Ved Saran is a self-made businessman living in Trinidad. His honesty proves a disappointment to his greedy, manipulative, tight-knit family. Local dialect peppers the conversations but the narrative is such an easy read you won’t find this a problem. Characters which inspire empathy and an evocative setting make for a pleasant and enjoyable reading experience. You’ll be heading for the travel agents to book a Caribbean holiday.
'We don't do it like that at home,' was Madhuri's motto.
'Home?' asked Indra sweetly. 'Do you mean Bamboo Village?'
The baby's body was not to be unswaddled on pain of mosquito bites, sandflies, sunburn, suntan, excema and other assorted third-world afflictions.
'You think she hiding something under them blankets?' the terrorists asked. 'Maybe he deformed or something.'
'Maybe he have three pricks,' Narvin suggested.
They offered Madhuri money to let them see the baby's body.
'Wait till she go in the toilet,' Ma muttered. 'That blanket coming off so fast, before any one of all you blink.'
The terrorists plied their new aunt with drinks. Tea was all she would drink. Tea was a diuretic, I informed the terrorists gleefully. The minute Madhuri succumbed, a kidnapping occurred. Baby Anant was transported to the middle of the swimming pool by Doting Uncle Number One, a.k.a me.
'Come and get him,' Shreshtha sang, as Madhuri fulminated on the side of the swimming pool.
'That pool myst be full of pee!' she whined.
'Do you think we are as dirty as the English?' Queen snapped.
The terrorists demanded ransom money.