Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows

by Balli Kaur Jaswal

Preetam fanned her face with her hands. ‘Hai, Nikki. I might faint.’

  ‘That’s not necessary, Preetam,’ Sheena said.

  ‘Sheena, don’t get involved,’ Manjeet said quietly.

  ‘Did you think about our family?’ Preetam asked. ‘About what you would have had to do if Papa found out? It’s still happening, you know. Look at how Maya ended up.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Arvinder snapped. Preetam burst into tears and bolted from the room.

  ‘I think it’s time for a break. Ten minutes and then we’ll meet back here,’ Nikki announced. The women filed out silently. Nikki sat back in her chair. Her head throbbed from this whirlwind of revelations, the most confusing of which was the mention of Maya. How did she end up? The hints about her death, about being caught with texts on her phone. There was nobody to ask, no appropriate moment to do so. From the window, she could see them emerging from the building and walking towards the temple. Sheena and Manjeet walked together, giving space to Arvinder who lingered behind them. She stood under the temple’s awning and stared off into the distance, at the cars lined up in the car park. Nikki contemplated approaching Arvinder but she was wary of prying after her misstep with the old women earlier. Arvinder stepped into a puddle of warm light, which gave her white garments a soft, yellowish appearance. She wasn’t a widow any more, but a lithe young woman hungering for affection.

  A navy sweater stretched across Jason’s shoulders to show off his physique. As they waited in line outside the art-house cinema, Nikki couldn’t help stealing glimpses at him. A shaving cut on his jawbone looked recent. She wondered if he had taken as long as she had to get ready. She had bought mascara, lipstick, eye shadow and new foundation from Boots after an eager salesgirl convinced her to let her do a mini-makeover. She chided herself all the way home for acquiring these things that she usually railed against. Make-up was oppressive. It created an ideal of women … didn’t it? But when she caught her reflection in a shop window, she discovered a version of herself with fuller lips and bolder eyes – and she liked it.

  By the time they got to the front of the line, tickets for every film were sold out except for a French movie. ‘This one got good reviews,’ Nikki said. ‘It starts in an hour and a half though. Shall we take a walk and find a place to eat?’ Jason nodded.

  ‘Ever been to Paris?’ he asked Nikki as they strolled down the street.

  ‘Once,’ she said. ‘With a lover.’ She had meant to sound mysterious but it came out like a title for an erotic story. Once, With A Lover. She giggled.

  ‘That good, huh?’ Jason asked.

  ‘No, awful, actually. I met this French film student at a party last year. I got some cheap Eurostar tickets and went away to Paris for four days. It was meant to be romantic.’

  ‘But it wasn’t?’

  ‘We were both broke. He was out most of the day working – not on his art, mind you. He was working in McDonalds. I spent most of the day sitting in his flat watching television.’

  ‘You didn’t go out? Take in the City of Lights?’

  ‘He kept promising that we’d do that together when he came home. The flat was in a very unsafe area and my French is hopeless, so I was happy to wait. But each night he came back, brooding and tired. It went downhill quite quickly.’

  ‘That’s too bad,’ Jason said.

  ‘And you?’ Nikki asked. ‘Been to Paris?’

  Jason shook his head. ‘Went to Greece and Spain with my ex. It was all the travel she was interested in doing. I never got to Paris.’ A shift in his voice caught Nikki’s attention. When he noticed her peering at him, he changed the subject. ‘There’s a place which does delicious gourmet pizzas up that way.’

  As they headed in the direction of the restaurant, they passed a bookshop called Sally’s and something stirred in the back of Nikki’s mind. ‘Do you mind if we duck in? I want to check if they have something,’ Nikki said.

  ‘No problem,’ Jason said. As soon as they entered, he made a beeline for a section at the back. Nikki approached the counter and inquired about The Journals and Sketches of Beatrix Potter. The clerk looked it up on her system and said, ‘It’s out of print. Have you looked for used copies online?’

  ‘I have,’ Nikki said. And she had found two, but they were in very poor condition, the spines threadbare and the pages dog-eared. One copy appeared water damaged, with wrinkly, bloated pages as if somebody had dropped it into the bath. She thanked the clerk and searched for Jason. He was in a section marked Eastern Philosophy. She gave him a wave and headed to the Anthologies section. Scanning the titles, Nikki could not help hearing the voices of her Southall storytellers, urgent and rhythmic as they wove their sensual tales.

  She went to join Jason. ‘What were you looking for?’ he asked.

  Nikki told him about the Beatrix Potter book. ‘It was in this little bookshop in Delhi which was crammed from floor to ceiling in textbooks and novels. You could spend a whole day there,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t remember the name of the shop?’

  ‘No. Just that it was on Connaught Place, sort of wedged behind a boutique in one of those restored colonial buildings.’

  ‘Amongst at least ten other bookshops of the same description,’ Jason said with a smile. ‘I know people go to Connaught Place to escape the mayhem of Delhi but I’m drawn to the pushcarts and makeshift stalls that find their way in somehow.’

  ‘Exactly. The more I think of it, the more I want that very copy, not something new. I still remember it had a tea stain on the cover in the shape of a leaf. My dad had looked at it and said, “This book isn’t even new.” That just made me angrier. Here I was, so excited about the contents of the book and all he could see was a superficial mark on the cover.’

  They went to the cashier together where Jason purchased a book called Japanese Philosophy. ‘This completes my set,’ he explained to Nikki as the cashier rang up his purchase. ‘I’ve got all the books in this series – Chinese, Indian, Western and Islamic. Oh, and Sikh of course. But I’ve got another entire shelf for Sikh philosophy books.’

  Nerd, Nikki thought with a twinge of delight. ‘Are your parents religious?’ Nikki asked.

  ‘Not really. Traditional, but not religious. That’s what prompted me to study Sikhism in the first place. It seemed like there were so many rules they kept imposing that had no basis in religion. I started reading the scripture to be able to argue with them.’

  ‘I’m sure they loved that,’ Nikki said.

  ‘They sure did,’ Jason grinned. ‘My parents grudgingly admit to learning a few new things now and then but it’s hard work. Yours? Traditional?’

  ‘My mum has always been a bit more traditional than Dad. Dad was quite supportive of me. Mum seemed to think that she had to rein me in all the time. It was hard when Dad died.’

  ‘You guys were close?’ Jason asked. Then he hastily added. ‘Sorry. That’s a stupid question. I hated people asking me that when my mother was sick. As if our closeness mattered – she’s family, whether we’re close or not isn’t really the point.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Nikki said. ‘And yes, we were. He was very encouraging of me, but before he died, we’d had this massive argument. I dropped out of Law school. He was furious. I’d never seen him so upset before. We didn’t speak, and then he went to India with Mum to get away from it all and he died there.’ Nikki said it all so matter-of-factly but when she was finished, she felt the tears boiling in her chest. She panicked. Was she really going to cry over Dad for the first time now, while on a first date? ‘Sorry,’ she choked.

  ‘Hey,’ Jason said. Up ahead, there was a small park with an iron bench facing the road. He gestured to it and Nikki nodded. She was grateful that her face was obscured by shadows as they sat down. The pressure of tears subsided.

  ‘It’s hard because it was so sudden that I’ll never know if he came to terms with what I did or not. My mum gets really antsy when I try to ask her what his last conscious moments were like, so I ima
gine he was still upset with me. I don’t know which feeling is worse – guilt or grief. Or which one I’m supposed to feel.’

  ‘Grief, I suppose,’ Jason said. ‘There’s little use in feeling guilty.’

  ‘But if I hadn’t dropped out …’

  ‘You can’t do that to yourself,’ Jason said. ‘I get it. My parents would have freaked out if I’d switched out of Engineering. Luckily for them, I actually like it. But you can’t sentence yourself to all of this torment over what might have happened if you’d decided to stay in law school. It’s likely that you’d be miserable.’

  Nikki took in a breath and felt it come easily. Jason’s assurances were not new; Olive had given her a similar talk after Dad’s death. But Jason was the first Punjabi person to attempt to convince Nikki that she had made the right decision. Only now did it occur to her that she was expecting him to repeat Mindi’s concerns. What about duty? Instead all she saw on his face was understanding.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘No problem. We’ve all had to come to terms with letting our parents down.’

  ‘You can’t have been too troublesome being a first-born male and an engineer,’ Nikki teased. It might have been a trick of passing headlights, but she noticed a stricken look crossing Jason’s face. He laughed, but it was a beat too late. Nikki was curious but she felt it was too soon to pry. ‘I was kidding,’ she added.

  ‘I know,’ Jason said. ‘There’s a lot of pressure to succeed though. I had to tick all of the success boxes right from the very start. It makes me think of banana chips.’

  Nikki stared at him. ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘See, when I was in pre-school my parents discovered I was left-handed. They had a meltdown. My dad sat me down every night to train me to write with my right hand. I hated these sessions, but there was one way to motivate me – Dad bribed me with a dried banana chip for each line of the alphabet I traced out with my right hand. I loved those things. It was a couple of years before I discovered real junk food, of course.’

  ‘What was so bad about being left-handed?’

  Jason pulled a serious face. ‘I was starting out life with a devastating disadvantage, Nikki. I would never be able to use scissors properly. Tying shoelaces would be complicated. And worst of all, my work would be untidy. Dad had a left-handed cousin in India who was always punished by teachers for leaving pen smudges on his assignments.’

  ‘A couple of banana chips and you were converted. You wouldn’t hold up well as a spy.’

  ‘I stuck to my guns and remained left-handed. I got told off every time I came home from grade school with smudged ink on my left hand. My mother had this complex about being an immigrant – she thought people would think we weren’t clean. She used to scrub my hands each day with grainy blue laundry soap but she couldn’t change who I naturally was.’

  ‘What a rebel,’ Nikki teased.

  Jason grinned. ‘All I’m saying is that I’ve always been aware of the pressure to follow the rules and meet expectations. The eldest child is meant to pave the way. If I fail at anything, my siblings are doomed, according to my parents.’

  ‘Sometimes I think that’s why my sister is making such a project out of finding a husband,’ Nikki said. ‘She wants to set things right, hoping that I’ll take her lead.’

  ‘You’ll be posting your particulars on the marriage board then?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Good. It’s bad enough that you picked me up at the temple.’

  ‘I did not pick you up,’ Nikki retorted, giving Jason a thump on the arm. He laughed and stood up. ‘Come on, let’s get some dinner,’ he said. He reached out his hands, palms up, inviting Nikki to place her hands in them and then he pulled her up. She teetered forwards and nearly fell right back onto the bench if not for his arms, suddenly bracing her waist. They kissed then. The street around them dissolved into a peaceful silence, which lingered even after they gently drew away from each other and began walking, wordlessly, towards the restaurant.

  At dinner, Jason asked Nikki how her job at the temple was going. ‘Good,’ Nikki said, sawing a knife through her margherita pizza. She took a bite and looked up to see Jason staring expectantly at her. ‘There’s not much to say about it, really,’ she shrugged. ‘I’m just teaching old ladies to read and write.’

  ‘It sounds very rewarding.’

  ‘It is,’ Nikki said. She could hear, above the restaurant’s din of voices and cutlery clashing, the women’s audible sighs after a particularly steamy story had been read out.

  ‘Is it something you’ve always wanted to do?’

  ‘Sure,’ Nikki said, and now she could not help breaking out into a smile. ‘I’ve always wanted to do some sort of community service, and this involves writing, so it combines my two passions.’ The word passion made her giggle.

  ‘Look at you, so excited about what you do. It’s great,’ Jason said. ‘Your mum and sister must be proud at the very least that you’re helping women in the community.’

  An image flashed into Nikki’s mind: Mum and Mindi sitting in the back of Nikki’s classroom, pencils poised primly over their notebooks and confusion descending over their faces when the women started describing sex scenes with vegetables. She burst out laughing. It was the sort of uncontrollable, gasping laughter that made her belly ache. She shook her head and shut her eyes, shaking with laughter and when she opened them, Jason was peering curiously at her.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Nikki said. ‘I’m sorry.’ Tears streamed down her face. ‘I have to tell you, don’t I?’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘I’m not a teacher.’

  ‘What do you do then?’

  ‘I’m running an erotic storytelling workshop for Punjabi widows.’

  Jason blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Exactly that. Twice a week, we meet in the temple community centre on the pretence of learning English but the women come up with these sexual stories instead.’

  ‘You’re kidding,’ Jason said. ‘You have to be.’

  Nikki took a sip of her wine with a flourish, pleased at the widening smile on Jason’s face. ‘No kidding,’ she said. ‘We all pitch in with feedback and suggestions to make the story more convincing. Sometimes one story takes up a whole lesson.’

  The frown on Jason’s face worried Nikki a little. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. ‘What’s wrong with my amazing job?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m just struggling to believe this,’ Jason said.

  ‘“She felt her pulse throbbing in the sweet, secret spot between her thighs,”’ Nikki said. ‘A widow wrote that.’

  Jason shook his head slowly, a curious smile appearing. ‘So how did this come about?’

  Nikki found herself at the very beginning, telling Jason about how she had been fooled into thinking she’d be teaching a literacy class. His growing smile made her slightly lightheaded. ‘Are these proper widows? Like my grandmother?’

  ‘I don’t know. Does your grandmother harbour any fantasies of kneading dough for your grandfather’s roti with her bare bottom? Because that’s a story we did recently.’ It had been Arvinder’s idea. Both members of the couple had been aroused by this act – the half-naked woman grinding her bum over the gooey raw dough and the man eating the roti later which he claimed was velvety soft because of this secret method.

  ‘I can’t imagine her being savvy enough to come up with a scene like that.’

  ‘Not to you maybe. But I’ll bet she talks about these things with her friends.’

  ‘You’ll bet my sweet, innocent Nani-ji talks dirty with her prayer group?’

  Nikki smiled. ‘A month ago, I would’ve thought that was crazy as well but there’s such a range of creative stories coming from just four widows. There must be so many more.’ She couldn’t help looking at all elderly women differently now, not just the Punjabi ones.

  ‘My grandmother can’t even write her own name. She saw me playing c
omputer games when I was a kid once and she thought there were actual men inside the computer, with miniature guns in this tiny little city gone amok. There’s no way someone with that little exposure to the world could come up with such detailed sex stories.’

  ‘But sex and pleasure are instinctive, right? Good, satisfying sex makes perfect sense to even the most illiterate person. You and me, we’re just used to seeing it as an advanced invention because we learned about it after we learned the other basics – reading, writing, learning how to use a computer, all of that. To the widows, sex comes before all of that knowledge.’

  ‘I didn’t hear a word of that because I’m thinking about my grandmother making sex-roti,’ Jason said with a grimace.

  ‘Bum bread,’ Nikki said.

  ‘Tushy toast,’ Jason laughed. He shook his head. ‘I’m still in shock. What made these women feel comfortable telling you everything? Besides your obvious charm, of course.’

  ‘I guess they didn’t think I’d judge them because I’m a modern girl. They don’t tell me everything though.’ She thought about Preetam’s outburst about Arvinder’s affair and the way Maya’s name had rankled everyone once again. No explanations had been provided after the women returned from their break and Nikki sensed it would be a long time before she could ask about it. ‘Enough about my job. Tell me about engineering.’

  ‘You sounded bored just asking about engineering.’

  ‘Tell me! About! Engineering!’ Nikki said, pumping her fists into the air. Jason’s laughter boomed across the restaurant. A waiter gave them a dirty look.

  They did not make it to the film in the end. They stayed on at the restaurant, ordering more wine, glancing only once at their watches and quickly agreeing that they preferred conversation. Jason only wanted to hear about the stories. Nikki studied his face as she spoke; there was not a hint of outrage or disgust. He didn’t bat an eye when she casually mentioned that she felt like she was making a feminist foray into these women’s lives. The word didn’t seem to chafe.

  Afterwards, they walked outside together. It was a cool night and the London lights glowed on the streets. Nikki drew close to Jason and he slipped his arms around her waist. They kissed again. ‘It’s those raunchy stories’ fault,’ Jason said. Nikki laughed. No, it’s you, she thought.