for a husband: intelligent, compassionate and kind, with strong values and a nice smile. Both clean-shaven and turban-wearing men were acceptable, provided beards and moustaches were neatly maintained. The ideal husband had a stable job and up to three hobbies which extended him mentally and physically. In some ways, she had written, he should be just like me: modest (a prude in Nikki’s opinion), practical with finances (downright stingy) and family-oriented (wants babies immediately). Worst of all, the title of her blurb made her sound like a supermarket seasoning spice: Mindi Grewal, East-West Mix.
The narrow corridor connecting Nikki’s bedroom to the kitchenette was not suitable for pacing, with uneven floorboards that creaked in various pitches under the slightest contact. She travelled up and down the corridor nonetheless, gathering her thoughts in tiny steps. What was her sister thinking? Sure, Mindi had always been more traditional – once, Nikki had caught her watching an internet video on how to roll perfectly round rotis – but advertising for a groom? It was so extreme.
Nikki called Mindi repeatedly and was connected to voicemail each time. By the time she got through, the sunlight had leaked away into the dense evening fog and it was nearly time to leave for her shift at O’Reilly’s.
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ Mindi said.
‘Can you see it, Mindi?’ Nikki asked. ‘Can you actually picture this happening?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re insane, then.’
‘I’ve made this decision on my own. I want to find a husband the traditional way.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s what I want.’
‘Why?’
‘It just is.’
‘You need to come up with a better reason than that if you want me to edit your profile.’
‘That’s unfair. I supported you when you moved out.’
‘You called me a selfish cow.’
‘But then when you left, and when Mum wanted to go to your place and demand that you come home, who convinced her to let it go? If not for me, she would never have accepted your decision. She’s over it now.’
‘Almost over it,’ Nikki reminded her. Time had worn on Mum’s initial sense of outrage and stretched it threadbare. These days Mum was still deeply dissatisfied with Nikki’s lifestyle, but she had given up lecturing Nikki about the perils of living on her own. ‘My own mother would not have dreamt of allowing this,’ Mum always said to prove her progressiveness, a balance of boastfulness and lament in her tone. East-West Mix.
‘I’m embracing our culture,’ Mindi said. ‘I see my English friends meeting men online and in nightclubs and they don’t seem to be finding anyone suitable. Why not try an arranged marriage? It worked for our parents.’
‘Those were different times,’ Nikki argued. ‘You’ve got more opportunities than Mum had at the same age.’
‘I’m educated, I’ve done my nursing degree, I’ve got a job – this is the next step.’
‘It shouldn’t be a step. Acquiring a husband, that’s what you’re doing.’
‘It’s not going to be like that. I just want a bit of help to find him, but it’s not like we’re going to meet for the first time on our wedding day. Couples are allowed more time to get to know each other these days.’
Nikki balked at the word ‘allowed’. Why did Mindi need permission from anyone to take liberties with dating? ‘Don’t just settle. Do some travelling. See the world.’
‘I’ve seen enough,’ Mindi sniffed – a girls’ trip to Tenerife last summer during which she had discovered her allergy to shellfish. ‘Besides, Kirti is looking for a suitable boy as well. It’s time for both of us to settle down.’
‘Kirti couldn’t spot a suitable boy if he came flying through her window,’ Nikki said. ‘I’d hardly consider her a serious competitor.’ There was no love lost between Nikki and her sister’s best friend, a make-up artist, or Facial Enhancing Practitioner, according to her name card. At Mindi’s twenty-fifth birthday party last year, Kirti had scrutinized Nikki’s outfit and concluded, ‘Being pretty is about making an effort though, innit?’
‘Mindi, maybe you’re bored.’
‘Is boredom not a valid reason to try to find a partner? You moved out because you wanted independence. I’m looking to marry someone because I want to be a part of something. I want a family. You don’t know it now, because you’re still young. I get home after a long day at work and it’s just Mum and me. I want to come home to somebody. I want to talk about my day and eat dinner and plan a life together.’
Nikki clicked open the email attachments. There were two close-ups of Mindi, her smile like a greeting, thick straight hair spilling past her shoulders. Another photo featured the whole family: Mum, Dad, Mindi and Nikki on their last holiday together. It wasn’t their best shot; they were all squinting and tiny against a wide landscape. Dad had died later that year, a heart attack snatching his breath at night like a thief. A pang of guilt seized Nikki’s stomach. She closed the window.
‘Don’t use any family photos,’ Nikki said. ‘I don’t want my image in any matchmaker’s files.’
‘So you’ll help me?’
‘It’s against my principles.’ Nikki typed: ‘arguments against arranged marriage’ into a search engine and clicked on the first result.
‘You’ll help me, though?’
‘The arranged marriage is a flawed system which undermines a woman’s right to choose her destiny,’ Nikki read aloud.
‘Just make the profile sound better. I’m not good with that sort of thing,’ Mindi said.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘Some radical rubbish. I stopped listening after “undermines”.’
Nikki clicked back to the profile and spotted a grammatical error: I’m looking for my soulmate. Whose it going to be? She sighed. Clearly, Mindi’s mind was made up – it was a matter of whether Nikki wanted to be involved or not.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But only because you’re at risk of attracting idiots with this profile. Why have you described yourself as “fun-loving”? Who doesn’t love fun?’
‘And then could you post it on the marriage board for me?’
‘What marriage board?’
‘At the big temple in Southall. I’ll text you the details.’
‘Southall? You’re joking.’
‘It’s much closer to where you live. I’ve got double shifts at the hospital all week.’
‘I thought they had matrimonial websites for this sort of thing,’ Nikki said.
‘I considered SikhMate.com and PunjabPyaar.com. There are too many men from India looking for an easy visa. If a man sees my profile on the temple board, at least I know he’s in London. Southall’s got the largest gurdwara in Europe. Better chances than posting on the noticeboard in Enfield,’ Mindi explained.
‘I’m very busy, you know.’
‘Oh please, Nikki. You’ve got plenty more time than the rest of us.’
Nikki dismissed the hint of judgement. Mum and Mindi didn’t consider her bartending work at O’Reilly’s a full-time job. It was not worth explaining that she was still searching for her calling – a job where she could make a difference, stimulate her mind, be challenged, valued and rewarded. Such positions were disappointingly scarce and the recession had made things worse. Nikki had even been