The god of small things in English

C H A P T E R 21
THE COST OF LIVING
When the old house had closed its bleary eyes and settled into
sleep, Ammu, wearing one of Chacko’s old shirts over a long white
petticoat, walked out onto the front verandah. She paced up and
down for awhile. Restless. Feral. Then she sat on the wicker chair
below the moldy, button-eyed bison head and the portraits of the
Little Blessed One and Aleyooty Ammachi that hung on either side
of it. Her twins were sleeping the way they did when they were
exhausted—with their eyes half open, two small monsters. They got
that from their father

C H A P T E R 20
THE MADRAS MAIL
And so, at the Cochin Harbor Terminus, Estha Alone at the barred
train window. Ambassador E. Pelvis. A millstone with a puʃ. And a
greenwavy, thickwatery, lumpy, seaweedy, ɻoaty, bottomless bottomful
feeling. His trunk with his name on it was under his seat. His
tiɽn box with tomato sandwiches and his Eagle ɻask with an eagle
was on the little folding table in front of him

C H A P T E R 19
SAVING AMMU
At the police station, Inspector Thomas Mathew sent for two CocaColas.
With straws. A servile constable brought them on a plastic
tray and oʃered them to the two muddy children sitting across the
table from the Inspector, their heads only a little higher than the
mess of ɹles and papers on it

C H A P T E R 18
THE HISTORY HOUSE
A posse of Touchable Policemen crossed the Meenachal River,
sluggish and swollen with recent rain, and picked their way through
the wet undergrowth, the clink of handcuʃs in someone’s heavy
pocket

C H A P T E R 17
COCHIN HARBOR TERMINUS
In his clean room in the dirty Ayemenem House, Estha (not old, not
young) sat on his bed in the dark. He sat very straight. Shoulders
squared. Hands in his lap. As though he was next in line for some
sort of inspection. Or waiting to be arrested.
The ironing was done. It sat in a neat pile on the ironing board.
He had done Rahel’s clothes as well.