The Penang Society of AngloPhilic Atheists Chp.1 - God Bless The Queen
It was a warm sunny Tuesday when my mother decided we should fly the Union Jack in public. And by public, she meant in front of our otherwise inconspicuous suburban house in Penang. Lucky was made to grab the rusty ladder we had in the backyard and climb it to fix the crisp, orange-y smelling flag above the house. Preparing for social stigma was something all the children in my family had learnt from a young age. Why even the dogs didn't bark when they saw people coming. Instead, they hid their faces in the failed apple garden.
"Now, children," she declared imperiously, "we will do our fortnightly assembly on Friday. Mr and Mrs Mukherjee will be there, and so will their children. I expect you to be on your best behaviour."
Mama stood on the gardening bench to make up for her lack of height, and squinted uncomfortably at us four children sitting on the verandah, for the Stupid Sun which was Not British At All was shining in her eyes. Papa nodded his head in agreement, muttering to himself, "Yes, yes, must make a good impression. First time we'll be hosting it in our house." My father did not twiddle his moustache like normal fathers did when they were thinking. Instead he was pinching his broad, beaky nose, so that afterwards it would look more refined but only succeeded in making him look like a very middle-aged Ranjit the Red-Nose Reindeer.
"You are dismissed, children! And God Bless The Queen!" they exclaimed in unison, clapping their hands together for added unnecessary and embarrassingly theatrical effect. Perhaps they were trying to imitate The Sound of Music but unfortunately for them, we certainly couldn't be the Von Trapp children. Simy's voice was horrendous, Lucky had a perpetual sore throat from his sinuses, Harvey generally didn't open his mouth except to say 'Pass the salt, please-and-thank-you' and I, Sandy, was just always at my best friend Ping Pong's house with her very normal temple going family.
I winced and nudged Simy with my foot.
"Simy?" I asked, expecting no response because she was at present reading "The Fabric of The Cosmos" whilst trying to simultaneously fix her broken glasses which Harvey had accidentally sat on.
"MmmmFm?"
"Do you think, I don't know, that our family is a little bit... WEIRD?"
She paused in her scientific fiddlings and thought, her chin length hair a brown aureole of frizz around her head.
"Nope."
I sighed exasperated. Was I the only normal one in this house? The only one who thought differently? Actually, was I the only one who didn't think?
Everyone in our household was remarkably, horrifically, scientifically intelligent. Mama was a physicist who wrote long, published studies on fizzy atoms and hydrogen, Papa was a biomedical researcher who was fascinated by the human Genome, Lucky was a Mathematical Pro-di-gy, Simy was supposed to win a scholarship to MIT to study Engineering and Harvey could program when he was seven. Jia, the domestic helper, was writing her master's thesis on the future of the economy of ASEAN. Only I it was who remained wonderfully, blissfully unremarkable and to my parents' horror, with a proclivity towards the Arts. My mother once remarked to Mrs. Mukherjee, that she was a little disappointed that 'Sandy has shown a disposition to theology and even WORSE, a belief in A Higher Power!'
To which of course, Mrs. Mukherjee replied, "God Bless the Queen" and recommended Larry Krauss' lectures on disproving G-d.
As I lay down on the sun-scorched patio, while my siblings worked on their fantastical projects, totally approving of our family's adoration of Pax Britainnia and the Rejection of Religion, and high-brow reading, and my parents argued over the semantics of the last paragraph of Das Kapital, I wondered how funny it was that out of all of us, only I actually meant it when I said, "God Bless the Queen."
"Now, children," she declared imperiously, "we will do our fortnightly assembly on Friday. Mr and Mrs Mukherjee will be there, and so will their children. I expect you to be on your best behaviour."
Mama stood on the gardening bench to make up for her lack of height, and squinted uncomfortably at us four children sitting on the verandah, for the Stupid Sun which was Not British At All was shining in her eyes. Papa nodded his head in agreement, muttering to himself, "Yes, yes, must make a good impression. First time we'll be hosting it in our house." My father did not twiddle his moustache like normal fathers did when they were thinking. Instead he was pinching his broad, beaky nose, so that afterwards it would look more refined but only succeeded in making him look like a very middle-aged Ranjit the Red-Nose Reindeer.
"You are dismissed, children! And God Bless The Queen!" they exclaimed in unison, clapping their hands together for added unnecessary and embarrassingly theatrical effect. Perhaps they were trying to imitate The Sound of Music but unfortunately for them, we certainly couldn't be the Von Trapp children. Simy's voice was horrendous, Lucky had a perpetual sore throat from his sinuses, Harvey generally didn't open his mouth except to say 'Pass the salt, please-and-thank-you' and I, Sandy, was just always at my best friend Ping Pong's house with her very normal temple going family.
I winced and nudged Simy with my foot.
"Simy?" I asked, expecting no response because she was at present reading "The Fabric of The Cosmos" whilst trying to simultaneously fix her broken glasses which Harvey had accidentally sat on.
"MmmmFm?"
"Do you think, I don't know, that our family is a little bit... WEIRD?"
She paused in her scientific fiddlings and thought, her chin length hair a brown aureole of frizz around her head.
"Nope."
I sighed exasperated. Was I the only normal one in this house? The only one who thought differently? Actually, was I the only one who didn't think?
Everyone in our household was remarkably, horrifically, scientifically intelligent. Mama was a physicist who wrote long, published studies on fizzy atoms and hydrogen, Papa was a biomedical researcher who was fascinated by the human Genome, Lucky was a Mathematical Pro-di-gy, Simy was supposed to win a scholarship to MIT to study Engineering and Harvey could program when he was seven. Jia, the domestic helper, was writing her master's thesis on the future of the economy of ASEAN. Only I it was who remained wonderfully, blissfully unremarkable and to my parents' horror, with a proclivity towards the Arts. My mother once remarked to Mrs. Mukherjee, that she was a little disappointed that 'Sandy has shown a disposition to theology and even WORSE, a belief in A Higher Power!'
To which of course, Mrs. Mukherjee replied, "God Bless the Queen" and recommended Larry Krauss' lectures on disproving G-d.
As I lay down on the sun-scorched patio, while my siblings worked on their fantastical projects, totally approving of our family's adoration of Pax Britainnia and the Rejection of Religion, and high-brow reading, and my parents argued over the semantics of the last paragraph of Das Kapital, I wondered how funny it was that out of all of us, only I actually meant it when I said, "God Bless the Queen."
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