‘There are ones that are too big. You wouldn’t want a sweet potato. Hai, that was my problem,’ Sheena said, shaking her head. ‘No amount of ghee could make that first entrance a pleasant one.’
‘A banana is ideal,’ Preetam said. ‘Nice size and shape.’
‘How ripe?’ Arvinder asked. ‘Too ripe and it would be like my first experience – a pile of mush.’
‘Why are you using vegetable and fruit names?’ Nikki interrupted. These conversations were starting to put her off going to the supermarket.
‘We don’t always,’ Manjeet said. ‘Sometimes we say danda.’ The Punjabi word for stick. ‘Nobody talks about these things. All of our knowledge and language was passed down from our parents. They certainly didn’t discuss what men and women did together.’
‘You’re right,’ Nikki said, failing to come up with the Punjabi word for penis herself. She would have to get used to these replacement words even though they sounded bizarre to her. In a previous lesson, none of the widows had batted an eye when Sheena read out, ‘She gasped and whispered, “Oh my darling, that feels so good” as he thrust his cucumber into the depths of her lady pocket.’
‘But we do know the English words,’ Preetam said. ‘That we learned quickly from television and our children. Like swearing – we heard the way they said it and knew it was wrong.’
‘Cock,’ said Arvinder.
‘Balls,’ Preetam chirped. ‘Tits.’
‘Pussy?’ whispered Manjeet. Nikki nodded. Manjeet beamed.
‘Tits, fucking, pussy, arses,’ Arvinder declared in a sudden fit.
‘All right, then,’ Nikki said. ‘We can stick to the produce names if that’s what you’re comfortable using.’
‘Vegetables are the best,’ declared Preetam. ‘Tell me, is there anything that gives you a better idea of how it would feel and taste than a description of it as a juicy-juicy aubergine?’
Before class the following week, Nikki sprinted from the bus through icy rain to get to the temple. Still shivering in the langar hall, she spotted Sheena sitting alone. She lined up to fill her plate with chickpea curry, dal and roti and then asked Sheena if she could join her. ‘Of course,’ Sheena said, moving her bag.
Nikki tore a piece of roti and used it to scoop up the dal. With a teaspoon, she dabbed on a bit of yoghurt. ‘Mmm,’ she said, chewing the roti. ‘Why is temple dal always so delicious?’
‘Do you want the religious answer or the real answer?’ Sheena asked.
‘Both.’
‘The dal is made with God’s love. And it’s full of ghee.’
‘Noted,’ Nikki said, taking a less generous scoop with her next piece of roti.
‘Don’t let it stop you from enjoying your meal,’ Sheena said. ‘But whenever I try on a pair of trousers and they feel too tight, I know what’s to blame.’
‘You don’t always eat here before class, then?’ Nikki said. Sheena was a slim woman who did not look like she had ever suffered an overdose of fatty dal.
‘I usually go home after work and cook dinner for my mother-in-law and myself before coming here. The traffic was so bad today because of the storm that I decided to just come here straight from work.’
So Sheena still lived with her mother-in-law even though her husband had passed away. Nikki wondered if she did so out of a sense of duty. As she often found herself doing, she sneaked a glance at Sheena, seeking clues from her modern dress and demeanour as to how traditional she really was.
‘She’s got dementia, the poor thing,’ Sheena continued, interpreting the unspoken question. ‘Sometimes she asks after her son. I can’t imagine leaving her to live on her own, confused and disoriented all the time.’
This reason made more sense. ‘She was a good mother-in-law then?’ Nikki asked. ‘All I seem to hear are the horror stories. I worry about my sister who wants a traditional marriage. Your mother-in-law obviously treats you well though.’
‘Oh yes. She was like a friend,’ Sheena said. ‘We kept each other entertained at home. She didn’t have any daughters, so she really enjoyed having me around. There was no question that I’d remain in the family after Arjun died. Living with them took some getting used to at first, but everything’s about adjusting. Tell your sister that. Is she having an arranged marriage?’
‘Sort of,’ Nikki said. ‘I posted an ad for her on the marriage board.’
‘Oh, some of those profiles are hopeless, aren’t they?’
‘I like the one that mentioned the guy’s blood type,’ Nikki said. ‘Wifely duties probably involve donating a kidney in that family.’
Sheena laughed. ‘When my parents were arranging my marriage, I was mortified that they kept touting my “wheatish” complexion like it was my most important asset.’
‘Yes!’ Nikki said. ‘As if it attracts any more candidates if you compare your skin to barley.’
‘Unfortunately, it works,’ Sheena said. ‘The whole Fair and Lovely thing. Arjun’s whole family was darker than mine and when we couldn’t have children, someone had the nerve to say, “Well, now you don’t have to worry about them taking after his side.”’
‘That’s messed up,’ Nikki said, yet she remembered having a go at Mindi for buying face lightening cream in India, and Mindi replying, ‘It’s easy for you to judge, you’re at least three shades lighter than me.’
‘Are you next then?’ Sheena asked. ‘After your sister?’
‘Oh goodness, no,’ Nikki said. ‘I can’t imagine having my marriage arranged.’
Sheena shrugged. ‘It’s not that bad. Takes the effort out of it on your part. I don’t think I would’ve been very good at dating.’
‘But doesn’t it all feel very … set-up?’
‘Not if you play your cards right,’ Sheena said. ‘See, when my parents were looking for a boy for me, I did a bit of looking myself. I’d seen Arjun at a wedding, and when my parents asked about my preferences, I basically described him without mentioning his name. They went out and fetched him within the week. Luckily he’d noticed me at the wedding as well. Everyone was very pleased with themselves.’
‘That’s actually quite romantic,’ Nikki admitted. She could only hope for Mindi to have such luck in her search.
‘If you want something, always make your parents or in-laws think it’s their idea,’ Sheena said, pointing her finger at Nikki. ‘Take this old lady’s advice.’
Nikki laughed. ‘All right, Bibi Sheena. How old are you anyway?’
‘I’ve been turning twenty-nine for the past six years,’ Sheena said. ‘You?’
‘If you ask my mum, I’m still an infant and I will never earn the right to think independently. But seriously, I’m twenty-two.’
‘Do you live on your own?’
Nikki nodded. ‘In a flat above a pub. Don’t think I could spin that one to make it seem like it was my parents’ idea.’
Suddenly, Sheena’s face lit up. With a discreet flutter of her fingers, she waved at somebody. ‘No, Nikki, don’t turn around,’ she said quickly when Nikki swivelled in her seat.
‘Who’s over there?’
‘Nobody,’ Sheena said.
‘What’s Nobody’s name?’
‘You’re very nosey.’