‘Hai, Nikki. That just isn’t how we did things. We didn’t have these choices.’ Tarampal almost sounded wistful.
‘So when it came time for your daughters to get married, you wanted them to have no choice as well?’ Nikki asked, knowing she was on dangerous ground but not knowing how to tread lightly on this subject. The softness in Tarampal’s eyes vanished.
‘Nowadays, girls run around with three or four men at the same time, deciding when they want it to happen. You think that’s right?’
‘What do you mean?’ Nikki asked, leaning toward Tarampal.
Tarampal looked away. ‘I didn’t say you were like that.’
‘No – what you said: deciding when they want it to happen. When they want what to happen?’
‘Oh, don’t make me spell it out, Nikki. Girls here are spoiled by their choices. A man can’t just storm into a room and take off a young girl’s clothes and tell her to spread her legs. Somebody at the temple told me that there’s a law in England against a husband doing it to his wife if she doesn’t want to. His own wife! Why does a man get punished for doing this? Because the English don’t value marriage like we do.’
‘It’s punishable because it’s wrong, even if they’re married. It’s rape,’ Nikki said. It was another one of those words surrounded by such taboo that she had never learned its Punjabi equivalent, so she said it in English. No wonder Tarampal resented the other widows. Although they appeared reserved like her, their storytelling went against everything she had been trained to believe about marriage.
‘That’s what husbands did back then. We didn’t complain. Being married is about growing up.’
At the corners of Tarampal’s eyes, fine lines were just beginning to emerge. Her hair was still dark and thick, unlike the white buns worn by the other widows. She was young, yet she’d been a wife for three-quarters of her life. This detail struck Nikki hard. ‘How old were you?’ she asked.
‘Ten,’ Tarampal said. Her face shone with a pride that made Nikki’s stomach roil.
‘Weren’t you afraid? Weren’t your parents afraid?’
‘Nothing to be afraid of. It was such good fortune, being destined for Kemal Singh, the Pundit himself,’ Tarampal said. ‘Our horoscopes matched, you see, so there was no denying our match even though there was a huge age difference.’
‘Was there time for you to get to know each other?’ Nikki asked. ‘Before the wedding night, I mean.’
Tarampal took a longer pause to sip her tea and in that time, Nikki thought she noticed a cloud cross her face. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t press,’ Nikki said. ‘It’s obviously personal.’
‘It doesn’t happen like that,’ Tarampal said. ‘It is much simpler and you will want it to be over as soon as it starts. The romance, the consideration for each other’s needs – that comes later.’
‘So it came, then?’ Nikki said. She wasn’t sure why she felt so relieved but her sentiments were mirrored in Tarampal’s features. An unexpected smile twitched on her lips. ‘Yes,’ she said, her cheeks high with colour. ‘All of the good things came later.’ She cleared her throat and turned her head away, clearly embarrassed that Nikki had seen her reminiscing.
‘What’s wrong with writing about them then? Sharing them?’ Nikki asked gently.
‘Hai, Nikki. Those stories are vulgar. Why must these private things be written for everybody to see? You’re defending these stories because you’re unmarried; you don’t know anything yet. You must be picturing it with somebody – you have a boy in mind, do you?’
‘Uh, me? No.’ Tarampal would probably chase Nikki out and bleach the seats if she knew that Nikki had been with several men already, none of whom she had ever considered marrying. Then there was Jason. Last night, he had come to the pub and she had invited him back to her flat after her shift. The floorboards had creaked dangerously with their shifting steps as they tumbled onto her bed. Afterwards, Nikki had suggested that they spend their next evening in Jason’s flat. ‘My place isn’t an option,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve got a flatmate who’s always there and the thinnest walls in the world.’ A catch in his voice suggested this was an excuse. She wasn’t dwelling on it. She couldn’t. She liked him too much.
A moment passed. Nikki turned towards the window, looking at Kulwinder’s home. The curtains were drawn shut and the porch light was off, giving it the shadowy appearance of a house in mourning. Turning back to face Tarampal, Nikki’s gaze landed on an item on the fridge: a Fem Fighters magnet clip.
‘Is that yours?’ Nikki asked, surprised, pointing to it.
‘No, of course not. It was Maya’s,’ Tarampal said. ‘She left it here. Kulwinder and Sarab came through and took everything, of course – all of her clothes, her books, her photos. All that was left after they came through were the little things – a paperclip here, a sock there. This magnet as well.’
‘She lived here?’
Tarampal stared at her strangely. ‘Yes, she was married to Jagdev. How can you not know this? Weren’t you friends with Maya?’
‘No.’
‘How do you know Kulwinder then?’
‘I responded to an advertisement for the job.’
‘I thought you were one of Maya’s friends. I thought Kulwinder offered you the job as a favour.’
Nikki looked at the magnet again. No wonder Tarampal thought they were friends; they clearly had a few things in common. There was such contempt in Tarampal’s voice every time she mentioned Maya, yet they had been practically related. ‘So Jagdev is your nephew?’
‘He’s a family friend from Birmingham. No relation. He came to London to look for work after he got laid off from his job. Kulwinder insisted on introducing him to Maya because she thought they’d be suitable for each other.’ Tarampal sighed. ‘But she was wrong. Maya was a very unstable girl.’
Jagdev: the son Tarampal always wanted. Nikki could see her relishing the role of possessive mother-in-law. She wished there were some way to teleport Mindi into this conversation, to show her what she was getting herself into. Tarampal wasn’t even related to Jagdev and she could hardly hide her disdain. What were Mindi’s chances of winning approval with a real mother-in-law? ‘So it was set up then? How long did they have to date?’
‘Three months,’ Tarampal said.
‘Three months?’ Even Mindi and Mum would balk at that time frame. ‘I thought Maya was a modern girl. Why the hurry?’
‘The widows didn’t tell you all about this?’
‘No,’ Nikki said.
Tarampal sat back and eyed her. ‘I find that surprising. All they do is gossip.’