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| title: One Night in Bangkok date: december 05, 2002 Pavarti could play exactly two-a-half bars of the show tune One Night in Bangkok on the piano. This was when the Patil twins were six years old, and the piano was a toy one and was the length and breadth of a saucepan; but it was still One Night in Bangkok, instantly recognizable, and Pavarti was immediately given five years of piano lessons on account of her genius. Padma remained resolutely talentless, except she was the one who taught Pavarti how to play One Night in Bangkok in the first place. Their mother was Thai and their father Indian; what resulted was the suspicion that their mother was a Pattaya prostitute and their father a philandering seaman from an English sea-liner. When the twins received the acceptance letters from Hogwarts, their mother clasped her rusty jade necklace and let loose a stream of Thai obscenities. “It might be a good idea, though,” said Mr. Patil thoughtfully. He had been laid off and was enjoying his life on the god-blessed English dole, and was not about to give up his free money for a bunch of girls’ education. “Financial assistance,” said Mrs. Patil, who had put the letter on a chopping block. “We have none of this, what, voodoo money. Will they give us some?” Chilli juice slowly seeped through the letter. Padma snatched it up. She could hear her twin practicing G-Major scales on the piano. “We’d like to go. I mean, we would. I think they will give us money, we don’t have enough, right?” They received the money in their letterbox half an hour after Padma uttered the sentence. Mr. Patil took the Galleons and melted it down in their bathroom. More came, and he repeated the entire process until a bagful of Galleons that repelled his touch arrived. On the day of their leaving, the twins’ mother saw them off in full mourning attire and streaming eyes and nose. “However will Parvarti practice her piano?” she sniffed into her tiger-spot scarf. “Will the devil school even have television?” Padma, who had never cared much for television, wrapped her arms around herself and watched her breath steam up in the air. Parvarti allowed herself to be hugged and sobbed over, even though she really loathed piano, especially scales. When Parvarti was being Sorted, Padma sat at the Ravenclaw table and listened to some other witches discuss Plato as compared to Aristotle, and whether being a Muggle philosopher made you half-magical. Parvarti got into Gryffindor, of course, and although Padma didn’t really know how students were Sorted, she had a vague idea it had something to do with your intelligence and the way you looked. There was nobody genuinely ugly in Gryffindor and all the older girls were talking about shopping, whereas she had already counted fifteen cases of acne in Ravenclaw and the older girls were either talking about the ethical ramifications of Transfiguration on living organisms or about killing themselves. Padma could have been said to be the more ugly one of the Patil twins, because of a scar she had on her chin that made her look as if she had a cleft there, like a man. She had been dropped against a table when she was two, and she could have sworn her mother did it on purpose to try and differentiate the twins. For around four years, Padma observed the effect her twin had on boys and girls who looked like boys; they sat up and noticed. Padma had done this herself, but maybe this was because Parvarti looked like a more stylish version of herself. She found out that Ravenclaws were supposed to be the smartest of all Hogwarts House students, but she didn’t feel that smart sometimes. On the day of the Founders’ Ball, she found herself dancing with some Ravenclaw boy, and then somewhere along the line Parvarti stepped on her foot and attached herself to her twin, sniffing. “What happened?” asked Padma, wriggling her toes to get rid of the numbness. “Stupid Harry Potter just went off to do I don’t know what and just left me on the dance floor that git!” she wailed. “Maybe he had something to do with Ron,” Padma shouted over the Weird Sisters’ music. “I can’t hear you?” Parvarti yelled back. “Can’t you just move?” somebody bellowed at them. Padma swayed away with her twin. “I don’t know, maybe he went to snog Ron in the Rose Garden!” shrieked Padma over the noise. “What? Oh my god!” said Parvarti, and burst out giggling. “You were always the smart one!” Padma snickered. “Like you were always the talented one?” “Oh my god! You remember the piano thing?” “One Night in Bangkok? After all the fuss Mum made, you think I forgot?” “You were the one who made me sit through like six years of piano lessons from Mr. Muthu, you bitch!” Parvarti said. “But Mr. Muthu made marvellous curry as well!” “That’s because he was the curry man from down the street, Padma!” “Say Mr. Muthu makes marvellous curry three times fast!” Padma shouted over the new song, Hex The Moonlight. “What? I can’t hear you?” Parvarti grinned. “Chicken! I thought you were the brave one!” Padma began to say, but was cut short by Parvarti, who gingerly put her head on Padma’s shoulder as if it were going to explode. “I wish I were taller,” said Parvarti into the shoulder of Padma’s thin dress robes. “I wish I were smarter,” whispered Padma, putting her arms around the small waist of her twin. |
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