The angry look on Laila’s face was the only remnant of the punishing nature of the curse. Ram gave Laila’s bottom a hard squeeze. Her scowl deepened. ‘How dare you?’ she asked. He gritted his teeth, the tension building inside him. He felt Laila’s muscles clenching at the same time as his. She cried out his name and let out a long, shuddering moan. Witnessing Laila’s ultimate pleasure triggered Ram’s quick, hot release. He grabbed her hips and moaned loudly. Laila’s body was slick with sweat. She continued to rock slowly on his stick as tiny aftershocks sent quivers through his body.
As they lay together, Laila explained that she had been created from Ram’s wishes to be with a woman. The curse had been no match against the strength of his desires. Aware that wishes, just like curses, have a lifespan, Ram asked Laila how long they would be together. ‘As long as these rolls of fabric,’ Laila said. They looked around. The fabric had unspooled and spilled across Ram’s modest studio. Rich, fiery hues of orange and dazzling silver threads stretched as far as they could see.
Kulwinder’s tea was cold. She barely noticed it as she brought the cup to her lips and gulped it down. Her face, her hands and feet felt very warm, almost hot. She could feel the pulsing of her heart and another pulsing in very private place. There was a faint recollection of this feeling, from many years ago when she first discovered what it was that men and women did, and why they did it. Her earlier appalled façade forgotten, she was enthralled. She even dared to think that it was worth living the rest of her life for, this closeness with another human being.
She put the story back into the folder and pulled out another one. This was by Jasbir Kaur, a widow who lived in South London. Kulwinder had attended the engagement party of her grandson a few years back. She began reading Jasbir’s story and felt the blood surging through her body with such urgency that she had to put it down. She stood up and left the cup of tea on the table. A wave of energy swept over her and carried her up the stairs. Lying on the bed, Sarab was staring at the ceiling. Kulwinder took his hand and laid it gently on her breast. He stared at her in confusion at first, and then he understood.
Nikki knew without ever having had the experience that she would be pretty hopeless in a fight. A wrestling scenario played in her mind and immediately she saw herself being pinned to the ground by one of Kulwinder’s meaty arms. She winced; even in a fantasy, she was losing. She would have to use her wits. The stories, she would explain, had never been intended to make a mockery of the classes, or of Kulwinder. The stories were inspired by the women, and yes, they were raunchy, but weren’t they learning language all the same?
If these tactics didn’t work, Nikki would just grab the folder and leave. For this scenario to work, the folder would have to be within reach of course. It occurred to her with a pang that Kulwinder might have already tossed the stories out in the rubbish.
The night breeze picked up and rustled through the trees. On the main road, the headlights of cars shone intensely like eyes. Nikki turned to a side street and walked briskly to warm herself. At night, the houses seemed to crouch together behind dim patches of porch lights. Nikki’s phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from Sheena.
All the women still want to meet regularly. Can you think of a place?
One problem at a time, Nikki thought, shoving the phone back into her pocket. In Kulwinder’s living room, the television flashed like a siren against the windows, which had curtains only partly drawn. Nikki rang the doorbell and waited but nobody came. She tried again and then peered into the window. She could see into the whole bottom storey from here. She squinted at the kitchen – lights on, a steel teapot and matching cup on the table, but no one in sight. Nikki shivered from the cold. The rain was getting heavier now. She tugged the hood of her jacket around her head. Opposite Kulwinder’s lit house, Tarampal’s home was completely dark.
Nikki crossed the road and hesitated on the edge of Tarampal’s driveway. She was hoping for a better view of Kulwinder’s house but she would have to go closer to Tarampal’s porch. It was clear that nobody was home but this was only a small comfort. The house still loomed menacingly, its gaping windows like blackened eyes. She forced herself forward. At least the awning on the porch provided some shelter from the rain. On the second level of Kulwinder’s house Nikki could see that the dim bedroom lights were on. She squinted, searching for more. At one point, she thought she saw a shadow crossing the window but it could easily have been a sheet of rain being carried by a strong gust.
What am I doing here? The question struck Nikki as the awning rattled with the thrum of rainfall. Even if she knocked on the door and Kulwinder answered it, what were her chances that Kulwinder would calmly return the stories? The pages didn’t really matter. The women could retell them. There were recordings. What Nikki wanted to do was talk to Kulwinder. Explain how the stories came about. Compel her to see that these women who had started one quiet rebellion could come together to fight a bigger injustice. Her heart and mind were still racing from her discovery about Jaggi’s handwriting. She just needed to convince Kulwinder that the case was worth pursuing.
Nikki ducked out from under the awning and made her way back to the main road. She would not confront Kulwinder today. It was too soon. Let her cool off; this was probably what she was doing now. On the main road, Nikki made a left towards the station. Her satchel swung against her hip without the usual weight of the stories. The windows of houses shone with a warm and familiar light. Nikki felt an ache for home. As the rain pelted down, she recalled the long walks through the city after quitting university, her face wet with rain and tears. She had entered O’Reilly’s on a particularly wet afternoon, so grateful to belong somewhere, to be hidden.
Nikki stopped in her tracks. The pub! The widows could continue their meetings in the back room. She strode quickly through the rain and pulled out her phone.
‘Sheena, I’ve found us a place to move the story classes. O’Reilly’s, where I work. It’s quite empty on weekday evenings.’
‘You want those old Punjabi widows to meet in a pub?’
‘I know it’s a bit unorthodox, but—’
‘I’m picturing it now.’
‘I am as well,’ Nikki said. Her vision switched between a scandalized Preetam refusing to enter and a drunk Arvinder swinging from the chandeliers. ‘But listen, Sheena, once we get the stories started, they won’t notice where they are. The important thing is to keep meeting. It can be a temporary place until we find a better solution.’
‘I could drive a few of the older women,’ Sheena said. ‘I could find a friend to take some others and give them directions. You tell me where it is and I’ll sort it out.’
‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’
‘No problem,’ Sheena said.
‘Another thing,’ Nikki said. She paused. Sheena was not going to like this. ‘There might be way to incriminate Jaggi.’
‘Hai, Nikki!’
‘Just listen.’ Nikki rushed to explain the smudged registration form before Sheena could protest.
‘What did Kulwinder say?’ Sheena asked when Nikki was finished.
‘She didn’t want to hear it,’ Nikki said. ‘I think she was too caught up in her shock and anger about the classes. I’m still in Southall at the moment. I thought of going to her house but I’ve decided to give her some distance.’
‘If you’re near Kulwinder’s house, you’re not far from mine. Do you want to come over? It’s really pouring out there.’
‘That would be nice,’ Nikki said. ‘I’m on Queen Mary Road. There’s a bus stop here and a little park across the road.’
‘Okaaay … oh! I can see you now.’
‘Where are you?’ Nikki squinted. Through the rain, she could see the outlines of people in their homes but no specific view of Sheena.
‘I’m across the road. I live near the park – but Nikki, don’t stop. Keep walking quickly.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Just go straight and make a left a
t the next junction.’
Nikki felt a dreadful prickling sensation, and from the corner of her eye, she noticed a shadow. ‘I’m being followed?’ she whispered.
‘Yes,’ Sheena confirmed.
‘Who is it? Can you tell?’
‘It might be one of the Brothers,’ Sheena said.
‘I’m going to turn around and say something.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Sheena hissed. Her tone startled Nikki. ‘Keep walking. Stay calm. There’s a 24-hour supermarket. Go to the car park and wait for me. I’ll come get you.’
‘No, Sheena. I’ll be fine.’
‘Nikki—’
Nikki hung up. Her stalker would recognize Sheena’s little red car. Being on foot was an advantage. She picked up her pace. Her breath caught in her throat. She could hear the person behind her, not slowing down, not turning. He was waiting to see where she would go. She dropped back to a casual pace, her eyes darting left and right to keep track of the shadow. She crossed the road to the supermarket and took refuge in the white, open expanse of the car park. Only then did she dare to glance over her shoulder. A young Punjabi man was staring intently at her. Nikki matched his stare with all the calmness she could muster while her heartbeat thrashed in her ears. Eventually, he walked away, but not without casting a menacing look at Nikki over his shoulder.
Chapter Thirteen
Kulwinder woke. She sat upright. The duvet fell away from her, revealing her naked body. She gasped and pulled the sheet up, tightening it across her chest and tucking it beneath her armpits. Sinking back into bed she noticed the coolness of it against her bottom, her calves. She recalled the events of last night as she spotted her clothes tossed around the room carelessly. Her salwaar hanging from the corner of the ironing board, her top crumpled in the corner, her pants – her pants! – scrunched into a ball on the dresser and slowly unfurling.
She closed her eyes in embarrassment. Oh what have we done? she thought. Behaving like goreh, getting carried away in their excitement. They had wrapped themselves around each other last night like giddy lovers, moving up and down, left and right, twisting even. Where had it come from? The stories had provided no instructions, but they had known anyway how to bring each other to such heat. The thought of it sent shocks through Kulwinder’s body and then she was overcome by a wave of shame.
But why?
She was startled by the question, uttered so clearly that it broke the silence in the room. Why was she ashamed? Because she was supposed to be; because women, especially at her age, did not ask for these sorts of pleasures. She blushed, thinking of the uninhibited moans that escaped her mouth – from every part of her body it seemed – as she drew Sarab in closer and closer. What if the neighbours heard? It had not even occurred to her last night.
Sarab’s side of the bed was empty as usual. He was always awake before her. His morning routine involved showering and then sitting in the living room with his newspaper. What was he thinking of her now? He was probably wondering what happened; what had inspired her to reach out for him like that? Worse, he would think that there was something wrong with her, he would think that she liked it, couldn’t get enough of it. That would be humiliating. Disgraceful.
Why?
Well, Kulwinder thought, he had liked it too hadn’t he? She recalled his grunts, his gasps of surprise. If he enjoyed it, then who was he to complain or ask her why it happened?
‘Sarab,’ Kulwinder called out. It was best to settle this now. To explain to him that last night’s behaviour was a response to those stories, nothing else. A moment of weakness. They did not have to discuss it any further.
There was no answer. She called out for him again. Nothing. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, Kulwinder held the sheet taut against her breasts, leaned out the door and bellowed her husband’s name. He called back. ‘I’m in the kitchen,’ he said.
Curious, Kulwinder scurried around the room finding her clothes. As she descended the stairs, she could make out faint sweet spices in the air. She sniffed her way to the kitchen and found Sarab standing at the stove, a pot bubbling in front of him. Black leaves and spices bubbled to the surface in a soupy mixture – too thick, Kulwinder immediately noticed, but she was too surprised to say anything. ‘Since when did you start making tea around here?’ she asked.
‘You have made it every morning for the last twenty-seven years,’ Sarab replied. He stirred a spoon through the mixture. ‘I have seen you do it countless times. I’d like to think I know how to make a cup of chai.’
Kulwinder stepped up to the stove and turned it off. ‘You’re burning it,’ she said. ‘Sit down and I’ll make you a new pot.’
Sarab lingered on the spot and watched her pour the leaves out to start again. She looked up to see him smiling at her. ‘What?’ she asked irritably, her glance darting away. He reached out and gently tipped her face towards his. Their eyes met and her lips twitched. The laughter that they shared filled the room, a shot of intoxicating warmth like the first hint of summer. When they stopped laughing, they started again, and they noticed that they were both crying as well. They wiped each other’s tears away.
‘Those stories,’ Sarab gasped. ‘Those stories.’ He was delighted.
Chapter Fourteen
A ghostly mist floated between the parked cars and trees as Nikki walked briskly to the supermarket for her weekly shopping, hiding her face in the fleece-lined collar of her jacket. As she was about to leave the store, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
‘Hey, Min. What’s going on?’
‘Listen, I was just having lunch with the girls, and Kirti’s fiancé is here – did I tell you she’s already engaged to a guy she met at speed dating?’
‘Nope,’ Nikki said. ‘Congratulations to her.’ She began walking briskly back to her flat, scrunching her face against a spray of rain.
‘But I called to ask you something. Kirti’s fiancé Siraj was saying there’s a class being offered in the temple in Southall for old bibis. Some sort of sex ed course.’
Nikki nearly dropped the phone. ‘Sex ed?’
‘I told him, my sister teaches English classes there and if there was such a thing I’d know all about it. Can you imagine? A sex ed class! For old Punjabi ladies! Hang on, I’ll put you on the phone to him.’
‘Wait,’ Nikki said. ‘I don’t want to talk to him. Where did he hear that?’
‘He said he heard it from some friends. Men can be worse gossips than women.’
‘What sorts of friends?’ Nikki asked.
‘I don’t know. Don’t worry, Nikki, nobody believes it. It’s not going to affect the reputation of your English classes, if you’re worried about that. Who would believe that a bunch of old bibis would be sitting around talking about sex?’
Nikki couldn’t help feeling protective over the widows. A fierce and sudden wind ripped through the air and sent Nikki’s hair flying in all directions. ‘You can tell Siraj that he’s wrong,’ Nikki said.
‘You’re wrong, Siraj,’ Mindi called. ‘My source is confirming it.’ In the background, Nikki could hear the irritating cooing of Kirti’s voice. ‘Aw, darling, it was a good story though, innit?’
‘Tell Siraj that my students write erotic stories. They don’t need sex education; they’re very well versed in what goes on the bedroom. They have wisdom which comes with age and experience,’ Nikki continued.
There was a long silence from Mindi. Nikki could hear the background noise of the restaurant fading away.
‘Say that all again. I couldn’t hear very well in there so I’ve gone outside.’
‘You heard me fine,’ Nikki said.
‘Nikki, are you serious? You’re running those classes?’
‘I wouldn’t call them classes. They’re more like sharing sessions.’
‘For old women to share what? Sex tips?’
‘Fantasies,’ Nikki said.
There was a sound that Nikki would have mistaken for a shriek of glee if she didn’t know he
r sister better. Nikki stopped mid-pace, letting her shopping bags slip from her wrists to the pavement. ‘Mindi?’ she asked uncertainly. Laughter, raw and wild, poured down the phone line.
‘I can’t believe it. The old bibis of Southall are writing erotic stories.’
‘You’re finding this funny?’ Nikki asked. ‘Mindi, are you drunk?’
Mindi giggled and her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Oh, Niks, I wouldn’t normally, but we had a little bit of champagne at lunch to celebrate the engagement. I felt like I had to drink just to mute the sound of Siraj’s voice. He’s a nice guy but he’s very loud. When he was telling us about the classes, I felt the whole restaurant turning to look at us.’
‘Where did he hear the rumour from?’
‘I told you, some friends.’
‘Do you have any names specifically? Could you find out?’
‘I did ask before but Siraj was very vague, oh, just people I know. That’s why I thought it was all completely made-up. I could ask him again.’
‘No, don’t,’ Nikki said, changing her mind. She didn’t know this Siraj and she didn’t want it getting back to his friends – however remotely connected they might be to the Brothers – that she was searching for them.
‘Mindi, I should go,’ Nikki said. ‘I’m just walking home from the shops. I’ll call you back later.’
‘Noooo,’ Mindi moaned. ‘I have so many questions for you about these classes. Plus, I have something to tell you. I’m seeing someone. I want to talk to you about him. I think he’s the one.’
‘That’s great, Mindi. Does Mum know?’
‘She’s acting funny about it.’
‘Funny how? Has she met him?’
‘Not yet. It’s still really new. She’s just been in a mood lately. She doesn’t want me to get married because then she’ll be all alone in the house with nobody to talk to.’
Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows Page 25