1.
Flimqualsi, you are pink. That’s what you are. You were pink as a baby, pink as a tot, pink as a teen, and now you’re pink as a grown-up. She looked into the mirror at her pink face, her pink neck and her pink arms. You see, if you’re pink, and you have a pink man, what’s the point? You might just as well stay pink by yourself.
That’s what I think.
Flimqualsi became resolute.
‘I want a gorgeous mauve man!’
Having said it aloud, she felt marvellously confident.
On the other hand, I’d know what I was getting if I got a pink man. Our colours would be complementary for a start. That would make life a lot easier. If we went sunbathing on holiday, we’d be able to use the same suntan lotion. And in our wedding photos, we would match each other so well. I have to say, however, that on balance, I do prefer a mauve man.
I wonder where you can get one. I know. You get green men in Gdansk, blue men in Bogota, orange men in Oporto, and mauve men in Mumbai.
Very well. Flimqualsi, you’d better buy a plane ticket to Mumbai!
2.
Her flight to Mumbai took off from London Heathrow. Flimqualsi found herself sitting next to an elderly lady wearing a light blue sari decorated with golden peacocks.
‘I’m going to meet a man in Mumbai!’ she announced.
‘My husband is waiting for me there,’ said the elderly lady, smiling. ‘This man must be a good man.’
‘He is my future husband.’
‘You are knowing,’ she said. ‘I wore this sari when I came fifty years since to meet my darling husband.’
‘My man is from Mumbai,’ said Flimqualsi.
‘My husband is from Bhopal. These days we are living in Mumbai.’
The flight passed surprisingly quickly, and the Boeing commenced a slow descent into Mumbai.
In a moment, the plane had landed, and Flimqualsi was stepping out onto the platform at the top of the staircase. She gazed at the vista in front of her. The tarmac was dusty, the sun blinding, and the scents on the breeze sublime.
‘I’m in Mumbai!’
Flimqualsi’s senses were fizzing.
Thinking of all the mauve men in the great metropolis of Mumbai who were awaiting her appearance, she made her way under the scorching sun to the terminal, and headed for the exit marked Pink.
3.
In the Arrivals Hall at Mumbai Airport, Flimqualsi was met by a sea of mauve men. There were tall ones, short ones, handsome ones, and here she caught herself. Not so handsome.
The men were meeting their charges. They were holding up placards for Blue Boys, Orange Women, and so on. Her heart surged as she saw the magical words Pink Girls. Peculiarly, she felt valued. She was a pink girl, wasn’t she? She walked towards the mauve man with the Pink Girls placard. But just as she got there, a tiny scrawny girl, who was barely pink at all, flew in front of her, and was whisked away by the handsome mauve man.
The disappointment weighed in on Flimqualsi. She fell to the floor, and her senses froze. What was she doing here? She shouldn’t have come. There was no mauve man here for her. How could there be? They didn’t know her. They didn’t know she was coming.
‘I want to go home,’ she gasped.
She knew what pink men were like. There was the outgoing Klinsmann, who had asked her out. And Savar, the dentist. And Nung, the baker, who was shy, but just the nicest person.
4.
‘Madam, poor Madam, may I be of service?’ came a voice she recognised. It was the flight attendant from the plane.
Flimqualsi clasped herself tight, intent on holding her emotions in check.
The attendant gracefully lowered herself to the floor next to Flimqualsi, who unfurled herself and collapsed into her arms. In a short while, the flight attendant ventured a suggestion.
‘Would Madam care for a cup of tea?’
Flimqualsi nodded. The attendant helped her to her feet, picked up her bag, and guided her to the Chaayos tea bar. She showed Flimqualsi to a quiet corner. ‘I will go and come, Madam.’
The flight attendant’s purchases, which included various delicacies, were displayed on an ornate bamboo tray. ‘Here is a pot of sweet tea, in the Indian way.’
‘Thank you,’ whispered Flimqualsi. She cradled the tea cup, and sipped the tea. It was hot, and she felt comforted by its vigour.
They sat together for a long time until the last of the customers had left. In all that time, the flight attendant maintained a silence, being there solely to look after Madam.
‘It was the mauve man,’ said Flimqualsi. ‘He didn’t want me. He wanted the skinny girl.’
5.
‘In India, we are blessed with many men. But each has his way. One is funny, another handsome, a third quiet as a cat.’
‘Yes,’ said Flimqualsi. ‘I know a man who is quiet and truly thoughtful.’
‘What to do, Madam?’
‘I would like to go home,’ sighed Flimqualsi.
‘Should I arrange return flight for you?’
‘Yes please. That would be so kind of you. But before you do that, may I know your name? You’ve been so attentive. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
‘My name is Tarini Rai, Madam.’
‘Thank you. Tarini, such a beautiful name!’
Tarini arranged for Madam to return home on the next available flight. At Flimqualsi’s request, she also made a discreet telephone call to the United Kingdom.
Flimqualsi was met at Heathrow Airport by the wonderful Nung, the shy baker. Never had she been more pleased to see him in her life. They were married a year later, a pink lady with her pink man.
Flimqualsi could not have been happier. She thought often of Tarini Rai, the flight attendant who had rescued her in India, and who had paved the path to the rest of her life.
Tarini.
The end.