Anita Kaur was often forced into things. Like spying on people for the sake of her friend Lalli (Lalita Chaudhari) , or going to law school (her mother), or playing soccer, basketball and badminton (father), or knitting, and tutoring for her grandma, to name a few. Those and getting forced to marry a goat.
Anita was tall, her features more similar to her father’s than to her mother. Her mother was short and plump, a long, greasy plait swinging by her waist. Anita was incredibly tall, with shoulder-length black hair, and big black eyes. She had dark skin, unlike the other Punjabis. She lived in a small town, close to Chandigarh. She had a single, sandy blonde streak of hair (in her fringe) that she now questioned why she ever got.
“Now, Anita,” said Preeti, Anita’s mother, one day. “You’re of a marriageable age.”
Anita nodded. “Of course,” said Anita,
“And we’ve seen the priest, concerning your horoscope.”
“Of course,” said Anita again. Her mother sighed.
“But there’s a problem. It says your first husband will die.”
“Okay,” said Anita, but tears were welling up in her eyes. Raju would have to wait. Anita’s mother looked away.
“I’m sorry,” Preeti whispered.
“So what’s going to happen?” asked Anita.
“The usual,” replied Preeti. She assumed Anita would understand. Anita’s own aunty, after all did the same. Anita would marry a goat and then they’d kill the goat. Then Anita could live happily with Raju. Anita though, thought she’d still be marrying Raju. Anita sighed.
“So he’s just going to die?” said Anita. Preeti nodded.
“Yes.”
By now a tear trickled down Anita’s cheek. Preeti understood or atleast thought she did. Anita often got emotional when animals were involved.
Anita informed Lalli the following day.
“Maybe we could spy on them,” suggested Lalli. Anita sighed. Her friend was much to obsess with spying on people.
“Spy on who? And what good would that do?”
“Well, you know… it would help us understand their daily routine…”
“Whose daily routine and what good would that do?”
“Well, it would help me on my spying techniques,” said Lalli. Anita shot her a fierce look that said: This is not an exercise to improve your spying technique.
Lalli shrugged. “Better than nothing.”
“Ma says that once I get properly married, we could move to Britain and live happily.”
“Well then your mum’s pretty stupid.”
Anita shot another look at her friend.
“…I mean cleverly stupid,” said Lalli. Anita put her head in her hands. At that moment, Preeti walked in. At first she was surprised at the sight, then she looked at Lalita.
“It’s about that goat she’s marrying, right?”
Anita looked up. “What goat?”
“The one you’re marrying.”
Anita was furious. “How dare you call him a goat!”
“Well that’s what he is, isn’t he?” said Preeti. “ Just a useless goat.”
“So you’re just going to let him die!” said Anita angrily.
“Of course not,” replied Preeti. “We’ll kill him. It would take too long to wait for him to die.”
Anita looked blankly at her mother.
“Oh,” said Preeti. “You’ll be getting married in two months.”
“Why, so he can die faster?”
“Of course. Then you can marry a good man.”
Anita was outraged. “What do you have against him?”
“Nothing. We’re doing it because we love you. We want you to be happy.”
“And you don’t think I could be happy with him?”
Now Preeti was surprised. “Well, quite frankly, no. I mean you can’t live with that goat.”
“STOP CALLING HIM A GOAT!”
Preeti ignored her. “I mean, he wouldn’t even be able to get a job as a farmer, working with his fellow goat siblings.”
“Oh, so now you’re badmouthing his family?!”
Before Preeti could say anything, Anita continued. “Well I’m not going to talk to you because there’s NO USE TALKING TO PEOPLE LIKE YOU!”
“Fine!” said Preeti, flicking her plait aside and storming off.
“Ugghh!” said a frustrated Anita, before storming off too. And they left a wide-eyed Lalita sitting down, taking everything in.
Both Anita and Preeti kept their word, and neither talked to each other. This didn’t stop them, though, from sending glares the dinner table, or whenever they grasped the chance. Anita was forced to talk though, when she saw her groom. Unfortunately, that was her wedding day.
“So let me get this straight,” she said to her mother. “Or at least firmly crooked.”
“I am going to marry,” Anita looked at the white and brown furry animal, “a goat.”
Preeti was a lot more enthusiastic than Anita. “Of course! And then you can marry your Rajeshwar.”
“His name’s Rajesh, Ma,” said Anita. “Not Rajeshwar!”
“But it’s sooooo cute. He should definitely change his name.”
Anita ignored her mother. She glanced at the goat, who was in sleeping on a bale of hay, a fence around it.
“Well,” her mother was saying, “I’ll go greet the guests.”
Suddenly Anita had an idea. Once her mother was gone, Anita leaned over to Lalita, who was sitting beside her.
“Lalli,” Anita said. “Go and pull the fire drill.”
“Why?” Lalita whispered back.
“Just do it,” insisted Anita. In two minutes, an eerie sound filled the place. Anita walked to the goat, and unlocked the fence. No one noticed in the commotion. The goat hurtled out. Anita smiled mischievously to herself. Out onto the road, the goat ran. Which was when Preeti caught sight of it. She dropped the sweets and ran after the goat.
---------------------------
Eventually though, the goat was dragged back to his wedding and forced to marry Anita, it’s owner gently patting him while consoling him with repeated “it’s alright baby, it’s alright baby.”
* * * *
Anita thought of the story as she unpacked one of the many boxes.
The doorbell rang. Raju walked into the room.
“The doorbell rang,” said Raju. Anita nodded.
“Shall I get it?” he said when Anita made no sign of moving.
“Yes please,” said Anita.
On the doorstep, two people stood. Both were slightly plump and tall. The lady had red shoulder length hair, and her husband was bald, a moustache growing above his lip. He had round, circular glasses. The lady held a batch of home made chocolate chip cookies.
“We’re your new neighbours,” she said brightly when Raju opened the door.
As they walked in, the man held his hand out.
“Brian O’Reilly,” he said. Raju shook it.
“Rajesh,” he said. He spoke with a thick Indian accent, but the couple understood.
“Raj,” came a distant call. “Who is it?” Anita spoke in Punjabi.
She walked into the room.
“Oh,” she said in English. “I’m Anita.”
The red-haired lady beamed. “Oh Aneeta!” she said in a British accent. “That’s a gorgeous name!”
Anita smiled politely.
“ I’m Christine,” said the lady.
When the lady put the batch on the kitchen counter, the four settled on the couch.
Almost immediately, Christine received a text message.
“Oh,” she said, staring at the screen. “It’s my ex-husband.”
“This is your second husband?” said Anita. Christine nodded.
“And Rajesh?”
“Oh,” said Anita, smiling. “Yes, he is my second husband too.”
“Your first didn’t work out, eh?”
Anita was surprised at the confidence. She raised her eyebrows.
“Err…” Anita smiled. “We killed him,” she said. Both Christine’s and Brian’s eyes widened. They exchanged glances.
“Umm…killed him?”
Anita laughed.
“Yes.” She slid her hand horizontally across her throat. “Dead.”
“If you don’t mind me asking…why?”
“Because,” Anita smiled at Raju. “Then I wouldn’t have been able to marry Raju.”
Anita looked up to find the couple gone, the front door open, but the cookies still sitting on the counter.
If you lived in Cornburry, South London, the first thing I would tell you is that things spread fast. Unfortunately, no one informed the couple who lived on number 49 Speed Street, Cornburry about this. When things spread it was rather like the game of Chinese Whispers – if you began with ‘Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ it could end up as ‘Sarah-Smith-was-caught-on-fire-because-she-put-a-dynatmite-in-a-farm-and-it-exploded’. Similarly, if you told someone that you killed your first husband, it could turn up: “Yes, Speed Street, yes that dark one, she murdered her husband when he was sleeping. Apparently she wanted some money that he wanted for safekeeping but she wanted to gamble it. Yes, the one with black hair!”
The thing about people in Cornburry was that they liked to make everyone sound bad. They’d grasp every chance they ever got.
The following day they moved in, Anita visited the local supermarket.
People glanced nervously at her. One small lady came up, though, confidently.
“Umm excuse me,” she said, tapping Anita’s shoulder. Anita turned around.
“Is it true you killed your first husband?”
Anita nodded. “Of course,” she said. “He was just a goat, anyway.”
“Err, if you don’t mind me asking,” said another woman who had evidently been listening. “Just was gives you the right to call someone a goat? What do you have against him?”
Anita didn’t enjoy being interrogated, and if she hadn’t already been through this, she might’ve not understood. She held out her hand at the lady’s face.
“Stop,” she said firmly before the lady could continue. “My first husband was literally a goat,” she said. The lady was about to say something but Anita continued. She bent down and pretended to pat something.
“You know, err…small, furry. It was a GOAT, not a human.”
The lady’s face was blank.
“You married,” said the lady, “a goat?”
Anita nodded, relieved.
“Err…” the woman coughed lightly. “WHY?”
Anita explained her story.
“Do you know something?” said the lady.
“Yes,” said Anita.
“Do you know what I’m thinking?” said the lady.
“No.”
“I’m thinking that I’ll never understand people.”
“Perhaps,” said Anita. “You’re not a people person?”
“I don’t thing anyone is,” sighed the woman. “No-one can understand people.”
The women left still looking suspiciously at Anita.
