“Mum,” Rajni said.
“No,” Shirina said firmly. “Now you’re just making things up.”
“I wish. I’m serious. Mum told me to look into it.”
“How would Mum even know about these things?”
“That was my first question too,” Rajni said. “It turned out that she only had a vague idea of what went on, but somebody had told her that there were parties in East London that married couples credited for spicing up their love lives.”
“She didn’t know what they actually did?” Shirina asked.
“Not really,” Rajni said. “Sometimes I wonder if she thought it was a big prayer circle. All these couples just sitting around and wishing for the spark to reignite.”
Shirina laughed at the image. There was a contemplative look on Rajni’s face. “We quarreled over it,” she recalled.
“You and Kabir?”
“Me and Mum. I was annoyed with her for suggesting that we needed help. I had only confided that we weren’t having much sex anymore because she wouldn’t stop pestering me about having another child. Another son, I should say. Mum had this recipe for some vile concoction of fenugreek tea mixed with soaked dates and herbs. She swore by it, and even said I was more likely to conceive a boy that way. Obviously it didn’t quite work for her.”
“Really?” Shirina asked. Rajni raised her eyes to hers, so she quickly followed up with, “How did the argument end, then? Did Mum just give up talking about it?”
“It took her a while. I decided to focus on my career to take my mind off it all, but when I told her I was going for a principal-track position, she said, ‘Your family isn’t complete yet. Don’t wait too long or there will be a big gap between Anil and his sibling,’ like I wasn’t aware of how weird it was to be an adult and have a younger sister in primary school.”
Rajni’s face was flushed, as if she was still in the throes of the argument. It was strange seeing her so worked up about Mum, when that was usually Jezmeen’s department. Shirina could only remember Jezmeen’s constant fights with Mum—everything had to be challenged, from curfews to what subjects she took in school to how much she wanted to spend at the hair salon. Shirina always situated herself at the periphery of those memories because that was how it was—Shirina at the edge of the room, keeping her distance from conflict, Shirina finding something else to do so she wouldn’t get embroiled in a battle of wills between Jezmeen and Mum or Jezmeen and Rajni. The fact of her existence always made her guilty. Mum and Dad had wanted a boy. Shirina had been their last-ditch attempt at having a son. This, Shirina knew because Mum had told her. “We didn’t need another girl, but God decides these things.” In Mum’s voice, the unmistakable sadness at God’s plans for her family.
“So how did things get better, then? With you and Kabir?” Shirina asked.
“They just sort of picked back up again once we stopped trying so hard. The doctor told us there wouldn’t be any more children and it more or less lifted the pressure.”
“Mum never really talked to me about sex,” Shirina said. It seemed that by the time Shirina became a teenager, Mum had run out of steam. It was as if she had loaded all her advice onto the eldest and hoped it would trickle down somehow. Some things worked in this way—Shirina didn’t have to question issues like curfews and the proper ways to dress and talk; the examples were laid out for her in what Rajni did to please Mum and what Jezmeen did to rebel. The only time Mum alluded to sex was to tell Shirina that she should have children sooner rather than later. “Have sons,” she’d said, perhaps knowing what Shirina’s mother-in-law was like.
“It was the first time she was really open with me,” Rajni said. “I was surprised but I also didn’t want to continue the conversation much further. She started going into that whole yarn about ‘keeping your husband interested, otherwise you’ll lose him,’ and it put me off the conversation totally. It’s not all up to us, is it? I had a job and a son to raise and here’s Mum telling me I have to be a sex goddess as well, or I’d risk my husband leaving me. It was so old-fashioned.”
Shirina felt a familiar urge to defend Mum’s values. She had done the same whenever she and Lauren from work discussed their personal lives. “My mother-in-law thinks I should grow my hair out a bit more,” Shirina once told her. The response was a raised eyebrow. “Do you want to grow your hair out?” Lauren had asked. “Of course I want to grow it out as well,” Shirina had replied. Lauren did not look convinced. There were many conversations like this, Lauren’s tone growing more exasperated and patronizing. Shirina decided not to tell Lauren she was quitting until she handed in her notice and word got around. “Is she making you quit?” Lauren asked, cornering Shirina in the break room. Her voice was full of concern but Shirina didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t need to be rescued. She had written the resignation letter herself, providing no explanations because the Laurens of the world would never understand.
“Do you think Mum would have had an easier time if she had sons?” Shirina asked. “Do you think she would have been happier?”
The question seemed to pain Rajni. She looked out the window and didn’t answer Shirina’s question.
Silence fell between them and the roar of the coffee grinder filled the gap. Shirina wondered if she should offer up some detail of her own married life to complete the exchange, but what could she share? She and Sehaj hadn’t touched each other in a while but their circumstances were complicated, not that there was any need to talk about her married life with anybody, even her sisters. Especially her sisters.
Rajni looked as if she was about to say something when she suddenly jolted a bit in her seat and looked into her bag. She put her coffee down and picked up her phone. A moment passed and then she gasped and showed Shirina her screen. Before Shirina could read the message, Rajni said: “It’s Jezmeen. She’s been arrested.”
Chapter Seven
Please look out for each other in Delhi. It’s a busy city, and female travelers have to be more careful. Keep your eye on your belongings all the time, and don’t draw too much attention to yourselves.
The police station was humming with activity when Rajni and Shirina arrived. They were shuttled through various checkpoints and patted down by female officers behind curtains to protect their modesty, before being led to a waiting room. Fluorescent lamps flickered on the ceiling even though there was still plenty of daylight outside, but there were no windows here. The air was sticky and the floor felt grimy under Rajni’s sandals.
She dialed the British consulate phone number again. At this point, she could practically recite the list of prerecorded menu options. For opening hours, press one. For visa status, press two. For travel advisories and warnings, press three. There was no specific option for bailing family members out of Indian jails. She tried again to press four for “urgent assistance,” but the phone rang for a minute before disconnecting.
“I’m going to kill her,” Rajni muttered, tossing her phone into her bag. Shirina gave her hand a squeeze. No, you’re not, she was probably thinking, but the rage Rajni felt in her fingertips was stronger than anybody realized. She didn’t know exactly what Jezmeen had done to get arrested, but Rajni was certain that it was avoidable. Deliberate. Of course Jezmeen would sabotage this trip. From the start, this had been her mission. She wasn’t interested in the pilgrimage, in honoring Mum—why would she be? All she cared about was herself and settling scores. As these thoughts charged through Rajni’s mind, she could see them hashing it out right there in the police station. You think I want to be here? Rajni wanted to scream. You think I wouldn’t rather be at home dealing with my own family’s crisis instead of fighting with you on a tour across northern India?
A uniformed officer sat slouched at a desk near the entrance of the waiting room, the buttons of his shirt about to pop from the strain of his burgeoning belly. He flipped through files listlessly and called a few names. When nobody responded, he shut his file, picked up an empty glass mug, and disappeared into the back room.
“Lovely,” Rajni said to Shirina. “We’re going to have to wait till chai break is finished.”
“It could be a while,” Shirina said, nodding to the door. More people were pouring in and crowding their space. Was there any place in India that wasn’t teeming with people? Rajni had a new appreciation for the spacious hall of the gurdwara yesterday, and the wide boulevard they had walked along this morning. She wondered what Jezmeen’s jail cell was like, and she felt an acute pang of fear for her sister, packed with strangers in a cramped and dimly lit room. Rajni’s only point of reference for the image was those news documentaries that aired on TV back home about naive British holidaymakers trapped in some drug or human trafficking ring and jailed in unimaginable conditions in Cambodia or Nigeria. She did not think she’d have the stamina to be like their families, shuttling back and forth to visit their incarcerated children and attend their court hearings. With a renewed sense of urgency, Rajni took her phone out of her purse and tried the consulate again. As she sat through the menu options once more, the officer returned with a steaming cup of tea and a spring in his step. He picked up a fresh stack of folders, and called out a few names. There weren’t many parents here, Rajni noticed. Only one silver-haired man wearing a pressed suit and expensive-looking leather shoes stepped up to the desk. He and the officer exchanged a few grave words and then he was given a stack of forms to complete. Rajni groaned. Forms, more forms. They would be doing endless paperwork until it was time to return to England. The phone continued to ring.
“Jezmeen Shergill?” the officer called.
“Yes,” Rajni said, leaping from her seat with surprise like she’d just won a bingo tournament. Shirina followed her. “We’re here for Jezmeen Shergill. Is she all right? Where is she?”
The officer was busy reading from his file. “You are the closest relative?”
“I’m her sister. We’re here on holiday—from England,” Rajni said. The phone had rung out again. If the consulate wasn’t going to answer her calls, then maybe she should just start announcing her citizenship and seeing if it had any clout. “We’re British citizens,” Rajni said. The officer did not look impressed but he did make some notes in his file. Then he picked up his glass and took a long, deliberate sip.
“Do you think . . .” Rajni whispered to Shirina. “Do you think he wants some—you know?”
Shirina’s expression was blank. She clearly did not know what Rajni was hinting at.
“How much do you think he’s after?” Rajni tried again. “You know, like, money. A B.R.I.B.E.”
The officer cast them a sidelong glance.
“He can spell, Rajni,” Shirina said.
“Right,” Rajni said. “Shit.”
“Also, I don’t think it works like that,” Shirina whispered back. “I don’t think anybody asks for money in these situations. You just sort of . . . work it out.”
“Sure, but there’s a ballpark figure, isn’t there?”
“You mean like a market rate?” Shirina asked. “How am I supposed to know what that would be?”
Clearly, they were already terrible at this. Rajni didn’t even have that much money in her purse. She’d have to negotiate slyly and then run out to an ATM machine. That wasn’t right, was it? In the movies, everybody just slickly slipped money into each other’s palms. Or was that just for valets so they didn’t ding up your car?
“Can you tell me what she’s been charged with?” Rajni asked the officer. “Please?”
The officer squinted at his files. It was unclear whether he’d heard her. Rajni was about to ask again, when she felt somebody tapping on her shoulder. She turned to see the silver-haired man. “It’s better not to ask too many questions. You’ll agitate them,” he said gently.
“It’s just—we have no information, and we’re here on holiday and . . .” Rajni felt the tears building up. Mum’s going to kill me, she used to think every time Jezmeen got into trouble. She could picture Mum right now, arms crossed over her chest and shaking her head, asking, “Why weren’t you watching her?”
“Let me ask,” the man said. As he leaned toward the officer, Rajni wondered why it made any difference when he asked the same question, but the officer seemed to bend to his authority. It was either because he was a man or because he was the type of man who wore expensive leather shoes. They chatted in such low voices that Rajni wasn’t able to catch everything that they said but at one point, the officer nearly cracked a smile.
The man turned to Rajni. She noticed the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were like Kabir’s. “It seems that your sister was rounded up with the same group that my daughter was in. The protest at India Gate.”
“A protest?” Shirina asked. She and Rajni exchanged a look. It sounded like a mistake. “What kind of protest?”
“A women’s rights march,” the man said. “It got violent, and the police did a sweeping arrest of protestors that she got caught up in.”
“How violent?” Rajni asked.
“I don’t know,” the man said. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’m sure it was nothing serious, just a scuffle. The police use these scare tactics sometimes to deter the girls from protesting again.”
“Do they work?”
“You tell me,” the man said. “It’s my third visit to a station to get Parvana out of trouble this year.”
“Oh.” Rajni didn’t know what to say. She was caught between extending her sympathies for having such a troublesome daughter and wanting to commend him for remaining so calm.
The officer handed over a clipboard of forms. “Have a seat,” the man said, gesturing at an empty spot on the bench. “My name is Hari, by the way.”
They all shook hands and introduced themselves. “She’s going to be okay, right?” Rajni asked. “She’s not going to stay here?”
“What did she tell you over the phone?” Hari asked.
“It wasn’t a call but a text,” Rajni said. “All it said was where she was being held.”
“Unfortunately, there isn’t much they can tell us either. It’s a waiting game.”
Looking up from her forms, Rajni stared at the door, trying to imagine what was beyond it. A row of jail cells with iron bars, and Jezmeen crammed in with the other women she was rounded up with?
“She’ll be fine,” Shirina said, as if reading Rajni’s thoughts. “Of all three of us, Jezmeen’s the most likely to survive a situation like this.”
Shirina looked like she needed some comforting herself. She looked very tired and on the way here, she had asked the driver to pull over because she needed to throw up. The driver had pulled over and the nausea abated. “Probably something I ate,” Shirina had said weakly. Now sweat plastered her hair to her forehead and her eyes were bloodshot. The lack of ventilation in this room wasn’t helping. The air here was stale and it smelled of sweat.
Rajni was sure she remembered this police station—the smells, the sounds, the fear. She remembered flickering lights, the beady-eyed officers, and the suffocating feeling of being in the wrong place. Of course, she knew it was unlikely that this was the same station she had walked into all those years ago. There were many other stations in Delhi. But the panic that was rising in her throat, that sense of feeling trapped and desperate to get home, of wanting but being unable to leave, made her feel like a teenager again.
To distract herself, Rajni concentrated on filling in the forms as quickly as possible. Next to her Hari took his glasses off. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. “Are you all right?” she asked him, her pen still going rapidly.
“I just don’t know when this will stop,” he said. “My daughter—she’s a college student. She gets so fired up that she puts herself in all kinds of danger.”
“My sister is like that too, except she’s old enough to know better,” Rajni said.
“How old is she?”
“Thirty-two,” Rajni said. She put her pen down and looked at Hari. “She’s well past the age whe
re I should be called upon to bail her out of trouble.”
“So it doesn’t stop, then?” Hari asked, a smile curling at the edges of his lips.
“You tell me,” Rajni said. “I have a son entering university this year.” Yes, in some alternate reality, Anil was going to do exactly what she wanted. Rajni could only deal with one catastrophe at a time, so for the purposes of this conversation, she was not going to be a grandmother in a few months. “I can’t believe you’ve done this more than once,” she said to Hari.
“Last time, I vowed that I wouldn’t. I told Parvana she’d have to find her own way out. But when she called to tell me where she was . . .” He sighed. “There are all-women police stations, you know. I knew this wasn’t one of them. I couldn’t just leave her here, no matter how angry I was.”
Rajni looked around. The clicking of computer keys. The ringing of phones. The creaking fan mounted on the wall like a hunter’s prize, slowly turning as if surveying the room and finding it very disappointing.
“No, I couldn’t either,” she admitted. “I could punch Jezmeen, though.”
Shirina looked up sharply. Rajni immediately felt guilty for saying this. She had hit Jezmeen in the hospital that day, just before Mum died. She flexed her fingers and thought about how the feeling in her knuckles went numb after she’d hit Jezmeen, and she had wondered if it was a physical or emotional reaction.
“Have you tried calling your consulate?” Hari asked.
“Didn’t get an answer,” Rajni said.
“Must be lots of Britons causing trouble in India today, then,” he said.
“We’re a rowdy lot,” Rajni quipped.
“Not my impression at all,” Hari said. “Except when the football is on.”
“Thank you for doing this,” Rajni said. “You really don’t need to be comforting me when your daughter’s in the same situation.”
Hari shrugged. “It’s not a situation that you share with many people. When Parvana was younger and got into trouble in school, my wife refused to talk to the other parents in the principal’s office. She insisted that we weren’t like them.”
The Unlikely Adventures of the Shergill Sisters Page 12