Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows

by Balli Kaur Jaswal

Kulwinder stepped back and observed. Although she did not have a son, habit prompted a quick assessment of this girl for her suitability as a wife. Nikki had shoulder-length hair pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a wide forehead. Her beaky face was striking in its own way but she certainly could not afford to forgo wearing make-up like this. Her nails were bitten down, a disgusting habit, and hanging off her waist was a square bag that clearly belonged to a postal worker.

If she started changing directions every time she saw somebody she would rather not see, she might as well spend all her time in this living room, with the curtains drawn. But later that night, while Sarab snored lightly and Kulwinder eyes were wide open, she saw her mobile phone flashing. Unknown Number. On the other side, a voice that she recognized all too well. ‘You were seen talking to the police today. Try it again and you will be in a lot of trouble.’ Kulwinder tried to defend herself but, as always, her caller hung up before she had a chance to speak.

‘Sunita is not you?’ Preetam asked. ‘You’ve got a mole as well.’ ‘Ah, Sunita’s mole is a mark of beauty,’ Manjeet said. ‘Mine is just . . .’ She shrugged. Nikki noticed that she kept her hand cupped around her chin to cover her mole. ‘It’s beautiful, Bibi Manjeet,’ Nikki said. ‘Just like Sunita’s.’

People will talk. How Nikki hated that cautionary adage.

‘I can’t keep up with that lot,’ Sheena said. Nikki observed that Sheena didn’t even turn to look at them. ‘I tried. I went to school with some of them. But Arjun was diagnosed with cancer shortly after we got married – that was strike one. People are sympathetic at first but when the illness drags on, they start avoiding you, like your bad luck is contagious. Then, because of the chemotherapy, having children was out of the question. That was strike two. They were all having babies and forming mothers’ groups and they couldn’t relate to me. Then after being in remission for seven years, Arjun relapsed and died. I became a widow.’ ‘Strike three,’ Nikki said. ‘I see.’

Did these ladies look at those words and feel a sense of pride that they represented them as a person? Or was there shame at being unable to decipher the alphabet?

can’t imagine her being savvy enough to come up with a scene like that.’ ‘Not to you maybe. But I’ll bet she talks about these things with her friends.’ ‘You’ll bet my sweet, innocent Nani-ji talks dirty with her prayer group?’ Nikki smiled. ‘A month ago, I would’ve thought that was crazy as well but there’s such a range of creative stories coming from just four widows. There must be so many more.’ She couldn’t help looking at all elderly women differently now, not just the Punjabi ones.

Most men would be turned off by a woman making it her mission to help other women talk about their sexuality.

three young Punjabi men patrolling the bus stop and bullishly reminding schoolgirls to go straight home.

I think these men are supposed to represent the old patriarchy.

She even dared to think that it was worth living the rest of her life for, this closeness with another human being.

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.

This exposition is descriptive of the strange part that Nikki is playing in the murder mystery, also the murder mystery in the whole plot. It wasn't enough for this story to be about changing social norms and expectations for older women, but the addition of murder mystery doesn't feel necessary or smooth.

Manjeet shook her head. ‘He left me. Then he wanted me back. I went to him thinking it was my duty but all he wanted was somebody to cook and clean after his new wife ran off. Once I realized it, I packed my bags and came home. The whole journey on the train, every time I felt anxious about what I had done, I just remembered that the other widows and Nikki would be cheering me on.’

Your uncle was talking about all of the complex school projects his daughter Raveen was expected to complete and she was only in primary school. He said, “Raveen’s school is ensuring that all of its students are successful. What more can I want?” Dad replied, “My daughters were taught to make their own choices about success.”’

‘No girl will want to marry a boy who doesn’t have confidence,’ she had said. Now his confidence was a hot liquid spilling over.

For all the focus on women's feelings and motivations, the men are described as single dimensioned.

Let him find balance and moderation in all things; let him listen to himself and not the noise of others. Noise. That was all the Brothers had created. They hollered and stomped around Southall, but after what she and widows went through rescuing Nikki, the Brothers didn’t frighten her. Kulwinder noticed there were fewer of them patrolling the Broadway now, and earlier at the temple, she had seen one of them actually serving langar like a proper Sikh instead of keeping watch on the women in the kitchen. ‘They’re a little afraid of us now,’ Manjeet had said. But hadn’t the Brothers always been afraid? Now they knew the full force of the women’s strength. ‘They have more respect for us now,’

If you had stuck to teaching the women to write, they wouldn’t have made up those stories.’ What a loss it would be, Kulwinder thought, wishing she had some way of conveying this to the photocopier boy. ‘I’ve read a few,’ she added. ‘And what did you think?’ Kulwinder could hear the anxiety in Nikki’s voice. ‘I rescued you from a burning building,’ Kulwinder said. ‘I liked them that much.’

This doesn't sound like Kulwinder's character. People change but not so quickly or starkly.

‘Why be with someone who’s making the journey? You could be with someone who has already arrived.’

Kulwinder stood to hug her and noticed that her postman bag was missing. In its place was a backpack that bulged with books. ‘You’ve been studying hard,’ she commented. ‘I have some catching up to do. University starts up in a few weeks and I had such a long time away.’ ‘I’m sure it will all come back to you.’ ‘I’ve got a few new things to learn. The course is slightly different.’ Nikki was so excited when she was offered one of the remaining spots in this program, a law degree with an emphasis on social justice. ‘I want to help prevent what happened to girls like Maya,’ she had said when she rang Kulwinder to tell her the news, which made Kulwinder’s heart swell with pride. And then, in Nikki fashion, she had rattled on about women’s rights, except this time Kulwinder paid attention. ‘And there might be more unsolved cases like Gulshan’s and Karina’s killings. So few people questioned those girls’ deaths that it made it okay to continue the violence. Who knows – we might have grounds to open investigations for Gulshan and to open up Karina’s case again. I’m looking into ways to encourage conversations about honour crimes in communities like ours.’ Ours. Kulwinder’s throat tightened with emotion.

This revelation is unbelievable.