by Bali Rai
I met Sukh in the café bar where Jasmine worked and, with my brother’s threat echoing in my head, I gave him a long, hard kiss as soon as I saw him – kind of like sticking two fingers up at my family. Sukh was taken aback and for a moment I felt as if I had messed up somehow. But it was just a fleeting thing and he quickly kissed me back. When he let me go I had to get my head to reattach itself to my shoulders.
‘You look beautiful,’ he told me as we sat down, still holding hands.
‘I think you need your eyes testing,’ I said, going a shade of pink.
‘Not me, honey. I hope when you look in the mirror you see “fit bird”,’ he continued, smiling.
‘Bird? And there was I thinking you were a nice boy . . .’ I was joking of course. And flattered.
We ordered coffee, then sat and chatted for ages. It was as though we had always known each other. He knew exactly how to talk to me and listened with real interest to everything I said. And he told me everything, from what he’d done all day to how he felt about things. Yes, that’s right. A boy. Talking about feelings. He’d been like that from day one – sensitive, attentive, caring. It was boyfriend heaven, according to Nat.
And as he spoke his eyes sparkled and his hands were all over the place, helping to explain what he meant. I was almost in a trance, spellbound by his every word, watching his hands spell out stories. I was feeling something I had never known before – something that hadn’t existed in my life. A warm, surging force of emotion towards another person. I was in love.
Not the kind of love that you have for your family or your best friend. Not like that. This was pure, heart-stopping, can’t-think-about-anyone-else stuff. But as soon as I had decided on what I was feeling, I began to feel stupid and silly and just a little insecure. I started thinking about negatives. What if he didn’t like me as much as I liked him? What if he was putting on a front and turned out to be a wanker like Martin? As nice as it was to be alone with Sukh without Natalie popping up out of nowhere, I could have done with her being there, guiding me through a minefield to which I didn’t have a map. But then who does?
‘D’you wanna go chill out at the flat?’ said Sukh, looking at his watch. ‘Parvy’s in New York.’
I looked at him blankly for a moment.
‘Are you OK, Rani?’ he said getting out of his seat.
‘Yeah – just thinking—’
‘About how gorgeous I am?’ he said, laughing.
‘Actually – I was,’ I replied, smiling. ‘Yeah, let’s go to your sister’s flat – but no funny business, young man.’
‘Funny? Me? You must have someone else in mind, Rani. I’m really nice, me,’ he told me, grinning.
He held out his hand and helped me up, kissing me on the cheek. We walked out of the café and through The Lanes to Market Street. As we walked I held Sukh’s hand tightly, as though he’d float away if I didn’t cling onto him.
The entrance to Parvy’s building was down a narrow lane off King Street. It was an old hosiery mill, converted into expensive flats for young professionals with money – the kind of independent, successful young women that I sometimes dreamed of becoming. Other times I saw myself with a family, in a nice house, after a wonderful, colourful marriage to the man of my dreams, with red and gold silks and laughing relatives and, eventually, beautiful, happy children. It was nice to dream – it was a way of putting out of my mind the reality of my life. My father would be more than happy to pack me off to the first rich Asian family that came knocking. People who ‘fitted’ our family; came from exactly the same background and had the same wealth.
As we took a small lift up to the top of the building, I wondered what my dad would make of someone like Sukh and his family. He’d probably laugh to himself and tell me that Sukh’s dad had sold his family’s izzat down the river in the quest to become ‘bloody goreh’. That his sister was a khungeri – a whore who didn’t respect Punjabi traditions and thought she was different from other Punjabi women.
‘Apna aap nu sammage thei ki heh?’ he’d say. ‘Who does she think she is?’
The door to Parvy’s flat was wide and made of solid, heavy-looking wood. There was a buzzer and a spy hole but Sukh pulled out his own key and opened the door. The flat was immaculate, like something from a TV makeover show but with more style. I suppose you could have called it minimalist – all neutral walls and clutter free – a million miles from my parents’ house, where every space was filled with porcelain figurines and the walls were covered in gold-framed photos of family and gurus. The floors were solid light wood all the way through and even though it was actually quite small, a huge skylight in the middle of the living-room ceiling made it feel light and airy. I was so jealous. It was my fifth or sixth visit and my reaction was the same each time. I wanted one just like it.
Sukh made himself comfortable on the sofa in front of a huge television and turned it on. ‘What do you wanna watch?’ he asked, as I sat down next to him, admiring the stone head that sat on its own in a corner.
‘I don’t mind,’ I said. ‘We don’t have to watch a DVD. We could just talk.’
Sukh pulled a face and got up, walking over to a stand of CDs and movies, picking out a plastic case. ‘Yeah, we could talk, but I’m a bloke,’ he said, mocking me. ‘I don’t wanna talk.’
‘What’s that you’ve got?’ I enquired.
‘It’s a film called True Romance – wicked!’
‘Isn’t that a chick flick, Sukh?’ I asked.
‘You could call it that,’ he replied. ‘A chick flick with Mafia, murder and mayhem . . .’ He’d lowered his voice, stressing the ‘m’s on each of the three words, as if he were doing a film-trailer voice-over.
‘You’re so funny,’ I said, smiling. ‘Maybe you should take up acting with Natalie.’
‘Nah – I wanna go to Bollywood, not Hollywood. Be the big star of the moovee, innit.’ This time he sounded like one of my brothers. I got up and walked to him, pinching him on the arm.
‘Oww!’
‘Oh quit it – you big girl. Just put the DVD in and come and sit down,’ I told him, returning to the sofa.
‘Oh jess, boss – anyting ju seh pleese.’
‘And keep that bhangra-boy accent for your mates.’
Sukh put the DVD in and turned round before jumping on me.
‘GERROFF!’ I screamed as he tickled my sides, right where he knew would make the most impact. By the time he’d stopped I was breathless and red, and my hair was all over the place, not to mention my clothes.
‘Oh – look what you’ve done,’ I said. ‘I look like a bag lady now.’
‘Beautiful bag lady—’
‘You do need to get those eyes tested,’ I told him, laughing.
He didn’t laugh back. Instead he pulled me to him and I could feel the heat of his breath on my face. I held back for a split second and then we were kissing. I don’t know how we ended up with no clothes on but it just seemed to happen. Neither of us had planned it – it just felt right to be doing what we were doing. Part of me wanted to stop. Another bit of me wanted to carry on, like the caged animal, suddenly freed, with a mountain of food before it. I kissed his mouth, then his neck and his chest as he caressed my breasts really gently and then kissed them. I thought I was going to explode inside when I felt his tongue touch me . . . it was like a dream.
Later, fully dressed, we lay on the sofa together, watching the film. I was listening to his heartbeat and my head was light from what we had just done. I didn’t want to move. I just wanted to lie where I was for as long as possible and listen to the thump, thump, thump of my beautiful boyfriend’s heart and feel his warmth next to me. I wanted to kiss him some more and tell him that I’d really meant it earlier, when I had told him that I loved him. As the film wore on, I really didn’t pay it that much attention, although it looked fantastic. I just lay there lost in my own sweet thoughts, my mind’s eye full of blue, cloudless skies and my senses full of the sweet smell of summer flowers.<
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Eventually I kissed the tip of one of his ears and whispered to him. ‘You know what I said . . .’ I began, as he turned to look me in the eye.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I love you, Rani Sandhu. I love you too.’
I think he was slightly embarrassed because something crossed his eyes and then he buried his face in my neck before I pulled it back towards my own.
‘You’re not just saying that – because of what we did?’ I asked him.
‘I can’t go for five minutes without thinking about you, Rani,’ he replied. ‘I’ve never felt the feelings that I have for you. It’s like we’ve been together for ever – God, if my mates could hear me now . . .’ He laughed a little, maybe to cover up his confusion.
‘It feels like we were meant to be together, Rani,’ he continued. ‘So, no, I’m not just saying it because of earlier – I promise.’
That was enough for me. I kissed him some more and then settled back down to watch the film, only for my eye to catch the flashing display on the front of the DVD player.
17.46 . . . 17.46 . . . 17.46.
‘SHIT!’
I jumped up, knocking Sukh to the floor, panicked. I was supposed to have been home for five. My brother was going to go mental.
‘What?’ said Sukh as I grabbed my bag and ran to the bathroom.
‘I told Gurdip I’d be back for five,’ I told him. ‘He’s going to do his nut.’
‘Don’t worry about it . . .’ began Sukh before realizing that he was on dangerous ground. His family were OK – mine were not. Instead of continuing he got up off the floor and began to tidy up, ready for us to leave. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you to the cab stand over the road,’ he said.
‘I haven’t got enough money for a cab,’ I said, walking back into the living-room area with my hair back to its tidy best. ‘I need to go to a cash point.’
Sukh took my hand. ‘I’ve got some, honey.’
We made our way out into the street and walked across to the cab stand, hand in hand. There was a cab waiting and I told him where I wanted to go before turning to Sukh.
‘Call me later?’ I asked, kissing him on the mouth.
‘Just try and stop me,’ he said, giving me a big hug.
‘What you up to tomorrow?’
‘Football – Sunday League game against the enemy.’
‘Who?’
Sukh laughed. ‘Never mind, Rani. It’s boy stuff – bhangra, Bacardi and football.’
I turned up my nose, kissed him again and got into the taxi. As the car pulled away I watched Sukh, standing there watching me.
The driver, a balding middle-aged white man, let out a chuckle. ‘Yer boyfriend, is he?’ he asked in a thick Leicester accent.
‘Yes,’ I said, smiling broadly. ‘Yes, he is.’
‘Doon’t offen see Asian kids kissin’ in daylight – d’yer famleh know about ’im?’
I looked at the driver, wondering if he was trying to take the mickey, but in the end I just answered his question. ‘No, no they don’t. And do you know what? I couldn’t care less – I’m in love.’
The driver chuckled some more out of the side of his mouth, as he swerved to avoid another car. ‘How lovely is that. Valentine’s on the way an’ all . . .’
I was floating on a cloud all the way home, smiling to myself as I thought about what Natalie was going to say.
SUKH
SUKH SAT ON the side of the football pitch, cleaning his boots as he waited for his chance to get into the action. The pitch sat on a slope in the middle of Victoria Park. There were about a hundred people gathered around it, most of them Punjabi and all male. The two teams were Asian, with one affiliated to a Sikh temple on East Park Road, and the other to a rival gurudwara just on the outskirts of the city centre. Sukh was playing for the city centre team, or at least he would have been if he’d been picked. Instead he was one of the substitutes, waiting to get on. The team was managed by one of his cousins and was full of his relatives. Sukh had never played for the first team before and was quite excited. Most of the players came from families called Bains or Johal. On the opposite team, run by a bearded alcoholic called Jit, the players were mainly Rais, with a few Sandhus and one or two Gills thrown in. Not that the surnames meant much. They were amongst the five most popular names in the British Punjabi community, all linked to different villages back in the Punjab.
The game had been going for twenty minutes and the score was one all. The supporters faced each other across the pitch, occasionally shouting an insult one way or the other. Most of them were on the way to getting pissed, with bottles of Bacardi and Coke cans being passed around. There were one or two there who didn’t drink, mainly older men, but all the youngsters were at it. It was part of the fun. The game was like a Punjabi version of Celtic–Rangers or Liverpool– Everton. There was an intense rivalry between the teams, based, as far as Sukh could make out, on a similar rivalry between the two gurudwaras. That was what Sukh didn’t get. Most of the lads playing the game or watching never went to the temple, unless it was to a wedding, and even that would just be a precursor to the piss-up afterwards. Yet four times a year they got together and ‘stood up’ for their temple of choice. Defending their side and their reputation often led to fighting, nasty tackles and the throwing of missiles onto the pitch. Already the game had produced four yellow cards and one of the opposite team had been carried off with an ankle injury. There was a unspoken feud between the two sides, one which Sukh had avoided so far.
‘Ain’t gonna need to put them boots on, man – you ain’t no good,’ came a familiar voice from behind Sukh.
He turned his head to see a cousin of his, Tej, carrying a bottle of Pils and smiling inanely.
‘All right, Coz,’ smiled Sukh, wondering how pissed Tej was. He was well known for being half lit most of the time. In the language of Punjabi football culture, he was a ‘good lad’.
‘All right? Salehyah – we don’t say “all right” – we say “Aww kiddah!”’
He shouted the last bit and then did a little bhangra jig, going round in a wide arcing circle, bumping into some of the other supporters, all either family or friends, spilling his beer.
Sukh shook his head and laughed as another cousin, Manj, grabbed Tej in a head lock and wrestled him to the ground, knocking his beer out of his hands. Both of them ended up rolling in the grass, getting their clothes dirty, like children half their age. After a few minutes of this both cousins got up and dusted themselves off, grinning. Tej looked for his beer, which had spilled out on the grass. He picked up the empty bottle, inspected it, shrugged and threw it away. Then he opened up his jacket, took a fresh bottle from an inside pocket and opened it with his teeth, making Sukh wince. He drank half of it down in one go. Manj took it from him and finished it before belching at Sukh.
‘You two are crazy,’ laughed Sukh, getting up from the ground.
‘Nah – we’s just havin’ a laff, that’s all,’ smiled Manj, the taller of the two cousins, with powerful shoulders, big arms and even bigger belly. His un-ironed jeans were stained and his Nike trainers sat like boats at the end of his surprisingly skinny legs. He wiped his black leather jacket and then cuffed Sukh around the head, catching his ear and making it sting.
‘Ow!’
‘Ah shut up, you pussy,’ laughed Manj. ‘You a man or what, man?’
‘Fat bastard,’ mumbled Sukh before turning his attention back to the game.
On the pitch two players were trading insults in Punjabi as their team mates held them back. Sukh wondered what had caused the argument. He turned to yet another cousin, Ranjit, and asked him what was going on.
‘Them wankers just chopped him down, innit. Man’s too fast for that fat twat they got playin’ right back – so he just chopped him.’
Sukh watched as the right back for the opposing team, a short, stocky bloke with a bald head, aimed a head butt at their player, a skinny winger called Jag, who was fast like a greyhound. The ref and some of the ot
her players dragged the right back away and then he was red carded. He threw a punch at the ref as soon as he saw the card, catching him right in the middle of his jaw and knocking him out cold. And then all hell broke loose. Both teams and both sets of supporters ran onto the pitch and began to fight. There were bottles being thrown and punches flying through the air. Sukh, shocked by how quickly things had deteriorated, just sat and watched. He heard a police siren, and then another, from the direction of London Road, patrol cars that must have been passing by and seen the fighting.
And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the fighting stopped and the two sides returned to their own touchlines. The policemen, running up to the pitch, went immediately to the referee, who had been revived. He spoke to the officers and then to the two managers, before abandoning the game. The police arrested the stocky right back and returned to their cars with their prisoner and a sore ref in tow.
A huge groan went up when the coach for Sukh’s side came over and told them. Accusations were thrown towards the opposing team, threats of violence. Eventually the players went to their cars, parked on London Road opposite a pub called the Old Horse, and got changed, standing in the lee of passenger doors, as some of the spectators went home. The rest crossed the busy road and headed for the pub – supporters from both sides walking side by side but ignoring each other.
Sukh stood by Ranjit’s Vectra as bhangra music pounded the speakers. He pulled out his mobile, wondering what Rani was doing, and started to send her a text message, but cancelled it quickly when Ranjit took an interest.
‘Who you sendin’ messages, little cousin? You got yourself some skirt?’ he said, looking at Sukh’s phone.
