

                Laughing at Ananya’s expression Waiyaki explain that it was a type of corn or sorghum porridge that most Africans ate. Ananya smiled for the first time in what felt like years and emptied her water bottle. Into it, she told Shakur’s wife to fill the ugali.

                The hotel was of an acceptable standard. After what she had been through today, Ananya couldn’t care much about anything else there was to come and even if there was, she was too tired to do anything about it. She closed her eyes and bathed while praying very hard that God would divert any insect or animal away while she showered. The water was biting cold and her joints were beginning to feel fragile but exhaustion made her stand still under the frosty pellets. The next morning she slept through her alarm and seven calls and woke up to loud banging on her door. She shot out of bed and cautiously opened the door to a rather worried Waiyaki. His expression of anxiety turned to that of amusement as he looked at Ananya.

                “How do you always manage to look so pretty?” he laughed and told her the car was waiting for her downstairs. He promised her a good breakfast when he saw the bottle of ugali still on her dressing table. Ananya walked into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Then she understood what he had laughed at.

                Soon, they were on the way back to the village. Ananya spent almost a week there. And then it was time to go home. She shook hands with Waiyaki, hugged Shakur’s wife, hugged all the children in the village, and smiled at the immigration officer before entering the waiting area. She gave herself two days grace period before she turned up for work again. She entered the office and took her seat in front of Jenkins. As she had expected, he was not very happy. That somehow left her beaming.

                “Aren’t you going to ask me anything?” Ananya challenged Jenkins. He remained silent. Out of fury or hesitation, she knew not.

                “Then I shall begin. I was born into a family that offered me nothing but perfection. In one week, I learnt mistakes from failures I never faced, I felt happiness I did not know how to share, I heard laughter I had no time to produce, I saw miracles I had considered so insignificant and I said things I wish I had learnt to say a long time ago. Wealth and empty promises you made beneficial to your future had my mind clouded in grey. Thank you. Thank you for making my manicure session go to waste, for the damage gave me an opportunity to repair my ways. Thank you for letting a car ride cover me in dirt and grime, for that dirt taught me that health was a favour offered by disease. Thank you for letting insects find shelter in my hair, for that invasion made me realize how people shelter their kind for only profitable gestures. Thank you for taking away electricity from one week of my life, for that darkness has made me realize how much light I could shine onto paths of others. I am ashamed to admit that I had moved to your strings and played to your tune. The abolishment of the whole village for your corruption to prosper I deemed inappropriate, and hence, refused to approve the proposal. I have informed the Luanda authorities. I closed my eyes to facts, hence I had to learn through an accident*. This, is my letter of resignation.”

                Ananya did not turn back to look at Jenkins. She placed her hand on the handle of the door and her eyes fell on her clean and short fingernails. She stepped out of the office in her simple chappals and pastel cotton salwar kameez. She took out her phone and dialled the number. A deep voice answered.

                “Hello?”

                “I’m flying down this weekend. Kindly inform all the people you have selected. We will discuss about the school.”

                Ananya smiled and walked out of the lavish building. Her former secretary ran behind her, a piece of chocolate cake in one hand, made specially by Ananya who had discovered a new talent.

*Adapted from an African proverb

                                                                                                                                                           Shalini Subramanian