Authors: Monica Ali
Chanu had found his page in the guidebook. 'Buckingham Palace has been the official residency of British sovereigns since 1837. The palace evolved from a town house owned from the beginning of the eighteenth century by Dukes of Buckingham.'
He stood with his hands on his hips and appreciated the view. Shahana and Bibi stood next to Nazneen, Shahana with her back to the palace. She wanted to have her lip pierced. This was the latest thing. Last week she wanted to get a tattoo. She did not bring these demands to her father. She presented them to her mother as proof that she could not be 'taken home'. When she asked for the lip ring, she said, 'It's my body,' as if this solved anything, and Nazneen smiled and was kicked for her failings.
'Queen Victoria added a fourth wing to the building because of an absence of nurseries and too few bedrooms for visitors. Marble Arch had to be relocated to the north-east corner of Hyde Park.' Chanu took off his cap and wiped his forehead. He noticed his daughter leaning against the rails. 'Have a look, Shahana. Look at this beautiful building.'
Nazneen regarded the palace. 'Oh yes,' she said, 'it is very clever of your father to bring us here. It is a good choice.' Some of the windows were hung with net curtains, like the windows on the estate. She wanted to ask questions so that Chanu could answer them. What came to her mind was unsuitable. How many cleaners do they have? How long does it take to change all the beds? How does one family find each other in all that space? Eventually she asked, 'Which is the biggest room, and what is it used for?'
Chanu was pleased. 'The ballroom is one hundred and twenty-two feet long, sixty feet wide and forty-five feet high. When it was built it was the largest room in London. It is used for all sorts of big functions. The Queen, you see, must entertain many people. It is part of her duty to the country. Most British people know someone who has, at one time or another, been a guest at a palace tea party. This is how she maintains the affection and loyalty of her subjects.'
Nazneen asked more questions. With the help of his book, Chanu gave detailed information and elaborate conjectures. Bibi kept gazing at the palace as if she were trying to memorize it. She held on to one or other of her plaits and, when Chanu mentioned a particularly astonishing fact or figure, raised herself on tiptoe to grasp it. Shahana fidgeted and looked around. She did not like to stand in the sun. 'I'll go black,' she moaned to Nazneen. 'At least you should have bought me sun protection cream.'
'Your father is talking,' said Nazneen.
'If he ever stops,' said Shahana, 'let me know.'
Chanu was listing the treasures and artworks of the palace. A tour guide, speaking in a language that Nazneen did not recognize, had taken up a station close to Chanu. They both raised their voices.
Nazneen clapped her hands together. 'What a wonderful holiday. Girls, aren't you enjoying yourselves?'
'Yes.'
'Yes.'
'Come on,' said Chanu, 'let's walk a little way off and see it from another perspective. It will be better for photographs also.' He located the bottle of water in his shorts and took a swig. He offered it to Shahana, who pretended not to notice.
Two hundred yards down the Mall was a cart with a big tin drum of hot caramelized peanuts. Nazneen, pursuing her campaign for enjoyment, became animated. 'Mmm,' she said, and clasped a hand to her chest. 'That smells delicious. Will you buy some for me?' Chanu patted his money belt. 'I have made provision for treats.'
They sat on some steps opposite the entrance to the park and ate the nuts from paper twists with the smell of burnt sugar in their nostrils. Nazneen ate and talked and laughed and asked as many questions as she could. After a while, when Chanu began an answer and she laughed again, he stopped and looked at her with his head to one side. 'Are you feeling well? Too much sun, perhaps?' She flushed, and she laughed again. She was laughing too much, but now that she had started this laughing business it was difficult to keep it under control. 'No, no. I am very well.' She hiccoughed and this triggered another quake of laughs. She held her stomach, which was beginning to hurt. Shahana smiled, and then giggled. As a kind of caress, she applied the toe of her trainer to her mother's shin. 'Stop it, Amma.' She began to laugh as well. Bibi joined in, at first without any sign of mirth, and then with serious symptoms. Her eyes watered and her small body shook. Shahana held her hand and they shrieked at each other as they had on their one and only ride at a funfair.
'Well, now,' said Chanu. He swelled with pride at how marvellously he had managed the day. 'It is a lot of fun.'
They walked on the other side of the road, following St James's Park, back towards Buckingham Palace. The girls went in front, with a carrier bag each, still holding hands. 'That is the best of all the sights,' Chanu told Nazneen, and she stumbled and grabbed his arm.
They had to return to the palace because Chanu wanted to try out the panoramic-view camera. It should be possible, he explained, to come close to the building and still fit the whole tiling in one shot. He fiddled around with the little cardboard box for several minutes. 'It's a disposable camera,' said Shahana. 'What's he got to fiddle around for?' But when he had finished with that camera, the situation grew worse. He searched for the other camera and announced that he had been robbed. He proposed to tell the Guards who stood in little black boxes inside the palace forecourt. 'They have guns, they could shoot the bastard.' Nazneen suggested he empty all his pockets. 'God,' he said. 'I'm not a child.' He emptied all his pockets and found the camera, and then the girls had to pose.
They began by smiling dutifully, but by the time people had been cleared out of the way, their limbs had been arranged and rearranged, they had turned their heads this way and that, and Chanu had found a satisfactory angle, even Bibi was unable to keep her mouth upturned. 'Smile,' said Chanu, and someone would walk into the frame. 'For God's sake. Look happy.'
Nazneen had to take a turn with the girls. She whispered to Shahana, 'If you smile nicely, I'll buy you those earrings.'
'The dangly ones?'
'Yes.'
'The really long ones?'
'Down to your knees. Now, smile.'
Chanu stood with his arms around his daughters. Nazneen held her finger over the button. She took the shot that would live in the kitchen, propped up against the tiles at the back of the work surface, accumulating a fine spray of turmeric-stained grease from her cooking pot. It showed a middle-aged man with stringy calves poking out from long red shorts, a white T-shirt stretched over a preposterous stomach. Under each arm he had tucked a girl in salwaar kameez. On the left, holding up a hand to protect her face from the sun, was a creature whose near-brush with adolescence showed in a few spots around her chin and an impression – mystically conveyed – that she had curled up her toes with embarrassment. She wore a green suit, so dark that it was almost the black that she desired, and her hair hung loose around her face. In time, Nazneen could not recall if the black mark across her face was a piece of grit on the photograph or a strand of hair that she was chewing. On the opposite wing was a girl who stood with her arms glued to her sides. Her face tilted up to look at the man and she smiled as if there were a knife to her back. She wore a pretty pink kameez, and her scarf trailed on the floor. The man grinned straight at the camera and his capacious cheeks were jolly. His eyes were wrapped up in dark glasses.
'We must have one of us all together.' Chanu looked around for a collaborator. He selected a young man who glowed with well-being, as if he had been fed all his life on dates and milk and honey.
'Sure,' said the man, as though he had been expecting this call. 'Stand a bit closer together.'
Nazneen moved over, so that her shoulder brushed against Chanu. The photograph would show a dutiful and modest wife, in a cotton-print sari. She put her hands on Bibi's arms.
'Whereabouts are y'all from?' His accent was familiar from the television.
'We are from Bangladesh,' said Chanu. He spoke slowly, as if he expected the man to have trouble understanding.
'Y'don't say.'
Chanu was puzzled. 'Yes,' he said. 'Bangla-desh.' Carefully, as if the man wanted to write it down.
'Y'don't say.' The man returned the camera. He had an easy way about him. He was relaxed as a child in its mother's arms.
'I do say,' said Chanu.
Shahana rolled her eyes. 'I'm from London.'
'Is that in India?' He wore a blue checked shirt and his face glowed with health.
'No, no. India is one country. Bangladesh is another country.'
'Y'don't say.' He seemed simultaneously surprised but resigned to this fact. 'Do you mind if I get a shot of all of you together for myself?' He toted his own camera. And by way of explanation he added, 'I'm hoping to go there one day, India.'
As she posed again, Nazneen realized that today was the first time they had stood together as a family for the camera. It filled her with a mixture of panic and hope, the possibility of holding things together with the unexceptional ritual of family life.