Grant, not as much to say about this chapter, and I read it twice. Lots of exposition and the possibility that Padma the bully represents the reader.
A few things I enjoyed:
Body fluids as an early leitmotif: “Drainage above and drainage below.” People “leaking into each other.”
The analogy between preserving fruit and memories.
Our erectily dysfunctional narrator’s body cracking apart like the drought earth he describes in 1942 India. “And I like them expectorate and rise above fissures.”
More wonderful character imagery: Naseem as a smug spider, a woman with presence and bulk, a fortress. Her iron grip. Her devotion to G-d and reliance on the filler “whatsitsname.” Her refusal to lose face in the battle over the religious tutor.
The English general’s car knocking over the spittoon of expectorated beet juice, like the massacre from the previous chapter spilling Indian blood.
The only part I cringed at was the story of Mian Abdullah and the six crescent knives. Is that magic realism, Grant? If so, I think I dislike it as much as you. The humming of a perishing man draws attack dogs to vanquish the assassins?
I look forward to the next chapter.
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