by Barnard, Jo
“I think you are very beautiful in this, Jude. Please, allow me to buy this for you as a gift from Prakash and me.” Leaving me no time to argue, or even respond, she paid the man, and before I knew it, we were heading deeper into the bazaar.
I bought some gorgeous silk cushions and a throw for our bed, and couldn’t wait to surprise Matt with our new-look bedroom when he got home from work.
Meeta headed for the food stalls. “I must buy some vegetables for tonight.”
“And I need to stock up our bare fridge, Meeta. The ingredients all look so wonderful and enchanting. Trouble is, I wouldn’t have a clue what to do with most of them!”
Meeta smiled. “If you want to learn how to cook good Punjabi food, I introduce you to Gulab. She is a nice old lady who lives near you. Very good cook. Loves to share her knowledge. And her English is good enough that you will understand.”
“That would be amazing. I’d really love that. Matt loves his food, and I love to cook for him. Thank you, Meeta.”
“You’re very welcome. I will call her later. She will be pleased. Now, let’s get you some good tea, some bread, some fruit, some basmati, some nice pickles, and of course, some Chai Masala cake. Are you vegetarian?”
“No,” I replied, wondering if I should be.
“We also get you some spiced chicken and some mutton then.”
“Sounds great. That should keep us going.” I smiled, feeling so relieved that this lovely lady was here with me, almost holding my hand. “You really are an angel.”
“You’re very welcome. It is nice for me too. Now, let me introduce you to the Punjabi street food. It is very delicious indeed, but stay away from that man’s food over there, or you will get what you say is Delhi belly!” She chuckled.
“How come your English is so good?”
“I studied it at university. I wanted to get a job in the tourism industry, but when we married, we decided it’s best that I stay at home.” Meeta ordered three parathas, stuffed with spiced potatoes. “One each for us, and one for Matt tonight,” she explained. “You can heat it up later for him.”
We sat on a bench and enjoyed our lunch. The air was pleasantly warm, with a very light dry breeze. “All this lovely food is making me tired. Must be the jet lag kicking in.”
“I take you home now, Jude. I need to prepare dinner for Prakash anyway, and I don’t want him thinking I am just shopping all day,” she winked. “I call Gulab later and let you know what she says.”
We strolled back through the streets, Meeta helping me carry my heavy load, until we reached the familiar gates to my apartment. “However can I thank you?” I asked. “As soon as Gulab has worked her magic on me, I will cook for you and Prakash, I promise.”
“That sounds very nice, Jude. I will look forward to it very much.” Meeta smiled and waved as she trotted off to catch her bus home, her glossy black ponytail bouncing along behind her.
* * *
Hearing Matt’s key turn in the door that evening, I stood in the hallway, wearing my new Punjabi outfit. I felt like a princess with all of the gold embroidery that edged my silk tunic. Matt dropped his case. “Wow! You look stunning, darling. Have you…”
I placed my finger over his lips. “I have a couple of things to show you but I’m not sure which to show you first. You can turn left into the kitchen where you will find stuffed parathas and fried chicken, or you can turn right to check out the new bedclothes I bought today at the bazaar.”
“Suddenly, I don’t feel all that hungry,” Matt said, smiling. “Maybe the chicken can wait.” He scooped me up and kicked open the bedroom door. “Let’s have a look at these bedclothes then. And let me just make sure that it’s still my Jude under all these fancy clothes.” He unzipped my tunic. “Well, this gorgeous lady certainly looks like you. Let’s see if she tastes like you, seeing as my appetite appears to be returning…”
When we finally emerged from the bedroom, Matt noticed a note lying on the doormat, addressed to me. It was a note from Meeta. I reddened at the possibility that we’d been too busy to hear her, or even worse, that she had heard our busyness, and I decided I’d better slip my robe around me, just in case.
Dear Jude,
I called Gulab and she is very happy to show you her cooking. Tomorrow she is making the atta for chapattis and parathas. If you want to go, she will see you at 10am.
Walk out of your street, turn left on to the main road and she is only a few houses down. Number 303. If you make her a donation, she will give you some atta to take home.
I see you soon. Good sleep.
Meeta
What a sweetie she was.
“This bread is delicious, darling.”
“Hopefully I’ll be able to make it for you myself soon, babe,” I said, massaging his shoulders. “Meeta has arranged some cookery lessons for me. There’s a lady nearby who seems happy to teach me what to do with all the local ingredients and wonderful spices.”
Putting his plate down, Matt took my hands and twisted me round so I was facing him, sliding his hands into my robe. “Stunningly gorgeous, great in bed, and a good cook, eh? I must be the luckiest man alive.”
“You say all the right things, darling. Anyway, how was your day? Are the people nice?”
“It was good thanks. Well, up until I got home it was good, and then my day got even better.” He kissed me, pulling me close. “In a nutshell, it was great and I felt very welcome. But right now I feel ever so tired, so how about we have an early night, and save the talking till tomorrow? I seem to remember liking those new bedclothes you bought.”
Chapter Four
It was no use. Sleep wasn’t happening, so I dragged myself up from my lonely bed and threw my dress into the washing basket. I carefully removed my thick tights, cautiously peeling them away from the sore, throbbing and weepy scab that lay hidden beneath. I stepped into the shower, hoping to find some comfort in my favourite rose-scented wash. There was something wonderful about the smell of rose that somehow soothed my soul, albeit temporarily.
I dressed my ankle with a piece of gauze and opted for some full-length leggings to mask the wound. With no appetite for breakfast, I took extra time to somehow disguise how rough I felt, applying plenty of cooling eye gel and extra blusher on the apples of my cheeks. With any luck, my customers wouldn’t suspect a thing today, and maybe Saffie would still be at home with Sol.
But then again, perhaps not. “Blimey, Jude, are you ok? You look dreadful!”
“Hi, Saff. Bad night. Same old, same old. Just can’t seem to move forward. It’s like I’m caught in Matt’s web and there’s no way out. Anyway, enough about that; I’m sick to the back teeth of it all. How’s Sol?” I flicked the kettle on in the back room of the shop and tipped several teaspoons-worth of coffee into my mug, hoping it would somehow inject some life into me.
“He’s on the mend thanks, Jude. Gone back into school today. I’ve said he can come home for lunch though, so I’ll be out for a while later.” She turned to me, concern etched across her face. “What are we going to do with you, my love? You can’t go on feeling like this. What you need is a reading to give you some clarity and direction; something positive to focus on. I used to know a lady who was very good, but she moved away.”
“I’ll take any help I can get, Saff. I just need an end to this torture. I so want to move on, but I haven’t a clue how. I hate to admit it, and I know I’m an idiot, but I still love him.” I held up the coffee and tea canisters.
“That selfish bastard doesn’t deserve your love, Jude. God forbid, if I ever saw him, I’d swing for him. I’ll have a coffee too please, darling.”
We sipped our coffees, deep in thought, almost forgetting to turn the shop sign to OPEN! The morning looked to be pretty uneventful, so rather than run the risk of nodding off at the counter, I decided to go out the back and keep busy with a stock check. That way, I couldn’t scare any customers away with my ghostly appearance; Halloween had already been and gone after all.<
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“I’m off now, Jude, my love. I’ll see you later.”
I poked my head out to reply, but Saffie was already out of earshot, and I noticed that a woman had walked in through the door. She looked interesting; her thick hair piled up high with a sharp fringe that framed her piercingly icy eyes, heavy with black liner. A gap in her long velvet coat revealed a host of silver necklaces of differing lengths, each supporting magical charms; a pentacle, crystal pendants and a fairy. They clinked and clattered with every movement, becoming louder as she approached.
“Hello, dear. I wonder if you’d be kind enough to display some business cards for me? I work locally from home as a psychic medium and I really love helping people to move forward with their lives. I thought your shop looked like the right sort of place to advertise. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind putting one of these posters in your window, I’d be very happy to give you a free reading in exchange.”
She held out a bundle of cards and I noticed that her name was Rose. Then I noticed that my mouth was hanging open in disbelief, and wondered what Rose must have thought of me. Somewhat curious and flabbergasted by the timing of this happening, and swiftly closing my mouth again, I gratefully accepted her offer and arranged to visit her home on Friday evening.
Was it my imagination, or had a lady named after my favourite flower that soothed my soul, just agreed to help shine some light on my dark and dismal situation?
With a secret hope in my heart and growing excitement in my belly, I pinned Rose’s poster in the window. Friday, which was only two days away, couldn’t come soon enough. Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all, and I eagerly anticipated Saffie’s return so I could tell her all about my bizarre encounter. I hadn’t felt this excited and nervous since our adventures in Punjab.
* * *
I went to knock at the door of no. 303, but it was already open, so I poked my head tentatively round, to find a jolly round face looking back at me. “Come in, come in!”
“Oh, hello, and thank you. I’m Jude. Are you Gulab?”
“Yes, yes, come in. We make atta. I show you.” Her apron was covered in flour, and she offered me a stool at the worktop. “First I show you atta. Then we have chai.” She smiled warmly.
“I brought some paper and a pen with me. I hope you don’t mind if I make notes as we go along?”
“Ok, no problem. So, first we take two cups of flour in bowl, then we put half spoon salt and mixing together. Now we put four spoons oil and mixing all together. Next we put this much warm water in bowl and mixing it all up. And put more warm water and mixing, and more water and mixing and when its good like this, no more water. Good atta. Now we knead atta. Keep like this, kneading. Kneading, kneading, kneading. Punjabi ladies strong arms! Now, when good atta like this, we leave it and make chai! You are English, you like chai yes?”
“Oh, yes please. I’d love a cup of tea.” We sipped our tea together while the dough was left to stand. “Thank you so much for showing me your wonderful cooking, Gulab. I can’t wait to make your food for my husband.”
“You come again next week?’ she asked. “We make Dal Makhani. Very good.”
“If that’s ok with you, then I’d love to.”
“Good. I tell you what you need. You take this to bazaar and you bring here next time.” She handed me a list of ingredients, none of which I could understand.
“Ok, atta is ready now, so we make the balls for the golf like this and dip them in flour. Now we roll like this and make oil very hot in pan. Now we fry like this, turning, turning, turning. Then we have good chapatti. If you don’t wanting all the atta, you can put in here or here,” she explained, pointing to the fridge and the freezer.
“Now we have chapatti, we can eat like this for the breakfast.” Gulab rolled her chapatti and dipped it in her tea. “Or we can make it with good things inside. Vegetables, spices. I show you.” She proceeded to demonstrate the making of stuffed parathas with cauliflower and also with potatoes. I watched carefully, noting everything down and admiring this lady’s passionate work of art.
For several weeks through the Punjabi summer, I visited Gulab, collecting the correct ingredients early from the market on the way to her, before it got too hot. She always seemed so pleased to share her skills with me. Despite the intense heat, we enjoyed each other’s company, and by the time June came, I had mastered Mutton Biryani, Tandoori Chicken, Dal Makhani, Poori bread, Chai Masala cake, and several variations of Lassi, a yoghurt-based drink which was great for breakfast.
It didn’t take me long to settle into our Punjabi life. I quickly learnt from Meeta and other local Indian ladies about their amazing beauty routines, and spent an hour each day, nourishing, pampering and preening myself to please my man.
“Always make the last rinse with vinegar.” One lady told me, looking at my hair. “And you must rub lemon juice over your hands before washing them to keep them young.” I took all of these tips on board.
So most mornings I would head to the bazaars, collecting silks, cushions and ornaments for the home, and fresh ingredients for our evening meal. Life was good, and Matt and I were happy. Still in love, and still excited by each other.
And every Friday, I would go along to the Punjabi University of Patiala; an imposing white building that looked like a giant stormtrooper, and attend a kundalini yoga class with Meeta. She was such a kind soul. Always at the end of the phone when I needed her; a truly precious friend.
But it was the early hours of one Saturday morning, when we received a call from my big sister Deb, that would change things forever.
Matt passed me the phone. “Hello? Deb? Are you ok?” I hadn’t heard from her in months.
“Jude, it’s Dad. He’s not good. He’s been struggling for breath the last couple of weeks. We thought it was an allergy or something, but things got really bad last night and we had to call for an ambulance.” Her voice was strained. “He’s having to wear an oxygen mask to breathe.”
I sat bolt upright, feeling fully awake. “What’s wrong with him, Deb? Is he going to be ok?”
“They’ve run lots of tests today and his consultant’s pretty sure it’s a lung disease. If he’s right, then he won’t recover.”
“What?”
“He’s asked to see you, Jude. He’s stable at the moment, but he needs you with him.”
Without too much thought, I told Deb that I would get to her as soon as I could. I just had to be there for my beloved Dad, and neither hell nor high water could have stopped me. The thought of him suffering churned my insides. How dreadful not to be able to breathe. When I tried to contemplate his life on earth being over, my head felt as though it would explode. It just didn’t bear thinking about, so I tried to put this to the back of my mind as I planned my journey home and booked my flights.
Matt seemed pretty quiet. He only had two months left out here, so we agreed that he would stay until the end of his contract before returning home. The thought of us being apart for that long filled me with dread – not being able to look after him or make a fuss. But I had no choice. This might be the last chance I got to see my Dad. Even still, I could tell he wasn’t happy to be left alone. So when he took his shower that evening, I wrote a little poem to remind Matt of how much I loved him.
Still a little dazed at the day’s news, I took a long, hot shower, and we shared what was to be our last meal together in India. Our lovemaking was deeply passionate that night, and as we lay there, our bodies entwined, we promised each other that we’d start trying for a family on Matt’s return. The thought of this filled me with hope, and gave us both something special to hang on to.
The following morning, our parting was painful and intense. I could tell that Matt didn’t want me to go, but despite his reluctance, I jumped on the first flight out of Punjab, and embarked upon what seemed like the longest journey in history, back to Dad’s house in Scotland. I hadn’t a clue how long I’d be staying there, but I hoped it would be for long enough to say all the things I wa
nted to say to my dear dad.
Chapter Five
“What are you still doing here, Judith?” Saffie asked, her hands resting mockingly on her hips. “I thought you were leaving early today. You haven’t forgotten about your reading tonight have you?”
“To be honest, Saff, it’s the only thing that’s kept me going since Wednesday. I’ll be off then, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“Mind? You’ve done me enough favours lately, Jude. I hope you get whatever you need from it, my love. Ask her if she’s got a magic smile potion for you will you? And save me a drop if she has.” She winked. “Let me know how you get on!”
“Will do! See you tomorrow, Saff.” We hugged and I headed off home.
I’d felt lifted by Rose’s kind offer of a reading, but was now feeling incredibly nervous. I’d enjoyed a palm reading from a woman in a Punjabi market once, which was more for fun, but I’d never sought out a psychic to help me with my life difficulties. What would she say, I wondered? What could she tell? Would she be able to explain how I went from being totally happy to losing it all and ending up in this dark and painful place?
I made myself a cuppa, and plonked my weary bones down on the sofa for a quick rest before I headed out to Rose’s place. Above all else, I hoped this reading would bring me closer to Dad. That way I wouldn’t feel quite so alone. I thought back to my return from India to Scotland…
* * *
In spite of my exhaustion from the long flight, I was unable to rest, and spent the next few hours busying myself on nervous energy, texting Matt to let him know I was safe, and buying a card and a few groceries to lift Dad’s spirits.
I arrived promptly that evening for visiting time, and the clinical smell of the hospital churned my already-anxious stomach as I followed the signs to Dad’s ward. Fortunately, his bed was the first one I came to, and the whole of me felt this overwhelming sense of relief when I saw his face again. I kissed his head and held his hand, determined not to show him any of my anguish. The last thing he needed was to worry about my upsets.