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Her senses became overwhelmed with the colour of their kameezes, the sound of fabric rustling and pencils tapping, the smell of perfume and turmeric. Her purpose came into sharp focus. ‘Some people don’t even know about this place,’ she would say. ‘Let’s change that.’ Fiery-eyed and indignant, they would pen their stories for the whole world to read.
‘This is what you do,’ Mindi said. ‘You follow your so-called passions and don’t consider the consequences for other people.’ This charge again. It would be easier to be a criminal fairly prosecuted by the law than an Indian daughter who wronged her family. A crime would be punishable by a jail sentence of definite duration rather than this uncertain length of family guilt trips.
‘They. Can’t. Write.’ Nikki wanted the words to burn past Kulwinder’s calm exterior. ‘You tricked me into it. I thought I’d be teaching a creative writing workshop, not an adult literacy class. They can’t even spell their own names.’
‘The girls in your generation are luckier. At least you get to know the person before marrying him. You can separate the idiots from the bloody idiots.’
‘The maid doesn’t wait for him to answer. She unzips his pants and out springs his man hammer,’ Jason said. Nikki burst out laughing. ‘Is that what you call it?’ ‘It’s quite the tool.’ ‘You’re quite the tool,’ Nikki said, giving Jason a shove.
‘You’re very bossy about this vocabulary.’ ‘I want to get it right.’ ‘All right, his zucchini.’ ‘They’re called courgettes here.’ ‘Oh, I like that. It sounds sophisticated now, like a corvette.’ Jason said.
