Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows

by Balli Kaur Jaswal

  The smell of dal and sweet jalebis mixed in the air with the clatter of utensils and voices. She took her tray through the line and was served roti, rice, dal and yoghurt. Finding an open space on the floor near a row of older women, Nikki recalled being about thirteen and attending prayers with her parents at the smaller Enfield gurdwara. She had needed something from the car and approached Dad – who was sitting with some men – to ask for the keys. People had turned and stared as she crossed the invisible divide that segregated the sexes even though there were no such rules in the langar hall. What did Mindi see in this world that she didn’t? All of the women seemed to end up the same – weary and shuffling their feet. Nikki watched as they trailed into the hall, adjusting their scarves, pausing every few moments to give an obligatory greeting to another community member. The group of ladies sitting next to her chattered away about each woman who walked in. They knew entire histories:

  ‘Chacko’s wife – she’s just had an operation, poor thing. She won’t be walking for a while. Her eldest son is taking care of her. You know the one I mean? She has two sons. This is the one who bought the electronics shop from his uncle. Doing very well. I saw him pushing her around the park in a wheelchair the other day.’

  ‘That woman over there is Nishu’s youngest sister isn’t it? They all have that same high forehead. I heard they had a terrible case of flooding in their house last year. They had to re-carpet the place and throw out a lot of furniture. Such a waste! They’d bought a new lounge set only six weeks before.’

  ‘Is that Dalvinder? I thought she was in Bristol visiting her cousin.’

  Nikki’s eyes followed each woman as the commentary ran. She could barely keep up with this rapid stream of information and details. Then a woman that she recognized strode into the hall. Kulwinder. She noticed a drawing of breath from the little group next to her and their voices lowered to a hush.

  ‘Look at that one, marching in here like she’s a big boss. She’s been so stuck-up lately,’ said a middle-aged woman whose stiff green dupatta was pulled so low that it nearly concealed her face.

  ‘Lately? She’s always been Miss High and Mighty. I don’t know what gives her the right to be like that now.’

  It didn’t surprise Nikki that they didn’t like Kulwinder. She listened closely.

  ‘Oh, don’t,’ a wrinkly older woman said. She pushed her wire-rimmed frames further up the bridge of her nose. ‘She’s had a rough time. We should be sympathetic.’

  ‘I tried that approach but she didn’t want my sympathy. She was downright rude to me,’ said Green Dupatta.

  ‘Buppy Kaur went through the same problems, but at least she still acknowledges us when we say “We’re sorry for your loss”. Kulwinder’s different. I saw her walking around the neighbourhood the other day. I waved at her and she just looked in the other direction and kept walking. How am I supposed to be kind to somebody like that?’

  ‘Buppy Kaur’s problems were similar, not the same,’ the woman with the glasses said. ‘Her daughter ran away with that boy from Trinidad. She’s still living; Kulwinder’s girl is dead.’

  Nikki looked up in surprise. The women noticed her abrupt movement but they kept on talking.

  ‘Death is death,’ somebody else agreed. ‘It’s far worse.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Green Dupatta scoffed. ‘Death is better than life if a girl doesn’t have her honour. Sometimes the younger generation needs this reminder.’

  Somehow, Nikki felt that these words were directed at her. She looked up at the woman who said it and met an even, challenging gaze. The other women murmured their acknowledgement. Nikki found her food harder to swallow. She took a gulp of water and kept her head down.

  The woman with the wire-rimmed glasses made eye contact with Nikki. ‘Hai, they’re not all terrible. There are plenty of respectable girls in Southall. It depends on how they’re raised, doesn’t it?’ she said. She gave Nikki an almost imperceptible nod.

  ‘This generation is selfish. If Maya had just considered what she was doing to her family, none of this would have happened,’ Green Dupatta continued. ‘And don’t forget about the damage she did to Tarampal’s property as well. She could have destroyed the whole place.’

  The other women looked uncomfortable now. Like Nikki, they lowered their heads and focused on their dinners. In the sudden silence, Nikki could hear her own heart beating faster. Tarampal? Nikki wondered if they were referring to the same Tarampal from her writing classes. Nikki silently urged Green Dupatta to say more but without an attentive audience, she grew quiet as well.

  Entering the community centre building afterwards, Nikki was lost in thought. The woman in the langar hall had appeared so certain when she spoke of death and honour. Nikki couldn’t imagine any offspring of Kulwinder’s getting caught up in some act of dangerous resistance as the women had implied. Then again, Kulwinder was so unyielding that perhaps her daughter had rebelled.

  Laughter rang down the corridor, breaking her thoughts. Strange, she thought. There were no other classes on at the same time. As she made her way to the room, the noise became louder and she could hear a voice clearly speaking.

  ‘He puts his hand on her thigh as she’s driving the car and, as she’s driving, he moves his hand closer between her legs. She can’t concentrate on driving, so she tells him, “let me just get to a small side street”. He tells her – why do we have to wait?’

  Nikki froze outside the door. It was Sheena’s voice. Another woman called out.

  ‘Chee, why is he so impatient? Can’t keep it in his pants until they get to a side street? She should punish him by driving him around the car park until his little balloon deflates.’

  Another wave of laughter. Nikki threw open the door.

  Sheena was sitting on the front desk with the book open in her hands and all the women were crowded around her. When they saw Nikki, they scurried back to their seats. The colour drained from Sheena’s face. ‘So sorry,’ she said to Nikki. ‘We saw that you had brought us books. I was just translating a story …’ She slid off the desk and went to join the ladies at their seats.

  ‘That book is mine. It’s private. It’s obviously not for any of you,’ Nikki said when she felt that she could speak. She reached into the bag and pulled out the workbooks. ‘These are for you.’ She tossed them onto the desk and put her head in her hands. The women were silent.

  ‘Why were you all here so early?’

  ‘You said seven o’clock,’ said Arvinder.

  ‘I said seven thirty, since that was the time you all preferred,’ Nikki said.

  The women turned to look accusingly at Manjeet.

  ‘I remember her saying seven o’clock last week,’ Manjeet insisted. ‘I remember it.’

  ‘Turn up your hearing aid next time,’ Arvinder said.

  ‘I don’t need to,’ Manjeet said. She tucked her scarf behind her ear to reveal the hearing aid to the class. ‘This has never had a battery in it.’

  ‘Why would you wear a hearing aid if you didn’t need one?’ Nikki asked.

  Manjeet dropped her head in embarrassment. ‘Completes the whole widow look,’ Sheena explained.

  ‘Oh,’ Nikki said. She waited for a further explanation from Manjeet but she simply nodded and stared at her hands.

  Preetam raised her hand. ‘Excuse me, Nikki. Can we change the start time back to 7 p.m.?’

  Nikki sighed. ‘I thought 7.30 worked better with your bus schedule.’

  ‘It does, but if we finish earlier, it means we can get home at a decent hour.’

  ‘Thirty minutes doesn’t make that much difference does it?’ Sheena asked.

  ‘It does for Anya and Kapil,’ Preetam said. ‘And what about Rajiv and Priyaani?’

  Nikki guessed these were her grandchildren but then the other women let out a collective groan. ‘Those bloody idiots. One day they’re in love, the next day she is confiding to the servants that she wants to marry someone else,’ Sheena said. ‘Don’t change the t
ime, Nikki. Preetam’s just wasting her time following a television series.’

  ‘I am not,’ Preetam said.

  ‘Then you’re wasting electricity,’ Arvinder chided. ‘Do you know how much our bill was last month?’ Preetam shrugged. ‘Of course you don’t,’ Arvinder muttered. ‘You waste everything because you’ve always had everything.’

  ‘Do you two share a home?’ Nikki asked. She noticed a resemblance. Both women were light-skinned, with the same thin lips and striking greyish brown eyes. ‘Sisters?’

  ‘Mother and daughter,’ Arvinder said, pointing to herself and then Preetam. ‘Seventeen years apart, but thank you for thinking that I’m that young.’

  ‘Or that Preetam’s that old,’ Sheena teased.

  ‘Have you always lived together?’ Nikki asked. She could not imagine a world where she would live with Mum into her senior citizen years and retain her sanity.

  ‘Only since my husband died,’ Preetam said. ‘How long has it been – hai!’ she suddenly cried out. ‘Three months.’ She took the edge of her dupatta and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

  ‘Oh, enough with the theatrics,’ Arvinder said. ‘It’s been three years.’

  ‘But it’s still so fresh,’ Preetam moaned. ‘Has it really been that long?’

  ‘You know very well it has been,’ Arvinder said sternly. ‘I don’t know where you got this idea that widows have to cry and beat their chests every time their husbands are mentioned but it’s unnecessary.’

  ‘She got it from the evening dramas,’ Sheena said.

  ‘There. Another reason to cut back on the television,’ Arvinder said.

  ‘I think it’s very sweet,’ Manjeet said. ‘I want to be sad like that too. Did you faint at his funeral?’

  ‘Twice,’ Preetam said proudly. ‘And I begged them not to cremate him.’

  ‘I remember that,’ Sheena said. ‘You made a huge fuss before passing out and then you woke up and started all over again.’ She rolled her eyes at Nikki. ‘You have to do these things, see, otherwise people accuse you of being unfeeling.’

  ‘I know,’ Nikki said. After Dad died, Auntie Geeta had come over to visit, black rivulets of mascara running down her cheeks. She wanted to mourn with Mum and was surprised that Mum remained dry-eyed, having done her crying in private. When she noticed a bubbling pot of curry on the stove, she became indignant. ‘You’re eating? I had nothing after my husband died. My sons had to force it into my mouth.’ Feeling pressured, Mum refrained from eating the curry and then wolfed it down after Auntie Geeta left.

  ‘You are all lucky to be able to grieve like that,’ Manjeet said. ‘Women like me don’t get a funeral or any sort of ceremony.’

  ‘Now, now, Manjeet, don’t go putting it on yourself. There are no women like you. Just men like him,’ Arvinder said.

  ‘I don’t understand—’ Nikki said.

  ‘Are we going to do any work or is this another class of introductions?’ Tarampal interrupted. She shot Nikki a disapproving look.

  ‘We have less than an hour now,’ Nikki said. She handed the books out to the women. ‘There are some alphabet exercises in here. She gave Sheena a letter-writing worksheet she had printed off the internet.

  The remainder of the lesson passed slowly and silently, with the women scrunching up their faces in concentration. Some looked tired after a few tries and put their pencils down. Nikki wanted to find out more about the widows but Tarampal’s presence kept her nervously on task. As soon as the clock struck 8.30, she told them they were dismissed and they filed out quietly, putting their books back on the desk. Sheena ducked past her and said nothing, clutching her letter in her hand.

  The next lesson was on Thursday. All the women were promptly seated when Nikki arrived with an alphabet chart that she had found in another charity shop. ‘A is for apple,’ she said. They repeated ‘Apple’ after her. ‘B is for boy.’ ‘C is for cat.’ By the time they got to M, the chorus had faded. Nikki sighed and put down the chart.

  ‘I can’t teach you to write in any other way,’ she said. ‘We have to go through the basics.’

  ‘My grandchildren use these books and charts,’ sniffed Preetam. ‘It’s insulting.’

  ‘I don’t know what else to do,’ Nikki said.

  ‘You’re the teacher – don’t you know how to teach writing to adults?’

  ‘I thought we’d be writing stories. Not this,’ Nikki said. She picked up the chart and went back to the letters, and by the time they got to Z for zebra, the chorus was loud. There was a glimmer of hope – they were trying, at least.

  ‘Right. Now there are a few writing exercises so we can learn about how to form words,’ Nikki said. She flipped through the workbook and copied a few words on the board. As she turned, she heard urgent whispers but the women stopped talking when she was facing them again.

  ‘The best way to learn to spell words is to sound them out first. We’ll start with the word “cat.” Who wants to repeat after me? “Cat”.’

  Preetam’s hand shot up. ‘Yes, go ahead, Bibi Preetam.’

  ‘What sorts of stories would you have us writing?’

  Nikki sighed. ‘It’s going to be a long time before we can start writing stories, ladies. It’s really difficult unless you have a sense of how the words are spelled and how the grammar works.’

  ‘But Sheena can read and write in English.’

  ‘And I’m sure it took her a lot of practice, right, Sheena? When did you learn?’

  ‘I learned in school,’ Sheena said. ‘My family came to Britain when I was fourteen years old.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean,’ Preetam said. ‘I’m saying that if we tell Sheena our stories, she can put them in writing.’

  Sheena looked pleased. ‘I could do that,’ she said to Nikki.

  ‘And then we could give each other advice on how to improve the stories.’

  ‘But how will you ever learn to write?’ Nikki asked. ‘Isn’t that why you signed up for these classes?’

  The women shared a look. ‘We signed up for these classes because we wanted to fill our time,’ Manjeet said. ‘Whether it’s learning to write, or telling stories, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re keeping busy.’ Nikki noticed she looked particularly sad when she said this. When she caught Nikki looking at her, she quickly smiled and dropped her gaze.

  ‘I’d rather be telling stories,’ said Arvinder. ‘I’ve survived all this time without reading and writing; what do I need it for now?’

  There was resounding agreement. Nikki was torn. If the tedium of learning to write was discouraging these women, she should motivate them to keep going. But storytelling was so much more fun.

  In the back, Tarampal called out, ‘I don’t like this idea. I am here to learn to write.’ She crossed her arms over her chest.

  ‘You do your ABC colouring books then,’ Arvinder muttered. Only Nikki heard her.

  ‘Here’s what we can do,’ Nikki said. ‘We’ll do a bit of writing and reading practice for every lesson, and then if you want to do some storytelling sessions, Sheena and I can transcribe your stories and we can share them with the class. One new story each lesson.’

  ‘Can we start today?’ Preetam asked.

  Nikki looked at the clock. ‘We’ll go through vowels first, and then, yes, we can do some stories.’

  Some women already knew A E I O U but others like Tarampal struggled with them. Everybody grumbled at her for holding back the rest of the class when Nikki quizzed them. ‘The A and the E are pronounced the same,’ Tarampal kept insisting. Nikki instructed Sheena to start transcribing in the back of the classroom while she worked with Tarampal.

  ‘English is such a stupid language,’ Tarampal said. ‘Nothing makes sense.’

  ‘You’re getting frustrated because it’s new. It will get easier,’ Nikki assured.

  ‘New? I’ve been in London for over twenty years.’

  It still came as a mild shock to Nikki that these women knew so
little after living here for longer than she had been alive. Tarampal caught her expression and nodded. ‘Tell me, why haven’t I picked up English? Because of the English.’ She said this triumphantly. ‘They haven’t made their country or their customs friendly to me. Now their language is just as unfriendly with these Ahh-Oooh sounds.’

  In the back of the room, there was a rise of giggles and a squeal. Sheena was hunched over her paper, scribbling quickly while Arvinder whispered in her ear. Nikki turned her attention back to Tarampal and carefully said different words with vowels until Tarampal admitted to hearing the slightest difference between them. By the time they were finished, so was the lesson, but the women in the back of the room were still crowded around the desk and whispering urgently. Sheena continued writing, pausing every now and then to think of a correct word, or to rest her wrists. It was nine o’clock.

  ‘Class is dismissed,’ Nikki called out to the back. The women didn’t appear to have heard her. They continued chatting and Sheena dutifully transcribed. Tarampal crossed the room to pack up her bag. She tossed the women a look of contempt and muttered, ‘Bye,’ to Nikki.

  Nikki felt her spirits lifted by the women and their renewed sense of focus. They wouldn’t learn to write this way but they were obviously so much keener on telling stories. As she made their way towards them, the women fell silent. Their faces were flushed. Some were hiding smiles. Sheena turned around.

  ‘It’s a surprise, Nikki,’ she said. ‘You can’t see. We’re not done yet, anyway.’

  ‘It’s time to lock up,’ Nikki said. ‘You’ll miss your bus.’

  Reluctantly, the women rose from their seats and picked up their bags. They left the room in a buzz of whispers. In the empty classroom, Nikki put the tables back in their usual place, just as she’d been told to do by Kulwinder.

  The light in the classroom in the community centre was still on. Kulwinder could see the window glowing as she walked out of the temple. She slowed down and considered what to do. Nikki had probably left the light on and if Kulwinder didn’t go up there to turn it off, Gurtaj Singh might decide that electricity was being wasted on classes for women. But she would not be safe entering that empty building. The phone call from the other night invaded her mind whenever she found herself alone. Before that, there had been two other warnings – one call which came only hours after she returned from her first intentional visit to the station and another one after her last visit. Both times, the police had offered little help, but her caller still felt the need to keep her in line.