Jaakaylee must keep on doing it till her arms fall out from her shoulders."Swimming Lessons" is the last story in the collection of short fiction that first brought Rohinton Mistry national attention in Canada and subsequently the United States. Her employers are affluent, "but a masala machine they will not buy. Or worse, Jaakayl." Her obsession with ghosts dominates her life, but it is her plight as a domestic servant that gradually becomes its real theme. She knows that "no ayah gets key to a flat", and that "life as ayah means living close to floor." Her name is Jacqueline. In one story, The Ghost of Firozsha Baag, the narrator is a Goan ayah. Firozsha Baag, Bombay and India in the post-Independence era are made convincing by hundreds of relevant details, even if one finds fault, in terms of accuracy, with a few of them. In addition, every story has references to one or more characters and events in a different story, which suitably emphasises time, place and setting. We have to wait till we read about them in fiction by a brilliantly observant author.) Mistry's critical perceptions are always woven skilfully into the texture of each narrative. The only question that troubles him about it is: "What is the point of such a fantasy," and, no doubt, the author dismisses it as naivety. Maybe my parents think we've broken up, and they didn't need to stick around to guard my virginity."Įven the one set in Toronto, about a Parsi migrant who cannot learn how to use a western-type toilet, the author's father finds "funny at times", though also "shameful and disgusting". "This is the first time you've been alone at home," he ventured with an echo of her accusing tone. I would like to talk to you about it." The note of formality in his short, complete sentences sounded reassuringly in his ears. Outside in the compound a game of volley-ball was in progress, and the dull thud as the ball met flesh and bone could be heard inside the flat. The trace of hostility in the air narrowed the distance between them and made the room more intimate.
Jehangir sensed nervously that somewhere in this was a challenge to him. Her skirt slipped above the knee, exposing part of her thigh, and she didn't pull it down. "You missed choir practice on Thursday," she said accusingly, crossing her legs. Her parents were out, so was the servant. Behroze was alone when Jehangir arrived on Saturday evening.
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