Inheritance Read online

‘I’m going to go order drinks at the bar,’ Karam said. ‘Is Tiger beer okay with you?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s fine,’ Gurdev said.

  ‘Glass of white wine,’ Sona said. Gurdev looked at her in surprise. Although the bar was packed with customers of both sexes, he had never seen a Punjabi woman order a drink.

  Karam chuckled. ‘Relax, Gurdev. I told you, this girl is different. She’s a connoisseur.’

  Gurdev did not know what that word meant but he laughed along.

  ‘You’re trying something different this time,’ Karam told Sona before heading to the bar.

  ‘So, congratulations on the engagement,’ Gurdev said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s all happening so quickly now.’

  ‘Chaos,’ Gurdev said, settling into his seat. ‘That’s what I remember. There was so much chaos leading up to it. The day itself is a total blur. I look back at the photographs now and I wonder, did all of this really happen?’

  Sona’s laughter was delicate. ‘I’ve heard it’s like that. You should at least remember what the bride looked like, though. That’s the most important thing.’

  ‘Of course.’ He recalled Banu’s profile, obscured behind the jewelled hem of her red dubatta, the intricate swirls on her hennaed hand containing a code to decipher. In the evening, he had found his name woven into the patterns. The searching had given them an excuse to touch.

  ‘Karam says you have your hands full with your kids,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ Gurdev said. ‘Two girls. Kiran is six and Simran is five.’ He pulled out his wallet to show her their photos.

  Karam arrived back at the table. ‘Ah, the girls.’ He placed the drinks down. ‘How’s the school thing going?’ Karam turned to Sona. ‘Gurdev’s trying to get his daughters into Sacred Heart primary. They just opened a branch of the school in his neighbourhood.’

  ‘My girls go to a neighbourhood school now,’ Gurdev explained. ‘Of course, I’d rather send them to a mission school, like Sacred Heart. The Prime Minister’s wife went there.’

  ‘Those mission schools have strong standards,’ Sona agreed. ‘The girls will speak better English.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Gurdev said. ‘But it’s nearly impossible to transfer them. We’ve tried everything. We’ve gone through the appeals process, we’ve shown them documentation to show how close we live to the school. The waiting list is full.’

  ‘They might just let the girls in based on your desperation,’ Karam joked.

  Gurdev felt his muscles tense but before he could come up with a retort, Sona interjected. ‘I wouldn’t call it desperation – it’s perseverance.’

  ‘Gurdev will need some financial help. What are the fees like?’ Karam asked.

  ‘They’re not terribly expensive compared to the government schools,’ Gurdev replied.

  ‘Yes, but think about all the other costs,’ Karam said. ‘Ballet lessons, tutoring, language classes, swimming, speech and drama. It adds up. Those schools don’t just want to churn out smart children. They want to make sure they can do everything.’

  ‘Those things are not compulsory,’ Sona said.

  ‘No, but think about it. Every other kid at the school will be doing those things.’

  ‘We can figure it out,’ Gurdev said dismissively, but in truth, he had started to panic over these additional costs lately.

  Sona smiled sympathetically. ‘My brother and his wife are thinking about migrating to Australia. Their kids will have a better chance in a bigger country.’

  ‘I don’t buy into that mentality,’ Karam declared. ‘It’s cowardly.’ Gurdev noticed the indignation on Sona’s face. ‘What is he teaching his children by quitting and moving to a new place because he doesn’t want them to experience some rigour and healthy competition?’

  ‘He’s not quitting,’ Sona said stiffly. ‘He’d just rather see them in a school system where they are allowed to make mistakes. Singapore is tiny. Our schools are unforgiving of errors.’

  ‘It’s the best way to weed out the weaker ones,’ Karam argued. ‘As you said, we’re a small nation. We can’t afford errors.’

  Amrit barrelled into Gurdev’s consciousness, bringing her past several years’ worth of unforgivable mistakes. She had stopped going to school after failing her exams twice. Father sent her to secretarial school but she skipped classes to linger in coffee shops and back lanes with strange men. Gurdev wished Karam were wrong about errors, but Amrit’s failures had begun to trail her. Every potential employer wanted to know her exam results, even for the most menial jobs. When she produced a scant portfolio of certificates, they turned her away. For the past month, she had been working as a receptionist in an office building nearby but Gurdev suspected that this too would be short-lived, as she often called in sick or showed up late, as she had with all of her jobs, leaving her bosses and colleagues frustrated with her inconsistent work.

  ‘Hey, how’s your father doing?’ Karam asked.

  ‘He’s all right. You know him – he won’t talk about his father’s death,’ Gurdev said. ‘I’m supposed to go over there one of these days.’

  ‘Has he spoken to you about the land money? He’s going to have a chat with each of us about it.’

  Gurdev nearly choked on his beer. ‘With you too?’

  ‘Well, it’s my grandfather’s property, isn’t it? Why not?’ Karam demanded. Sona shifted uncomfortably and gave Karam’s sleeve a tug. ‘No,’ Karam said, shaking her away. ‘I don’t care if this isn’t the place for it.’ He turned back to Gurdev. ‘I’m entitled to my share of whatever land money was left behind.’

  It felt as if all the noise from the bar evaporated in an instant. Gurdev could see nothing but his cousin’s determined face. ‘Karam, I have a family to raise. You just said it yourself; I have added costs to bear. I thought you were getting some big position with the Ministry of Health – is that not enough of a payrise for you?’

  A taut silence fell over the table. Karam cleared his throat. ‘Sona, did you want a glass of water? You’re not enjoying that wine, I know.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said. Karam nodded and headed towards the bar again. Gurdev watched small groups of people part naturally to let him through.

  ‘He’s very sensitive about it,’ Sona informed Gurdev, drawing his attention back to her. ‘He didn’t get the job.’

  ‘What happened?’ Gurdev couldn’t help the tone of glee creeping into his voice.

  ‘The other scientist was from London. Benjamin Polley. He’s not nearly as qualified as Karam but he’s British. That’s the mindset these days. The government didn’t just want a leading scientist – they wanted a poster boy. An Indian man with a turban wasn’t going to do it for them. Better to have somebody with yellow hair and blue eyes, just like our founders themselves. It becomes more convincing to the rest of the world that we’re on the fast track to civilisation. It’s for the prestige.’

  Gurdev noticed the way she said that last word, softly stretching out the ‘g’. ‘You went to a mission school yourself, didn’t you?’

  Sona blushed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s your pronunciation,’ he said.

  The redness in her cheeks spread. ‘I did a lot of reading when I was growing up. It was the ultimate escape. Singapore was so unstable then. One day it was part of Malaysia, the next day we were on our own. It felt like the ground was always shaky. I found a lot of comfort in the classics. They were set in well-established places and they had survived over the centuries and been reprinted.’ She paused and smiled. ‘I guess I’ve encouraged this fascination with the British as much as anyone else.’

  ‘I don’t see why Karam’s making such a big deal out of it,’ Gurdev said. ‘He’s accomplished so much in his career already. He’ll have a second chance.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I said to him.’ Sona tossed a look over her shoulder. Karam was still standing at the bar. She turned back to Gurdev and leaned closer, dropping her voice. ‘He was just shattered. H
e wouldn’t even talk to me about it.’

  ‘You’re telling me, though,’ Gurdev pointed out. ‘Won’t he be upset with you?’

  Sona pulled back her shoulders and gave a shrug. ‘People come to know eventually. I keep trying to tell Karam this. When your father first found out about his father’s death, Karam wanted to go over to his place to see how he was doing, but he was afraid your father would ask him about the position. Karam just couldn’t face him.’

  Moments later, Karam returned with a glass of water. He placed it in front of Sona and whispered something in her ear; a small, secret smile blossomed on her face. Karam turned to Gurdev and extended his hand. ‘I haven’t been myself lately,’ he said. ‘I must apologise.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Gurdev said, shaking Karam’s hand. He glanced at Sona but her gaze darted away as if their conversation hadn’t happened. Making his way up the stairs of his building, Gurdev heard the girls before he saw them. The door of the flat was open and their giggles and eruptions of chatter burst through the corridor. Reaching the threshold, he felt the echoes of their voices ricocheting across the walls. ‘Daddy’s home!’ Simran’s unmistakeable pitch, followed by scrambling, and knees and elbows squeaking across the tiled floor. At the gate, they presented themselves to him like dolls whose parts had been crudely re-assembled – rumpled clothes, wiry halos of loose hair.

  Banu greeted him with a wave from the end of the kitchen. She balanced a stack of plates and called out for the girls to help her with the cutlery. Dinner was fish curry, fried long beans and a steaming portion of white rice.

  ‘What did you do in school today?’ Gurdev asked the girls.

  ‘We played What’s The Time Mr Wolf,’ Kiran said.

  ‘I won it,’ Simran said, through a mouthful of rice.

  ‘You’re lying,’ Kiran accused. ‘You can’t win that game. There’s no such thing.’

  ‘I did,’ Simran whispered. She shot a grin at Gurdev.

  ‘Good girls,’ Gurdev said. Banu looked distracted. ‘If the two of you finish up your dinner quietly, you can have popsicles.’ Any rivalry between the girls dissipated immediately. They bowed towards their plates and chewed in silence.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Gurdev asked Banu quietly. She looked as if she might cry.

  ‘It’s Amrit,’ Banu whispered.

  Gurdev glanced at the girls. Kiran pierced pairs of long beans with her fork and chewed them quickly with her eyes screwed shut. Simran used her butter knife to cut hers into tiny portions, and popped them into her mouth. The strangest things made him ache for them as if they were not sitting right in front of him.

  ‘Just wait for them to finish their vegetables first,’ Gurdev said. Banu nodded. They sat in silence while the girls painstakingly chewed their way through the tough beans. ‘That’s all right, Kiran, Simran. Well done,’ Gurdev said. ‘Go get your popsicles. One each.’

  The girls tumbled into the kitchen. With one blink, Banu’s tears splashed down her round cheeks. ‘I was at the shops this afternoon, buying some milk. The girls were with me,’ Banu said. ‘I ran into Avtar Kaur. You remember her – she was my neighbour back in Sembawang. She told me Father’s been asking around for boys for Amrit but all of the families know her reputation and don’t want her. It’s so embarrassing.’

  The girls were returning from the kitchen as Banu began to choke on her tears. They froze and stared at their mother. Simran’s face crumpled, sympathetic to her mother’s despair. Kiran took Simran’s hand and led her to the table. ‘It’s nothing, Simran,’ Gurdev said cheerily. ‘Just take a seat. Mummy and I are going to have a talk.’ Gurdev gave Banu’s shoulder a feeble squeeze and led her to the couch, while the girls obediently took their seats at the table.

  ‘I just don’t know what to do when people tell me things like that. When I have the girls with me, it’s even worse. People don’t say it, but I know they’re thinking that this sort of thing runs in the family. How do I convince them that our daughters aren’t like that? What if one day Kiran and Simran get rejected because parents don’t want their sons marrying into our family?’

  ‘That’s a long time from now,’ Gurdev said. ‘We don’t have to worry about that yet.’

  ‘Gurdev, before you go to see Father tomorrow, I need to make something very clear to you,’ Banu said. ‘If Amrit gets any share of that inheritance money, she’s going to waste it all away. She goes on shopping sprees. She buys the same pair of shoes in four different colours. Every pay cheque she receives is wasted on rubbish.’

  At the table, the girls were applying the popsicles to their lips and pouting. Kiran puckered at Simran.

  ‘You need to talk to your father. Tell him what Amrit will do with that money.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s aware of it,’ Gurdev said. ‘He has a plan.’

  ‘Kissy kissy,’ Kiran sang to Simran between giggles. ‘Like a fashion model.’

  ‘That’s the other thing I heard from Avtar,’ Banu said. ‘She told me that your father’s plan is to offer a dowry – a dowry, like they do in India! – to the family of a cousin of hers. A bribe, essentially to get them to take Amrit off his hands. Anyone who wants to marry Amrit now is just going to go for the money. They’ll see her as one big bundle of cash. You think Amrit won’t see right through that? She won’t put up with it. Marriages based on that type of thing don’t last. She’ll be back in Father’s home within weeks of her wedding. Divorced.’

  The word made Gurdev wince. Why did Banu have to speak like this in front of the girls?

  Banu continued, oblivious to Gurdev’s tension. ‘The only solution, Gurdev, is to be frank with your father. Tell him that giving any of that money to Amrit is as good as flushing it down the toilet. Just convince him to think twice about it.’

  Kiran gave her lips an exaggerated lick. Simran mimicked her. ‘Daddy, look,’ Simran called out. ‘We’re fashion models.’

  ‘Enough,’ Gurdev snapped. Banu and the girls froze; nobody seemed to know who Gurdev was directing his anger at. ‘I’ve had enough of this silliness,’ he declared. ‘The two of you are finished with those popsicle sticks. You can throw the rest into the rubbish. Go on. Now.’ The girls slipped away from the table, shooting reproachful looks at Banu, whose wide eyes were fixed on Gurdev. ‘And you,’ he said to Banu. ‘Enough with the complaints. This is all I hear about from you these days – more rumours about Amrit. Those rumours only continue because people like you listen to them.’

  Banu stood up and began stacking the plates before marching off to the kitchen. The girls were instructed to go to the bathroom for their evening wash. When Banu returned, her face was still flushed with anger. ‘Don’t you defend her,’ she warned.

  ‘There are things we can’t change,’ he said. ‘How do we stop people from talking? How do I stop Amrit when I’m at work all day and trying to spend time with you and the girls in the evenings? Cutting off her portion of the inheritance money is not going to solve all of our problems.’

  ‘That’s the problem with you, Gurdev. You’re so afraid of your father that you won’t even try. When have we asked your father for money? We don’t owe him years of tuition like Narain does. We’re not living in his home and squandering our wages like Amrit is. Why can’t we claim a bigger share? It’s just going to go towards our daughters’ education anyway. I know exactly what will happen when you go to see your father. He’ll tell you how much you are entitled to and you will say yes, that’s fine, thank you. You won’t try to reason with him or show him how much you need it because he’ll start comparing your income to Karam’s, and you can’t handle that. I’m just asking you to put aside your pride and do this for our girls.’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ Gurdev argued, but Banu had already stepped out of his view.

  A new routine was born. Gurdev came back from the office later than usual, and Banu and the girls ate early. His dinner was left on the table. After dinner, he sat in the living room and pored over the papers, reading about the
government’s latest initiatives towards developing Singapore: land reclamation projects, tourist resorts, the clean up of the river. Gurdev scoffed at the latter. The river was clogged with rubbish and silt. On walks through the city, its stench filled the air like a string of vulgarities. It would never be a tourist site.

  He and Banu only spoke when necessary; the girls had a chance to greet him in the mornings, and say goodnight at bedtime. As in all of their misunderstandings, it was tacitly understood that this arrangement would last until Gurdev fixed something. A week passed. Gurdev delayed meeting with Father, explaining that he had mountains of paperwork to get through in an unexpectedly busy week. Gurdev thought of Karam’s smug face, the false crispness of his words in Sona’s presence. How had Sona said that word? Prestige – she had made it sound exotic. It came to him then, unexpected yet obvious, like the answer to a riddle: what to do with Amrit. He bolted from the office and took a taxi straight to Father’s flat, his heart drumming so loudly that he placed his hand over his chest to silence it.

  The flat was dark behind Father when he opened the door to let Gurdev in. He flipped the appropriate switches as they made their way through each segment of the flat: living room, dining room, hallway, bathroom, kitchen and bedrooms. The fluorescent lamps flickered, as if waking. Everything was cast in their stinging, white glare.

  They sat down at Father’s desk in his room. Father reached into a desk drawer and pulled out some papers. ‘Gurdev, I have something to discuss with you.’

  ‘Before you do,’ Gurdev said, ‘I want to talk to you about Amrit.’

  Father dropped the papers on the desk. ‘I did not call you over to discuss Amrit.’

  ‘I actually have a plan for Amrit,’ Gurdev said.

  ‘You have a plan?’ Father asked, mockingly. ‘Tell me, Gurdev, when have you made plans for Amrit?’

  ‘I think you should look overseas for a husband for Amrit.’

  This caught Father’s attention. He stared at Gurdev, who continued. ‘There are plenty of eligible men in the Sikh communities in Toronto or London. I’ll help you look into it. We’ll throw a wedding for Amrit – something lavish, a big send-off. Use her portion of the money for it. It’s a worthwhile investment. It will make more sense to spend the money this way than to offer it to her or to her future husband.’