‘How much are they?’
‘They’re only ten pence each.’
Nikki glanced at the box. It was hard to resist. ‘I’ll take them all then.’ She paid for the tape recorder as well and walked out into the downpour hugging her purchases close to her chest.
After zipping up her suitcase, Kulwinder stacked her papers and passport neatly together and put them in a pouch. She shut her eyes, pulled her dupatta over her head, and asked Guru Nanak to bless her with a safe journey.
A creaking noise downstairs made her eyes fly open. Kulwinder had to fight the panic that rose into her throat. It was just Sarab, she assured herself. He was home early from his shift. Her heartbeat resumed its normal pace as she named each sound of his arrival – there he was, padding about the kitchen, the back door hinges squeaking as he stepped out to the second freezer in their garage where she had stored meals for each night of her absence. She opened her eyes and called out his name. There were some fresh rotis and a pot of tea on the table for lunch but he hadn’t seen it. Making her way to the top of the stairs to call his name again, she realized that he thought she was already gone.
Kulwinder deliberately stepped on a loose board. The stair groaned loudly in protest. ‘I’m here,’ she said when she reached the foyer. Sarab was in the living room watching television.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘What time is your flight?’
‘Four thirty,’ she said. ‘I need to be there two hours before. Three hours is preferred but I think two hours is just fine.’ The less time running into Punjabis at Heathrow, the better.
‘We’ll leave at two,’ Sarab said. Kulwinder wasn’t sure if she imagined the resentment in his voice. They’d quarrelled again yesterday about her trip. He’d demanded to know why she was still going. ‘We go every year,’ she’d reminded him. There were relatives to visit, weddings to attend. Of course they’d understand if she missed a year, but her life in London had changed enough lately. India would be the same, as if she had never left it and, more than ever, she craved the noise and chaos of her less complicated past. She wanted to breathe in the gritty air and elbow her way through bustling markets. Sarab’s refusal to go to India was deeply disappointing; it widened the chasm between them that grief had created. Kulwinder didn’t understand why he preferred to cope with loss in stillness. She would travel the entire world if it would help her escape.
‘What are you watching?’ Kulwinder asked.
Sarab was never unkind, just detached. An expression of mild irritation rippled across his features. ‘Just a television show,’ he replied.
Kulwinder retreated to her bedroom and drew a chair to the windowsill, watching the pavement below. Out of habit, she turned her head at an angle to keep Tarampal’s house in the furthest corner of her vision so it was just a pesky blur. A pair of grandmothers wearing woolly cardigans over their salwar kameezes dragged overflowing trolleys back from the market. Crossing their paths, a couple and their three small children formed a single-file line to let them pass. There were polite thanking nods between both parties. One of the old women reached out to stroke a child’s face and when the child turned her face up and smiled, an acute pain punctured Kulwinder’s heart. Did Sarab experience Maya’s loss in these same little ways? She couldn’t ask.
Across the road, a young woman came into Kulwinder’s view. She squinted and pressed her nose against the window. That hurried walk was unmistakably Nikki’s. What was she doing here? Nikki’s satchel bounced against her hip as she traipsed across the road. She was carrying a carton. Kulwinder craned her neck and saw Nikki ring the doorbell at Number 18. The door opened and Mrs Shah appeared. What did Nikki want from Mrs Shah? They spoke for a few moments and then Mrs Shah pointed to the house next door before retreating back into her home.
Number 16. Nikki had come to visit Tarampal. Kulwinder took in a breath and let her gaze follow Nikki to Tarampal’s doorstep. Her heartbeat accelerated; it was always like this when she came face to face with that walkway, that door. For weeks after Maya died, Kulwinder was haunted by visions of her walking in and never coming out.
Nikki rang the doorbell and waited. A few moments later, she placed the carton on the ground and knocked on the door. Kulwinder continued to watch as Nikki drew a notebook and pen from her bag and scrawled a note that she tucked into the carton. Reluctantly, she stepped off the porch, turning back a few times to see if Tarampal had materialized.
Kulwinder waited until Nikki was completely out of view, and then she hurried down the stairs. ‘Just going next door to say goodbye to the neighbours,’ she called over her shoulder.
Just as she was about to cross the road, Kulwinder stopped. What was she doing? She was curious to see what Nikki had left on the doorstep but was it worth the visit? Tarampal’s house drew and repelled her in equal measure, keeping her on the pavement switching her feet in a reluctant dance. It’s for your classes, she convinced herself. There was something shifty about Nikki and she needed to find out what it was before her classes were affected. She scrambled across the road, looking to her left and right for cars and nosy neighbours. The last thing she needed was somebody spotting her rooting through Tarampal’s belongings on her doorstep.
Nikki’s carton was not properly sealed because there were cassette tapes bulging out of the top, pushing through the flaps. Enid Blyton and Famous Five tapes. Kulwinder plucked the note from the carton. It was written hastily and the Gurmukhi spelling was all wrong, but Kulwinder got the gist of it.
(To Tarampal’s daughter: Please read this note to her. It is from Nikki) I’m very sorry about last lesson. Here are some story tapes so you can return to learning English.
Return to learning English? What exactly was going on in that class? Kulwinder replaced the note and hurried back to her house. Her heartbeat thrashed in her ears. She took out her phone and searched for Nikki’s number. It was a good thing she had thought to save it that night so she could call Nikki to reprimand her if she left the community building lights on again.
Kulwinder waited for her hands to stop shaking and then she typed a message.
Hello, Nikki. Letting you know that I will be in India longer than expected. Returning 30 March. Any issues please contact Sikh Community Association offices.
She pressed Send. Her return was actually scheduled for 27 March. That gave her three days to make a surprise drop-in on the classes to find out what Nikki and the women were up to.
Moments later, she received a reply from Nikki.
Okay! Have a good trip!
‘Let’s play a game,’ Manjeet suggested when Nikki entered the classroom. Nikki wasn’t listening – she was distracted by the sight of four elderly, white-clad women wandering the halls.
‘Does anyone know who those ladies are?’ Nikki asked. The women floated past the window. One pressed her wrinkly face against the panel and then pulled away.
‘They’re some friends of mine. They want to join in as well,’ Arvinder said.
‘So why don’t they come in?’ Nikki asked.
‘They will.’
‘They’re staring at us,’ Nikki said. A pair of eyes at the window met hers and then disappeared.
‘Let them make their own way,’ Arvinder said. ‘They’ve never been in a classroom before. The thought of telling these stories is very daunting.’
‘We told them there’s nothing to worry about,’ Preetam said. ‘They’re just a bit afraid of you.’
‘You’re too modern for them,’ Arvinder explained.
‘Too modern?’
‘You’re wearing jeans. You always wear jeans,’ said Preetam. ‘And everybody can see your bright pink bra because of the wide neck of that sweater.’
‘It’s off-shoulder,’ Sheena said in Nikki’s defence. ‘That’s the fashion.’
‘Fashion-fashion is fine for you young girls, and we don’t have a problem with it, but to these ultra-conservative ladies, you’re an alien,’ Arvinder said.
‘You might as well be
English,’ Preetam said.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Nikki said. ‘It’s like we’re in a zoo enclosure.’ The women outside were taking turns to peer at her now. One scanned her from head to toe and then whispered to her friend.
‘Excuse me, Nikki. What is enclosure?’ Manjeet asked.
‘Like a cage,’ Nikki said.
‘Sometimes you mix the English words with the Punjabi words,’ Manjeet said.
‘That’s also a problem for you all?’ Nikki asked.
Manjeet nodded very apologetically.
‘And you’re not married,’ Preetam blurted out. ‘How are these women supposed to talk to someone about these intimate things when she’s not supposed to have experienced them?’
‘Are you getting married, Nikki?’ asked Manjeet. ‘Are you looking? You shouldn’t wait too long.’
‘When I decide to get married, Bibi Manjeet, you’ll be the first to know,’ Nikki replied.
‘Don’t do that,’ Arvinder said with a frown. ‘Tell your family first.’
‘That’s it,’ Nikki said. She marched to the door and opened it against the class’s rising protests. She gave the women her brightest smile and brought her palms together. ‘Good evening,’ she said. ‘Sat sri akal.’
The women drew together and stared at Nikki. ‘Welcome to the class,’ she continued. ‘Come on in.’ The air between them was still. Nikki’s smile began to hurt. ‘Please,’ she said.
As the ladies began to retreat, Arvinder came rushing out the door. She apologized to the women as they disappeared down the stairs in a slow, hunchbacked procession. Arvinder gripped Nikki by the shoulders and steered her back into the class. ‘Where are they going?’ Nikki asked.
‘You’ve scared them. They weren’t ready for this.’
‘Well, when they come back, I’ll apologize and start over. It’s just—’
‘They won’t come back,’ Arvinder snapped. Her stare was like a hot white light. ‘We are not all the same, Nikki,’ she said. ‘There are some very reserved people in this community.’
‘I know that, but I just—’
‘You don’t know,’ Arvinder said. ‘Our little group were the only widows to sign up for writing classes. That may seem like nothing to you but for some, it’s a very brave and frightening thing. Those women are shy and scared. They got no attention from their husbands – not the kind they wanted anyway—’
‘Oh, Mother, please,’ Preetam said.
Arvinder turned to face her. ‘Please what?’
‘Nikki, those women came from a very traditional village. That’s all. And you,’ Preetam said, nodding to Arvinder. ‘You always make it sound like you had a terrible husband. I don’t remember Papa being half as bad as you make him sound.’
‘You wouldn’t know anything about my private life with your father.’
‘But that night before my wedding, when you gave me all of that advice? Your cheeks were shimmering. You were like a new bride yourself. Don’t tell me it all came from your imagination. You knew what passion was. He had to have shown it to you at some point.’
Arvinder’s lower lip quivered. Nikki noticed her biting it, either to stop from laughing or saying something. Either way, she knew that she had to put an end to the conversation. She pulled the tape recorder out of her bag and laid it on the table. ‘I bought us a tape recorder so Sheena doesn’t have to transcribe and you all can tell your stories without having to pause.’ She busied herself with plugging it in and feeding it a new tape. ‘Shall we test it?’ she asked brightly, pressing the record button. ‘Somebody say something.’
‘Helloooo,’ Manjeet said, giving the tape recorder a wave.
Nikki turned it off, rewound it and played their recording. Their voices came through clearly. The silence from the other women was captured as well.
‘Could you give me the tapes at the end of each lesson?’ Sheena asked. ‘I’ll play them at home and transcribe the stories.’
‘You still want written versions of the stories?’ Nikki asked.
‘If it’s not too much trouble for Sheena,’ Manjeet spoke up. ‘I like that what I imagine gets put onto paper.’
‘Me too,’ Arvinder agreed, shrugging off her huff. ‘I can’t read the words but I can see them. It will be my only chance to see my words in print, even if I can’t read it myself.’
The class registration forms were still in Nikki’s bag from her visit to Tarampal’s house earlier. Somebody – one of Tarampal’s children, she assumed – had printed her name, address and telephone number in block letters, and hers was not the only form that looked rushed by another’s hand. Did these ladies look at those words and feel a sense of pride that they represented them as a person? Or was there shame at being unable to decipher the alphabet?
‘What’s your game, Manjeet?’ Nikki asked, recalling Manjeet’s exclamation as she had entered the classroom.
Manjeet looked very pleased. ‘Let’s each come up with a story for these pictures.’ She produced a magazine from her bag. On the front cover, a naked woman lay on her back, her full breasts glowing in the natural light that poured through an open window.
‘Is that an old Playboy?’ Nikki asked, feeling her eyes bug out slightly.
‘Confiscated from my son thirty years ago. I buried the magazine in a trunk because I was afraid that the neighbours might see it in the rubbish. I came across it this morning while sorting through all of our old things.’
Playboy from the eighties. The women had big hair and the photographs were tinted in sepia, giving the images an instantly nostalgic look. Some of the men had trim moustaches. The women passed the magazine around and flipped through the pages. Arvinder held up a centrefold of a model sitting naked on the bonnet of a sports car. Her bronze skin glowed against the car’s red finish. ‘This woman is waiting in the garage to surprise her lover. He’s a mechanic.’
‘He spends the whole day tuning people’s cars and when he returns, he’s ready to be tuned up himself,’ Sheena offered.
‘Only problem is, she’s getting sick of waiting. Plus, when he comes back, he has to shower to get all the grime and sweat off him so he can smell nice for her,’ Manjeet said.
‘So she decides to put her clothes back on and go for a drive around the neighbourhood. The first handsome man she sees, she’ll find and take him back to her house,’ Preetam said.
The magazine was still in Arvinder’s hands. She flipped to another page. ‘This man,’ she said, pointing to a picture of a muscular, tanned man. The women murmured their approval.
Nikki said nothing else as the story was passed from woman to woman, taking shape. Eventually, there was a pause between lines. ‘I think we’re done,’ Sheena said.
‘But they’ve only been using their hands,’ Manjeet protested.
‘What of it?’ Arvinder asked. ‘They’re both very satisfied. Besides, let her save the real thing for her lover. She’s still going to go to bed with him tonight.’
‘True. By the time she’s finished with this man, it’s evening and her lover is returning.’
‘Won’t he be able to tell that she’s been with another man?’
‘She can take a shower,’ Sheena said.
‘Then she’ll be too clean. It’s suspicious,’ Arvinder said.
‘Too clean?’ Preetam asked. ‘What man would be bothered by that? I always showered right before my husband came home.’
‘She can spray on some perfume then,’ Sheena suggested.
Arvinder shook her head. Her voice rose with certainty. ‘Here’s what she does. She takes a shower and then walks out the door. She passes the old village well and mingles with other housewives at the small market. She finds some extra errands to do – paying the chaiwallah in advance for a week’s worth of afternoon tea, bringing water to the farmhands. That’s about as much activity as she’d have done throughout the day. Her skin glows with a light sweat but she’s not dirty. That’s how she covers it up.’
When she was finis
hed, she was out of breath, exhilarated, triumphant. She had revealed much more than she had said and the force of the confession seemed to knock her windless. The women stared at her. Preetam in particular looked horrified.
‘Those were all places near our home in Punjab,’ Preetam finally said.
‘Replace them with shops in this gori’s life then,’ Arvinder said. ‘Nikki, tell us, what’s within walking distance of your place?’
‘A pub,’ Nikki said.
‘There,’ Arvinder said. ‘Add that, Sheena.’
‘Who was it?’ Preetam asked quietly. ‘When?’
Arvinder sucked in her breath and said nothing.
‘Who was it?’ Preetam cried.
‘There’s no need to raise your voice at me, Preetam,’ Arvinder said. ‘I am still your elder.’
‘You’ve just admitted to doing the most dishonourable thing,’ Preetam said. ‘Who were you cheating on my father with? Did you wreck another family?’ Preetam looked around wildly. This was the role of a lifetime for her, Nikki realized. All of her angst and theatrics finally had an outlet. ‘Who was it?’
The other women shrank back into their seats, their eyes intently darting back and forth between mother and daughter. Nikki was reminded of her first impression of these two women. Their resemblance had been so obvious that she had mistaken them for sisters. But this conflict illuminated their differences. The sleeves of Arvinder’s white tunic hung loosely at her bony wrists and the hems had greyed slightly while Preetam’s widow attire was a classier affair – lacy trim on a cream dupatta. While Preetam’s eyes were bright with rage, Arvinder’s stare was distant and watery, her whole body heaving in the aftermath of her revelation.
Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows Page 13