Bhangra Babes

by Narinder Dhami

  We looked confused.

  “What is?” I asked.

  “Her father getting killed like that.” Mr. Arora hiccupped gently. “He died in a car crash about six months ago.”

  There was stunned silence for what seemed like a very long time.

  “Y-You didn't tell us that,” I stammered. My formerly good opinion of myself had suddenly plunged right down into the basement. I felt horrible. Awful.

  “That's terrible,” Jazz said, her eyes wide.

  “I wish we'd known before,” Geena whispered.

  Mr. Arora suddenly looked stricken with guilt. “I wasn't meant to tell you,” he mumbled. “Only the teachers were supposed to know.”

  “I'm sure the girls won't say anything,” Auntie broke in. “Will you, girls?”

  “Of course not,” I assured her.

  Mr. Arora gave a dismal sigh. “Kiran's mum says she's withdrawn totally since it all happened. Gone off the rails a bit. I was hoping that you three might— Well, you know what it's like… .” His voice tailed off into another hiccup.

  I consulted Geena and Jazz with a look. We needed to discuss this.

  Mr. Arora reached for his jacket. “I shouldn't have said anything,” he fretted. “I'm a terrible head of the lower school.”

  “No, you're not,” Jazz said loyally. “You're fantastic.”

  “I'll walk round to your parents' with you,” Auntie offered. “Unless you girls need me here?” She threw us a searching look.

  “We'll be fine,” I said. Once I, for one, had stopped feeling like just about the most evil person in the whole world …

  “We shouldn't beat ourselves up about this,” Geena argued as we went upstairs. “After all, we weren't to know.”

  “But we didn't make any effort to find out if Kiran was really a pain in the butt or if something was bothering her,” I replied gloomily.

  “We've only known her five minutes!” Jazz pointed out. “Well, five days, actually.”

  I slumped onto our bed. “It didn't stop us making our minds up about her straightaway, though, did it?”

  We were silent for a little while.

  “It must be awful for someone to die so unexpectedly,” Geena mused. “I mean, one minute they're there; the next, they're gone. At least with Mum, we knew it was coming for months.”

  “Is that any better?” Jazz asked.

  We sat there in silence again. Now I was thinking about Kiran and Mum, and feeling much the worse for it.

  “We'd better decide what we're going to do,” I said,

  swallowing down a hard lump in my throat. “I suppose we ought to try harder with Kiran.”

  Jazz fidgeted around on the duvet. “I don't want to seem callous and self-centered,” she muttered, “but what about Rocky?”

  “Oh, I reckon that bad feeling between him and Kiran will all blow over in a couple of days,” I said, with more hope than confidence.

  “And besides, I don't think we can get too friendly with Kiran too quickly,” said Geena thoughtfully. “She might get suspicious. And then Mr. Arora would get into trouble for telling us.”

  “So we try to get to know Kiran slowly and we keep Rocky sweet in the meantime.” I grinned. “If anyone can do that, we can.”

  Overconfident? Us?

  When Monday morning came round, we were all fired up and ready to do the best we could. But the first obstacle we had to overcome was Kim. Along with her new assertive nature, she had also developed a nose for intrigue to match that of a tabloid journalist.

  “There's Kiran,” Jazz whispered as we sat in the playground before morning lessons. “Should we go over?”

  “No, just wave and smile,” instructed Geena.

  We waved and smiled. Kim stared at us, and Kiran looked startled. She nodded ever so slightly and turned away.

  “What are you doing?” asked Kim.

  “Just saying hi to Kiran,” I said nonchalantly.

  “Come off it,” Kim replied. “What's going on?”

  “Nothing,” I said with mock amazement.

  “You've got an extremely overactive imagination, Kim,” added Geena.

  “I need to have, to keep up with you three,” Kim said rudely. “Come on. You couldn't stand Kiran last week. What's changed?”

  “All right, if you must know.” I sighed. “Mr. Arora told Auntie about Kiran, and Auntie had a go at us for not making more of an effort. So there you go.”

  Kim still looked suspicious. “Your left eyebrow's twitching.”

  “What?” I put my hand up to my face.

  “It always twitches when you're lying,” said Kim. “What's the real reason?”

  Casually I covered my eyebrow with my hand. “That's it,” I said. “Nothing more to tell.”

  “She's coming over!” Jazz hissed.

  Kiran was indeed coming toward us.

  “I found your Julius Caesar notes, Kim,” she said, handing them over. “They'd fallen down behind the book cupboard.”

  Kim looked pleased. “Thanks.”

  “How are you doing, Kiran?” I asked in what I hoped was a friendly but not overly chummy voice.

  Maybe I overdid it a bit because Kiran looked surprised. “OK.” She grinned. “Sorry about your date with lover boy on Saturday being ruined.”

  She was getting right up my nose, as usual. “You

  really do look sorry,” I snapped. “And it wasn't a date. Ow!”

  Geena and Jazz had both elbowed me discreetly in the ribs. Not that discreetly. It still hurt.

  “Don't mind her,” Jazz said. “She got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.”

  “Yeah, sorry.” I managed to force the words out. “I didn't mean to be a grouch.”

  Kiran stared at me. Next she turned her attention to Geena, then to Jazz. For the first few seconds we stood up under her intense scrutiny, then we began to wilt. We blushed. We cleared our throats, shuffled our feet and tried not to look guilty. That never works, does it? You just end up looking twice as guilty.

  Kiran sighed. “You know, don't you?”

  “Know what?” I asked lightly.

  “You know what I mean,” Kiran said tensely. “And if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you.”

  “What's going on?” asked Kim, looking confused.

  “We don't know anything,” Geena jumped in.

  “But if we did know something, we wouldn't tell anyone anyway,” said Jazz anxiously.

  Kiran shrugged. “I know you know,” she said simply. And she walked away.

  “Well, I don't know anything,” Kim wailed. “Will somebody please tell me what's going on?”

  From then on, Kiran simply refused to speak to us. She came up with various techniques to avoid us, which included getting to school late and leaving as soon as the bell rang, wearing headphones and listening to music on an MP3 player during breaks, and asking all our teachers if she could sit elsewhere in their classrooms instead of with me. She completely blanked us for the whole of that week, and we had no idea what to do next.

  Of course, we had to confess our lack of success to Mr. Arora, although we didn't tell him that Kiran had guessed we knew her secret. We thought that might be a bit much to cope with for a man who already looked as if he were under a death sentence. Auntie-ji had been throwing her weight around again—this time, Bollywood karaoke and

  fire-eaters at the reception—and Mr. Arora and Auntie weren't getting on too well again.

  We got an unexpected breathing space, though, when Kiran didn't turn up at school the following week. Someone else had started delivering our newspapers, too. It was now Thursday, and she'd been absent for the past four days. Mr. Arora had told us that Mrs. Kohli had phoned the school office to say that Kiran had flu.

  “I don't want to sound mean and selfish,” Jazz began as we met up in the playground to walk home at the end of the day.

  “It doesn't usually stop you,” I replied. “Go on, force yourself.”

  “But it's been lo
vely not having to worry about Kiran for the last few days,” Jazz went on. “It means we've had more time to get to know Rocky.”

  “Yes.” I thought dreamily back to a certain romantic moment behind the canteen. No, not that kind of romantic moment. Rocky had given me a lecture on the history of hip-hop and bhangra, and I'd stared into the fathomless depths of his chocolate-brown eyes and not listened to a word he said. “I think he likes me.”

  “Wishful thinking,” Geena scoffed. “I'm utterly certain he likes me best.”

  “And what do you base that on?” demanded Jazz.

  Geena's face took on a gooey, lovesick smile. “He gave me half his Mars bar yesterday.”

  “Ooh, start planning the wedding, then.” Jazz sniffed disparagingly. “He told me I was the prettiest.”

  “He did not!” Geena and I said together.

  “The truth always hurts,” Jazz replied smugly.

  “He's definitely playing us off against each other,” I mused as we wandered over to the gate.

  “Well, it's not surprising, is it?” Geena pointed out. “What boy wouldn't enjoy having three gorgeous girls competing for his attention?”

  “And after all, it's only a bit of fun,” said Jazz.

  We glared at each other with narrowed eyes.

  “I know that,” I replied. “I just wonder if maybe we should play it a bit cooler, that's all.”

  “There he is!” Geena cried.

  Rocky had come out of a side entrance and was heading toward the gates. “Out of my way!” commanded Jazz, dropping her bag in all the excitement.

  Of course, we ignored her. Geena and I hurried after him, leaving Jazz to pick up her spilled possessions. But we were too far away to catch him. Rocky swung open the door of a sleek silver Mercedes waiting at the curb and climbed in. As we watched, with disappointed faces, the electric window slid down, and Rocky waved as the car purred away.

  “That guy's got a big head,” muttered a familiar voice beside me.

  “Explain yourself, George,” I said coldly. “Do you mean that Rocky's head is literally of a larger-than-average size, or are you implying that he thinks too much of himself?”

  “He thinks too much of himself,” George said in a belligerent tone. “And I'm not implying it. I'm stating it.”

  He turned and walked off, leaving me with several witty put-downs teetering on the tip of my tongue.

  “Poor Georgie,” said Geena. “A touch of the green-eyed monster, I think.”

  “He can't talk about big heads,” I muttered. “The way he's been chatting up girls here, there and everywhere.”

  Geena sighed. “Amber, don't you know anything about love? He's doing it to make you jealous.”

  “It's working, then,” Jazz sniggered.

  “Don't be ridiculous,” I said tartly, stomping out of the playground. Geena and Jazz followed me, whispering and giggling like two five-year-olds.

  Things did not improve in any way when we arrived home. No sooner had we set foot in the front door than, one by one, we were grabbed and pulverized in a crushing embrace.

  “Hello, girls!” Auntie-ji cried joyfully as my head disappeared into her large bosom. “I thought you were never coming home!”

  “So did I,” said Auntie grimly. She looked as if she'd gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer and been battered to a pulp.

  “Well, now, this is my plan.” Mr. Arora's auntie plumped down on the sofa, pulling Jazz with her. “We've got a couple of hours before the shops close. How about we go out and look for your wedding outfits?”

  The three of us turned and looked anxiously at Auntie. She'd promised to take us shopping for clothes on Saturday and round things off with a fancy

  meal at a posh restaurant. We were so looking forward to it. We waited for her to tell Auntie-ji exactly this.

  “Well, actually—” Auntie began.

  “Oh, come on, we've got time.” Mr. Arora's auntie looked eagerly at us. “It'll be fun.”

  We stared hard at our auntie. She was never slow to make her feelings known—oh, no—but this time she couldn't seem to get the words out. I could understand why. Auntie-ji's face reminded me of a puppy with big brown eyes, pleading to be taken for a walk.

  “I suppose we could just go and have a quick look,” Auntie agreed weakly.

  “Splendid!” Auntie-ji bounced to her feet. “We'll go right away.” And she began dragging Jazz over to the door.

  “We need to change—” Jazz began, trying to pull herself in the opposite direction. She didn't stand a chance.

  “No time!” Auntie-ji roared, flinging the front door open. “Let's get going.”

  “But we can't go to the Broadway in our school uniforms!” Geena said, aghast. “It's embarrassing.”

  “Nonsense,” Auntie-ji called over her shoulder. She and Jazz were already halfway down the garden path. “You're very smart.”

  Looking unusually flustered, Auntie hustled Geena and me out of the house after them.

  “Well, this is a treat,” I said sulkily. “What about Saturday?”

  “I feel sorry for her,” Auntie said defensively. “We

  don't have to buy anything now. We can still go shopping on Saturday.”

  “I know she's lonely,” remarked Geena, “but maybe if she was a bit less irritating, she wouldn't be.”

  “I promised Jai I'd make an effort to get on with her,” Auntie snapped. “I'd be obliged if you three could do the same.”

  She forced a smile as Auntie-ji turned and bellowed in a foghorn voice, “We'll go to Sameera's first. They have lovely styles there.”

  Auntie's smile rapidly disappeared. “Don't you think they're a little old-fashioned?” she asked.

  “Not at all.” Auntie-ji laughed uproariously. She marched on, still holding Jazz by the hand, knocking everyone on the Broadway out of their path.

  Sameera's was where the local old grannies went to buy their clothes. Auntie-ji burst in, greeting everyone in the shop by name and inquiring about their most distant relatives. Auntie stood looking depressed and staring at the racks of dull, dowdy suits and saris. Meanwhile, Geena, Jazz and I skulked out of sight behind a rail of clothes. If any of our friends or relatives saw us in this shop, we'd never live it down.

  “My hand's gone numb,” Jazz moaned, shaking it limply.

  “Bring out the wedding saris,” Auntie boomed, slapping the tiny shop owner, Sameera, on the back and almost sending her flying. “The best ones you have!”

  Unfortunately, she then spotted us lurking in the

  corner. “Come on, girls. Start looking through the racks. I'll help you choose in a minute.”

  We began to search halfheartedly through the hangers.

  “I'm not wearing any of this,” Geena said through her teeth. “I'd rather wear a sack.”

  “I think you can actually buy that here,” I remarked, whisking a brown, baggy salwar kameez off the rail nearest the window and handing it to Geena. As I did so, I saw someone I recognized going into Jaffa's sweet shop across the road.

  It was Kiran. And to be honest, she didn't look ill at all. She looked remarkably healthy.

  “Follow me,” I said to Geena and Jazz.

  Leaving the two aunties looking at wedding saris, we slipped out of the shop.

  “Great idea,” said Geena. “But what happens when Auntie-ji notices we've escaped?”

  “We'll only be a couple of minutes,” I said. “I just want to find out what Kiran's up to.”

  “We know what she's up to.” Jazz looked puzzled. “She's at home with the flu.”

  “That's what she wants us to think,” I replied. “But I've just seen her going into Jaffa's.”

  “And did she look all pale and wan?” asked Geena.

  “Not at all,” I said. “So I suspect she's been playing truant.”

  As we reached the other side of the road, Kiran came out of the shop with a carrier bag of barfi and samosas. Her face flushed when she caught sight of us, and
she looked very guilty indeed.

  “So, how are you feeling, Kiran?” I inquired pointedly. “Mr. Arora told us your mum phoned the school and said you had flu.”

  “I'm much better,” she mumbled, not meeting our eyes.

  “So you'll be coming to school tomorrow, then?” Geena asked sternly.

  “Is that any of your business?” retorted Kiran, rallying a bit.

  “If you're playing truant, then yes, it is,” said Geena, quite pompously. “Because even though it might seem like a good idea right now, it'll only end in tears, and you'll be the one in trouble.”

  Kiran looked mightily annoyed at this, so I jumped in to smooth things over.

  “What Geena means is that there's a better way to work this out,” I said. “I know it must be difficult having to move house and change schools after… what happened, but things will improve. You just have to try.”

  Unfortunately, Kiran seemed even more annoyed.

  “Oh, so you're sure of that, are you?” she sneered.

  “Yes, we are,” said Jazz. “Our mum died eighteen months ago, you know.”

  Kiran was transfixed. She stared at us as people ebbed and flowed around us along the Broadway. “I didn't realize,” she said at last.

  “We had a bad time,” I replied quietly, “so we do know how you feel. You think it's not fair, and you think that you're the only person this has ever happened to.”

  “And you get angry,” Geena added, “even if you try not to show it.”

  “But then things do start to get better,” Jazz went on. “Auntie came to live with us, and helped us to see that you can talk about the person and remember all the good things, and not just the really bad thing that happened at the end.”

  Kiran's lower lip trembled. She opened her mouth to speak.

  “Girls!” Auntie-ji bellowed across the road. She was hanging out of Sameera's door, waving at us. “What are you doing over there? I want you to come and look at some outfits.”

  “Sorry, we've got to go,” I told Kiran. “Auntie-ji is quite capable of coming over here and carrying us off by force.”

  Kiran's eyes opened wide. “That's your auntie?”

  “Thankfully, no,” I replied. “See you at school tomorrow?”

  But Kiran seemed to have closed in on herself again. She shrugged and hurried away.