Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows: A hilarious and heartwarming novel. Balli Jaswal Kaur

night had felt longer than usual and she found herself looking forward to tonight’s lesson.

      Nikki finished her cigarette and entered the community centre building, running straight into Kulwinder Kaur on the stairwell.

      ‘Oh hello,’ she said.

      Kulwinder’s nose crinkled. ‘You’ve been smoking. I can smell it on you.’

      ‘I was standing near some smokers, and …’

      ‘Maybe these excuses work on your mother, but I know better.’

      ‘I don’t think my smoking should be your concern,’ Nikki said, straightening her shoulders.

      There was heat in Kulwinder’s stare. ‘The behaviour of an instructor is my concern. The women look to you for guidance. I don’t know how they’re supposed to respect any instructions that come from the mouth of a smoker.’

      ‘I’m doing everything that’s expected of me in the classroom,’ Nikki said. She made a mental note to cut short the storytelling session in favour of a grammar lesson in case Kulwinder did a spot check.

      ‘Let’s hope so,’ Kulwinder said. Nikki wedged past her uncomfortably on the stairs and found that all the women had arrived promptly. Tarampal had chosen a seat a noticeable distance from the others. ‘Nikki!’ Sheena called. ‘I’ve written a story. It’s a combined effort from all of us.’

      ‘Wonderful,’ Nikki said.

      ‘Can you read it aloud to the class?’ Preetam asked.

      ‘I think Nikki should read it,’ Sheena said.

      ‘In a minute,’ Nikki said. ‘I’ll just set some work for Bibi Tarampal here.’

      ‘Don’t bother with me,’ Tarampal sniffed. ‘I’ll just be working on my A-B-C book.’

      ‘For what?’ Arvinder asked. ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport.’

      ‘I’ll learn to write soon and you’ll still be illiterate,’ Tarampal shot back.

      Nikki pulled up a chair next to Tarampal and searched for the page on linking vowels and consonants. There were pictures representing each simple three-letter word. CAT. DOG. POT. ‘I don’t know all of these letters,’ Tarampal complained. ‘You haven’t taught them all to me.’

      ‘Do the ones you know,’ Nikki said gently. ‘We’ll work on the others together.’

      Nikki was aware that the women were watching her very closely as she began to read their story. Her Punjabi was rustier than she expected and Sheena’s rushed handwriting was unlike the careful print in the books she had learned from. ‘I’m not sure if I can read this, Sheena,’ Nikki said, squinting at the page.

      Sheena shot up from her seat. ‘I’ll do it then.’ She took the papers from Nikki. The other women sat up in their seats, their faces wide with anticipation. Watching them, Nikki had the dreadful sense that somebody was out to play a joke on her.

      Sheena began to read. ‘This is the story about a man and a woman taking a drive in a car. The man was tall and handsome and the woman was his wife. They didn’t have any children and had lots of free time.’ Sheena paused for effect and glanced at Nikki before continuing.

      ‘One day they were driving along a lonely road and they were running out of petrol. It was dark outside and they were scared. It was also cold, so the man stopped the car and hugged the woman so she would stop shivering. She was actually pretending to shiver. She wanted to feel the man’s body. Although she had felt his body many times before, she wanted to be with him in this dark car.

      ‘He began to feel quite like a hero because he was protecting his wife. He moved his hands down her back to her bottom and gave it a squeeze. She leaned closer to him and gave him a kiss. With her hands, she also moved down—’

      ‘Okay that’s enough,’ Nikki said. She took the story from Sheena and told her to have a seat. All of the women in the class were giggling except Tarampal, whose face was buried in her book. Nikki scanned the page. A sentence caught her eye: His throbbing organ was the colour and size of an aubergine, and as she gripped it with her hands and guided it towards her mouth, he became so excited that his knees began to shake. Nikki gasped and dropped the pages on the desk.

      The women were laughing loudly now, and their voices had begun to echo down the corridor. They reached the doorway of Kulwinder Kaur, who turned to listen but the sounds just as quickly settled down.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ Sheena asked.

      ‘This is not the type of story I had in mind,’ Nikki said.

      ‘You can’t be too surprised. You read stories like this yourself,’ Manjeet said. ‘You bought us an entire book of them.’

      ‘I bought the book as a joke for my sister!’ That said, Red Velvet had graduated from the charity shop bag to Nikki’s bedside table, from where she had no intentions of removing it.

      ‘I don’t get the joke. Were you supposed to buy her a different book?’ Preetam wondered.

      ‘She’s a bit reserved,’ Nikki said. ‘I thought the stories would remind her that she needed to lighten up, that’s all.’ Were the widows smirking? They appeared to be challenging her. She cleared her throat. ‘I think we’re done with stories for now.’

      The women groaned when Nikki presented the alphabet chart. ‘Today we’ll review consonants.’

      ‘Oh, not that bloody thing,’ Arvinder said. ‘A for apple, B for boy? Don’t treat me like a child, Nikki.’

      ‘Actually “A” is a vowel. Remember? What are some other vowels?’

      Arvinder scowled and said nothing. The other widows stared back blankly as well.

      ‘Come on, ladies. These are important.’

      ‘Last time you said we could do storytelling during these lessons,’ Preetam protested.

      ‘Right. I probably shouldn’t have said that. The fact is, I was hired to teach you all to write. I need to honour that promise.’ She glanced once more at the pages on the desk. If Kulwinder knew about this story, she’d accuse her of deliberately setting the women on the wrong path.

      ‘Why don’t you like Sheena’s story?’ Preetam asked. ‘I thought modern girls prided themselves on being open-minded.’

      ‘She doesn’t like it because she’s just like everybody else,’ Arvinder said. ‘All those people who say, “Take no notice of those widows. Without their husbands, they’re irrelevant.”’

      ‘That’s not what I think of you,’ Nikki protested, although Arvinder’s observation was not far off the mark. She had certainly expected these widows to be more impressionable than they turned out to be.

      ‘We’d be invisible in India,’ Arvinder said. ‘I suppose it makes no difference that we’re in England. You must think it’s wrong of us to discuss these things because we shouldn’t be thinking of them.’

      ‘I’m not saying your story was wrong. It was just unexpected.’

      ‘Why?’ Sheena challenged. ‘Because our husbands are gone? Let me tell you, Nikki, we have plenty of experience with desire.’

      ‘We talk about it all the time too,’ Manjeet said. ‘People see us and assume that we’re just filling our empty evenings with gossip but how much of that can one do? It’s far more fun to discuss the things we miss.’

      ‘Or what we were never given in the first place,’ Arvinder said dryly.

      Laughter rippled through the classroom. This time the noise pierced Kulwinder’s concentration just as she was about to solve a row in her sudoku puzzle.

      ‘Keep your voices down,’ Nikki pleaded.

      ‘Come