Jambula Tree

“Mama Atim says you are tired of London. You cannot bear it anymore. London is cold. London is a monster which gives no jobs. London is no cosy exile forthe banished. London is no refuge for the immoral. Mama Atim says this word immoral to me – slowly and emphatically in Japadhola, so it can sink into my head. She wants me to hear the word in every breath, sniff it in every scent so it can haunt me like that day I first touched you. Like the day you first touched me. Mine was a cold unsure hand placed over your right breast. Yours was a cold scared hand, which held my waist and pressed it closer to you, under the jambula tree in front of her house.”

(to read the whole story click on the “chapter one” link. You totally should!)