she reckoned it was all in the atmosphere. The banks of the gently rippling waters surrounding the Golden Temple in Amritsar were much more conducive to open-heart conversation than a Pret A Manger in London – and how often were the three sisters in the same place now that Shirina had moved to Australia? Rajni was determined that they could make peace and move on.
‘You know, pilgrimages aren’t even a requirement of the Sikh religion,’ Jezmeen said.
‘I’m aware of that,’ Rajni replied calmly. Jezmeen was not going to get under her skin. Of all people, Rajni knew the futility of rituals. She had been a teenager when Dad died and Mum began performing little ceremonies to improve their family’s fate. Rajni thought that luck and fate were one and the same – Dad’s death had been unlucky, but Mum saw connections to a greater plan that needed adjusting.
A waiter appeared at their table. He was young, with glossy gelled hair spiked upwards and a nametag that read ‘Tarun’. He probably didn’t think Rajni noticed his eyes lingering on the line of cleavage that ran into Jezmeen’s tight tank top.
‘I’ll have an avocado lime and cilantro smoothie, please,’ she said. Jezmeen made eye contact with Tarun and smiled.
‘Madam, I’m so very sorry but this drink is unavailable,’ he said.
‘Okay then,’ Rajni said, opening the menu. ‘I’ll have the … oh, this looks nice. The peach and strawberry daiquiri.’
Tarun looked embarrassed. ‘Madam, we don’t have any strawberries at the moment.’
‘That’s alright,’ Jezmeen cooed. Honestly, did she have to be such a flirt?
Rajni scanned the menu. ‘Here. This one.’ She pointed at the description that Jezmeen had been making fun of earlier. Below it, there was a picture of the iced vanilla mango smoothie with whipped cream and seasonal fruits. ‘I’ll have one. Jezmeen, you want one?’
‘No thanks,’ Jezmeen said. ‘I’ll just have a cup of chai.’
He smiled brightly at Jezmeen. ‘We have chai. So Madam, I repeat your order: one chai, one vanilla mango smoothie.’ He strutted off before Rajni could ask about the selection of seasonal fruit.
Rajni made another attempt with the itinerary. ‘It’s an early start tomorrow if we’re going to do the morning seva at Bangla Sahib,’ Rajni said.
Jezmeen did not respond. She was staring intently at her phone all of a sudden, her features scrunched in concentration. Moments later, she relaxed, but she continued to steal glimpses of the screen. ‘Are you connected?’ Rajni asked. ‘They still haven’t confirmed my account yet.’ The staff at the mobile phone kiosk in the airport had assured Rajni it would take less than ten minutes to verify her details, but here they were, nearly two hours later, and she still didn’t have any data.
‘I’m using the hotel’s WiFi,’ Jezmeen said. ‘So what are we doing tomorrow?’
‘We’ll cook and serve langar.’ It was the foremost thing on Mum’s itinerary, not that she could expect Jezmeen to have read it.
‘So Mum sent us to India to wash dishes,’ Jezmeen said. She looked up from her phone. ‘She must have taken some joy putting that task in the itinerary – make my daughters do housework like good girls.’
‘Men volunteer in the kitchen too,’ Rajni reminded her.
‘But when they go home, they get to put their feet up, don’t they?’
Rajni thought of Kabir and Anil sitting in their twin recliners watching football while she flitted around them, sometimes still wearing her blazer and work shoes. ‘Mmm,’ she said, which was her standard reply when she agreed but didn’t want to.
Her phone buzzed on the table. It was a message:
‘MRS RAJNI SHERGILL CHADHA. WELCOME TO INDIA. YOU HAVE SIGNED UP FOR 2 MB OF DATA AND FREE CALLS WITHIN INDIA. PLEASE CALL THIS NUMBER TO CONFIRM YOUR IDENTITY.’
‘Finally,’ she said.
After keying in her birth date and the special pin code, Rajni was connected to an operator who asked her for one last confirmation of her identity. ‘Your father’s name, Ma’am.’ Until she agreed to make this trip to India, Rajni hadn’t mentioned Dad’s name in years, but everybody here needed to know. The visa forms asked for his name; the customs officer required her to confirm it before letting her past the gates, and now she couldn’t register for a temporary mobile phone account without saying whose daughter she was. It didn’t matter that he’d been dead since she was a teenager. ‘Devinder Singh Shergill,’ she said. The operator processed this information and after a series of clicks and rapid typing, pronounced her connected.
‘When you and Shirina get your phones sorted, there’s an app that you should download,’ Rajni said. ‘FindMe. It uses the GPS to keep track of each other’s movements. I’ve used it on school trips.’ Supposedly it used up lots of data but it had saved Rajni from losing other people’s children, so the disadvantages were greatly outweighed by the benefits.
Jezmeen stared at her nails and picked at a cuticle with her teeth. ‘Why do we need that?’ she asked. ‘We’re going to be together all the time anyway.’ She made it sound like a prison sentence.
‘It’s a big country,’ Rajni replied. ‘A big, unpredictable country. It’s easy to get lost here.’
‘Isn’t that the point of coming to India?’ Jezmeen asked, nodding at the European couple in the pool. They were both floating on their backs now and gently flipping their toes. ‘To get lost? And then find ourselves again?’
Oh, you want to argue. This was what Mum would say if any of them were being contrary – it was a warning against proceeding any further with their case, whether it was extending a curfew or picking a quarrel for the sake of it, which was Jezmeen’s speciality. Rajni had to bite her tongue to keep from saying the same thing to Anil whenever he questioned her.
Jezmeen waved to somebody in the distance. ‘Hey, sleepyhead.’
Shirina entered the foyer wearing a brilliant turquoise caftan and white espadrille sandals that criss-crossed her slender ankles. It was the other women in the café who turned to stare. That was the difference between her two sisters, Rajni observed. Men looked at Jezmeen and hungered after her long legs; women took note of the details that assembled petite Shirina like a doll – the shiny shoulder-length hair, the bracelet that matched the bag.
And that ring! Rajni couldn’t help staring as if it was the first time she’d noticed it. Had Shirina’s diamond got bigger? Her white-gold wedding band sparkled as well, but the diamond engagement ring looked like something you saw on the news after a successful archaeological dig. Tacky, she’d thought immediately after seeing it the first time, even though she knew just how many carats it was worth. Shirina hadn’t said anything, of course; Rajni had looked up ‘huge diamond ring’ on the internet and trawled through pictures until she found one that matched, and then looked up its value. If it was true that a man spent three months’ salary on the engagement ring, then Sehaj was making very good money indeed – but then, they all knew that already. The heir to one of Australia’s largest family-owned property businesses was not going to skimp on accessories for his fiancée.
‘All caught up on your sleep?’ Jezmeen asked.
‘I’m getting there,’ Shirina said. As she settled at the table, Rajni noticed dark circles under her eyes. ‘Nice hotel, Raj,’ Shirina said, looking around. ‘It’s pretty quiet here.’
‘I’m so glad somebody appreciates my efforts,’ Rajni said, giving Jezmeen a pointed look.
‘That’s a lovely dress,’ Jezmeen said but Rajni noticed her studying Shirina as well. There was a small slump in her shoulders that the bright caftan could not disguise.
‘Thanks,’ Shirina said. ‘I’m afraid it takes me a while to get over the jet lag, so if I sneak off for