Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows

by Balli Kaur Jaswal

  A hush fell over the pub. Thin applause crackled on the television screen as the tabla player left the stage. From the corner, Steve let out a low whistle. ‘You tell it like it is, Nikki,’ he said.

  Nikki whipped around to face Steve. ‘Oh, don’t you pretend to be any better. I’ve put up with your racist rubbish for too long. I don’t care that you’re a customer. You can pack up your ignorant comments and get out as well.’

  Nikki strode to the middle of the room. ‘For everybody’s information, the entertainment in this establishment is decided upon by the management.’ She pointed a thumb to her chest. ‘Me. I decide what’s playing on that screen. Whoever’s got the remote, you have ten seconds to return it to me or at least change the channel because we’re not watching Britain’s Got Bloody Talent.’

  Grace stepped forward and produced the remote control with a guilty duck of her head. Somebody in the back of the room started an ill-advised slow clap, which quickly died. Nikki changed the channel and went back behind the bar, where Garry and Viktor shared a nervous glance and retreated to the kitchen.

  ‘Why don’t you take the rest of the shift off, luv? I’ve got this,’ Grace said.

  ‘I’m fine. It was just … they say such insulting things and I’ve started getting angry at myself for not saying anything and—’

  Grace’s face was wide with understanding. ‘You said what you had to say, darling. No need to explain.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to be so harsh about the remote control,’ Nikki said.

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ Grace said. ‘I don’t know what that show does to me but the tears start coming and I just can’t stop crying. You’ve seen it.’

  ‘I have,’ Nikki said.

  ‘My husband says “It’s women. It’s in your chemical make-up. You can’t control being overwhelmed by emotion.” But I don’t get that way about sad movies or even those news items. Little girl diagnosed with rare cancer on the news the other day – I frowned and said, “What a shame” and moved on. But that man working two jobs to be able to pay for his sister’s contortionist classes so she can one day perform in the Royal Variety Show …’ Grace choked on her words.

  At this point, anything was better for this pub than Britain’s Got Talent. Nikki gave Grace a sympathetic squeeze of her shoulder and flipped to the next channel. They landed on a grim scene: police combing through dense foliage and then a sergeant talking to the camera. Perfect, she thought. Customers politely avoided Nikki, leaving her idle at the bar. She checked the time on her phone once again and surveyed the pub. No Jason. That was it. She searched for his contact details, took in a breath and deleted his number. She didn’t want to be tempted to call him.

  In the corner, Steve leaned over to whisper something to Nola and Nola sprang from her seat and left the pub in a huff. Steve’s grin disappeared. He scrambled after Nola. Grace raced over to the entrance, blocking his way. ‘You’ve got a tab to pay,’ she reminded him. Then she said something that Nikki couldn’t hear. Sulking, Steve pulled out his wallet and threw some bills at Grace and left. Grace picked up the money and brought it over to Nikki. ‘He’s an accidental tipper,’ she said. ‘Here’s your share.’

  ‘Oh Grace, no. You’ve been serving him tonight.’

  ‘You’ve been putting up with him for years,’ Grace said. ‘You deserve a reward. I told him Sam would have him removed if he tried to come back. He’s no longer welcome here because he makes our staff and patrons uncomfortable.’ She pressed the bills into Nikki’s hand.

  Grace’s gesture stirred something in Nikki. She couldn’t believe how much she missed Mum all of a sudden – Mum who had pushed money into her hand the same insistent way the first time she returned home for dinner after moving out.

  Nikki’s phone was still in her hand. She searched for Mum’s number and began composing a message but the words didn’t come to her. She called her instead. After several rings, Nikki was tempted to hang up but then Mum picked up. ‘Nikki?’

  ‘Hi, Mum. How are you?’

  ‘I was just thinking about you.’

  Those simple words warmed Nikki’s heart. ‘I was thinking about you too, Mum.’

  ‘I need you to do me a favour.’ There was an edge of slight panic in Mum’s voice. ‘Auntie Geeta is coming over tomorrow and I have no Indian snacks to serve. The shop I usually go to in Enfield is closed temporarily – death in the family, I heard – and the other shops don’t have enough variety. Can you go to Southall and buy some gulab jamun, ladoo, barfi, jalebi – whatever they have – and bring them here? I also need some cardamom for tea. The cardamom at Waitrose is too expensive.’

  Here Nikki was thinking they were about to have a bonding moment. Her schedule for tomorrow was wide open. ‘Sure, Mum,’ Nikki said. She knew better than to ask Mum why she still bothered socializing with Auntie Geeta, for whom an unsatisfactory afternoon tea was probably symbolic of a woman’s failings.

  ‘Why is it so noisy?’

  ‘Um, I’m at a movie.’

  ‘The new job is going well?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘You’re liking teaching? Maybe this is a new career path for you?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum,’ Nikki said, eager to cut the conversation short. ‘I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.’ Mum said goodbye and Nikki slipped her phone back in her pocket. She didn’t know if she was disappointed, relieved or amused at how the call turned out. If only Jason were around; they’d laugh over it together.

  A customer approached Nikki tentatively and asked if happy hour was still on. ‘Sure,’ Nikki said, although it had ended fifteen minutes ago, and she poured him a lager. Despite her best efforts to stop thinking about Jason, she couldn’t help looking at the door again and wishing that he’d just show up and apologize for being late.

  Nikki’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She checked it to find a message from Mum:

  Another thing. Pls be careful in Southall. They are showing what happened to Karina Kaur on Channel Four now – don’t walk around there at nite!!!

  Nikki looked up at the television screen. The Channel Four logo glowed in the bottom corner. The narrator’s voice was barely audible in the buzz of pub conversation so Nikki switched on the close captioning.

  [ON 8 APRIL 2003, A GIRL WAS REPORTED MISSING AFTER SHE DID NOT RETURN HOME FROM SCHOOL.]

  [KARINA KAUR, A YEAR TWELVE STUDENT AT SOUTHALL SECONDARY COLLEGE, WAS ONLY WEEKS AWAY FROM SITTING HER FINAL EXAMS.]

  [AFTER A 48-HOUR PERIOD, A SEARCH BEGAN FOR THE MISSING STUDENT.]

  Two young women waved at Nikki from their table. ‘Is it still happy hour?’ one of them asked.

  Nikki shook her head. The woman glanced at the customer nursing his lager. ‘You sure?’ she asked.

  Nikki took their orders, keeping an eye on the screen. The next set of captions accompanied footage of small flickering flames. Then the camera zoomed out to show a crowd of high school students in uniform holding candles.

  [AFTER THE DISCOVERY OF KARINA’S BODY, A VIGIL WAS SET UP OUTSIDE HER SCHOOL.]

  ‘Thought I told you to take the evening off. Go on. Get some rest,’ Grace said, setting down a tray.

  Nikki nodded vaguely at Grace but she couldn’t tear her attention away from the screen. Filling the television screen, a young Punjabi woman stood at the tall iron gates of a school. She gripped a lit candle with two manicured hands – the nails hot pink with glittery gold tips. The flame illuminated the streaks of tears down her face and the gold pendant which rested on her collarbone, in the shape of the letter G.

  The man behind the counter at Sweetie Sweets probably thought he was paying Nikki a compliment. ‘These gulab jamun are worth the calories,’ he had said, looking her up and down. ‘Not that you need to worry, hmm? Not yet anyway.’ He chuckled. ‘Before marriage, my wife was also skinny—’

  ‘If you could just pack these in a box for me, that would be great,’ Nikki said quickly, cutting him off.

  ‘No probl
em, dear. You having a little party? Am I invited?’ he grinned, leaning closer.

  Nikki was very close to smashing a gulab jamun on the guy’s forehead when his wife emerged from a back room. Suddenly, he became busy finding a box for the sweets. The wife glared at Nikki as she paid and left.

  She checked the time on her phone. It was too early to go to Mum’s without having to sit through countless questions that she wouldn’t be able to answer about her teaching job. She strolled along the Broadway, where the pavement was crowded with discount clothing racks and vegetable crates. A crooked line of men had formed outside a mobile phone shop selling overseas calling cards. Stacked atop these stores were more businesses, overlapping signs popping out from the buildings like cartoon speech bubbles: Pankaj Madhur Accounting, Himalaya Guest House, RHP Surveillance Pte Ltd. What Nikki used to consider chaos now felt very much like home as she wove through the throng of people, the box of sweets tucked under her arm. Eventually, she came to an intersection and crossed it to find herself standing at the entrance of the Bank of Baroda.

  Sheena was sitting at a counter and assisting a customer when Nikki walked in. ‘Next,’ called the woman in the window next to hers.

  ‘No thank you,’ Nikki said. ‘I’m here to see Sheena.’

  Sheena looked up. She returned to the customer and then walked out to greet Nikki with an air of professionalism that belied the confusion on her face. ‘Kelly, I’m going on my lunch break,’ she called.

  Once they were outside, Sheena’s smile vanished. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘Oh, Nikki, I knew I should have asked you before passing those stories around. You’re upset, aren’t you? Listen, the women coming to the next class are trustworthy. We’ll talk tonight about what to say to the Brothers if they question us.’

  ‘It’s not about the stories,’ Nikki said. ‘It’s Karina Kaur I’m curious about.’

  The concern on Sheena’s face faded. ‘You’re interrupting my lunch hour,’ she replied.

  ‘I can’t talk to you about it at the temple because there are too many eavesdroppers. I had to come here.’

  ‘What makes you think I know anything?’

  Nikki described the footage of the school candlelight vigil. ‘I’m pretty sure that was you.’

  ‘That’s impossible,’ Sheena said. ‘I wasn’t at school then. I was a newlywed when Karina died.’

  ‘It was someone who looked a lot like you then. She had that glittery pink manicure.’

  ‘Lots of women in Southall have those,’ Sheena said.

  ‘It was you. We both know it. You were wearing that necklace with the letter G pendant.’

  Sheena winced as though Nikki had jabbed her. She only recovered after adjusting the collar of her blouse to conceal the fine gold chain. ‘What for, Nikki? Why do you want to know? Because if you’re just plain curious, I’m not here to indulge you. This community’s problems are real.’

  ‘This isn’t for entertainment.’

  ‘What’s it to you then?’ Sheena pressed.

  ‘It’s my community too,’ Nikki said. ‘I don’t live here, but I’m part of it now. In my entire life, I have never felt so frustrated, amused, loved and bewildered as I have been in these past two months. But there seem to be layers of things going on that I’m not allowed to know about.’ She sighed and looked away. ‘I’m not so naïve to think that I can help, but I’d like to be aware of what’s happening.’

  Sheena’s face softened. A speck of afternoon sunlight peeped through the clouds and deepened the orange of her hennaed hair. Nikki was unwilling to drop her gaze, even when Sheena looked past her, deep in thought.

  ‘Let’s go for a drive,’ she finally said. Nikki followed her round to the car park and Sheena’s little red Fiat. Sheena put her key in the ignition. A bhangra tune poured from the speakers. They said nothing to each other on the drive, which took them past rows of bone-white houses. The road curved out and the houses disappeared behind them, replaced by parkland. Sheena slowed down on a gravelly road that opened out onto a small lake. The sun glinted on the water.

  ‘The girl you saw in the documentary was Gulshan Kaur. She was one of my best friends,’ Sheena said. ‘She died in a hit-and-run accident not far from here. The driver never came forward.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Nikki said.

  ‘Her mother gave me her birth necklace after she died. I didn’t want to accept it at first, but she insisted. There’s a superstition about keeping a deceased woman’s gold in her own home. It brings bad luck. Most people decide to sell or reshape their gold but Gulshan’s mother insisted that I have it. I’ve worn it every day since her death.’

  ‘You touch it sometimes,’ Nikki said. ‘Like you’re remembering her.’

  ‘If Gulshan were alive today, we’d see each other every day,’ Sheena said. ‘She’d still be my friend even though those other women distanced themselves from me and thought I was bad luck after Arjun’s cancer. She cared about the truth. That’s what killed her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Sheena took in a quivering breath. ‘Karina was Gulshan’s cousin. Gulshan and I were a few years older than her, so whenever she mentioned her cousin Karina, I just knew her as the lively girl that Gulshan played older sister to. Karina was rebellious. She got suspended from school for selling cigarettes to younger kids once, and she sneaked out to meet boys. Gulshan used to counsel her. Karina’s father was highly respected in the community and each time Karina did something bad, people muttered, “What’s wrong with that girl? She comes from such a good family. There’s no excuse.” Gulshan knew the truth though. Karina’s father drank heavily. He did it behind closed doors. A few times, Karina showed Gulshan the bruises she had from her father’s beatings.’

  ‘What was Karina’s mother like?’ Nikki asked.

  ‘Not around. This was part of the reason Karina’s father was so strict – he had no idea how to control a daughter. She was punished for every little thing and the beatings became more frequent. He pressured her to leave school and marry an older man in India. One day Gulshan got a call from Karina from a payphone. She said she was running away with her boyfriend and that she would call again once she was safe. Gulshan tried to talk Karina out of it but Karina said, “It’s too late. If I go home now, my father will murder me.” Gulshan didn’t tell anybody that Karina had called her, but a few days later, somebody managed to track her down.’

  ‘A bounty hunter, I’m guessing,’ Nikki said.

  ‘Yes. A taxi driver who was after the reward money. He found her miles away, in Derby. Imagine that, Nikki. She got that far away and the community still managed to find her.’ Sheena choked on these last words.

  ‘She was sent home?’ Nikki asked softly. Sheena nodded. She took a tissue out from her purse and dabbed the corners of her eyes.

  ‘After Karina returned, Gulshan didn’t hear from her. Gulshan’s parents warned her to stay out of it but one day, she broke down and said, “Sheena, something terrible is going to happen to my little cousin. She is going to die.” Even I struggled to believe it at first. Karina’s father had started a charity drive for newcomers to the country. He had come to my family’s assistance when we first arrived in England. He had helped to fill out all the paperwork, tax forms, employment, everything. I reminded Gulshan that young girls have a tendency to exaggerate. I was sure this man wouldn’t kill his daughter. Karina was probably on her way to India to get married to save the family’s honour.

  ‘Then I turned on the news one night and Karina had been reported missing to the police. It was her father who had reported her missing. That’s when it hit me.’ Sheena paused. In the quiet, the sound of another car could be heard making its way down the gravel path. It pulled up near them and a family with two children emerged and made their way across the field. Sheena stared past them and continued.

  ‘If her father was telling the police that she had disappeared, then he
knew that she wasn’t coming back. A few days later, her body was found in the wooded area near Herbert Park. That was a frightening time for the community. Everybody shut their daughters away at home, convinced that a killer was on the loose.’

  ‘But Gulshan suspected the father of murdering her,’ Nikki said. A sense of dread crept into her body.

  ‘Yes,’ Sheena said. ‘She didn’t know for sure. But after the fuss was over and the media went away, she started asking her own questions. Wasn’t it strange that Karina’s father had reported her missing to the police, but had kept things quiet the first time she ran away? Why hadn’t he hired another bounty hunter? He must have known that she was dead. Then one day, Gulshan called me up. She was very excited. She said, “Sheena, there’s proof now.” She had gone with her parents to Karina’s house to pay their respects at a prayer session. She had managed to sneak away to Karina’s room, which she searched until she found a diary. There were entries detailing Karina’s worst fears – that her father would murder her to save his reputation. Gulshan couldn’t take the diary out of Karina’s house without being noticed so she put it back where she found it. She thought it would be safer to call the police and tell them to search the room. But then …’ Sheena bit her lip.

  ‘The accident,’ Nikki said. ‘Gulshan died before she could contact the police.’ She closed her eyes as if momentarily shutting off the world would ease the injustices of Karina’s and Gulshan’s story.

  ‘Somebody must have told Karina’s father about the questions Gulshan was asking, about her seeing the diary,’ Sheena said. ‘The – the diary was never found.’

  ‘Who else did Gulshan tell about the diary?’

  ‘She told me,’ Sheena said softly. ‘And I told my mother-in-law. It was the early days of my marriage and we were bonding. I didn’t think anything of it. Likewise, she didn’t see the harm in telling a friend, who told another friend …’ Sheena shook her head, her words catching again. ‘Out of a sense of duty, somebody felt it necessary to stop Gulshan. Stop her before she embarrassed the community. Before she made us look like a group of barbarians who killed their own daughters.’