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 another nap, don’t mind me.’

‘As long as you’re up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to serve at the temple,’ Jezmeen said.

‘That early?’ Shirina asked.

‘She’s exaggerating,’ Rajni said. ‘We’ll get up when we get up.’

‘Okay,’ said Shirina.

‘No later than nine though,’ Rajni added. ‘So how’s it all going, Shirina? You’ve been so quiet on Facebook.’

‘I don’t really do social media any more,’ Shirina said with a shrug.

Being a school principal, Rajni wasn’t crazy about it either but she used it to keep up with old friends and she found that Shirina had suddenly stopped posting pictures and status updates. Her last activity was a condolence message on her wall from an old classmate dated the day after Mum’s funeral. ‘How’s work?’

‘It’s good,’ Shirina said quickly. ‘Very busy lately. I’m glad to have some time off.’

‘Oh,’ Rajni said. That explained the dark circles then. She waited for Shirina to say more but she was leaning towards Jezmeen and staring right at her chest.

‘Is that a new tattoo, Jez?’ Shirina asked.

Jezmeen grinned and nodded. She pulled down the neck of her tank top to reveal a black letter Z with vines and tiny flowers woven through it. For heaven’s sakes, Rajni thought. ‘I’d been thinking about getting it ever since I made the name change official, but I didn’t know where to get it.’

‘“Where” as in the tattoo parlour or “where” on your body?’ Shirina asked.

‘Where on my body,’ Jezmeen said. ‘I didn’t want it to be too obvious, like on my forearm or something. Then I thought about some really secret places, like my inner thigh, but I wanted it to be a little more visible than that.’

‘Ouch. Inner thigh,’ Shirina said, wincing.

‘I like this spot,’ Jezmeen said. She kept her neckline low. Rajni couldn’t help herself.

‘You need to be a little careful, Jezmeen,’ she said. She knew what she sounded like and she didn’t care.

‘Oh, the instruments were all sterile. This was the same guy who did my first two tats.’

‘I mean, you need to be careful about …’ Rajni began to gesture at Jezmeen’s blouse and ended up waving at her whole outfit.

Jezmeen looked amused. ‘You don’t think I only packed shorts and bikini tops for this trip, do you? It’s Delhi. Supposedly we’re in India for religious reasons. I’ve got other clothes.’

‘I should hope so,’ Rajni said.

Shirina picked up the menu. ‘Hmm, these juices look refreshing.’ She waved over the waiter. He came bounding back.

‘Hello again, Tarun,’ Jezmeen said, flashing him a warm smile. Her tattoo was on full display and – Rajni was sure she did this just to spite her – she leaned forward slightly, exposing the deep line of her cleavage.

‘I’ll have the mint, green apple and carrot detox juice, please,’ Shirina said.

‘Madam, so sorry but unfortunately, we don’t have any carrots at the moment,’ Tarun said.

‘Just the green apple on its own would be fine,’ Shirina said.

Tarun looked very troubled. ‘I must apologize, Madam, but we are out of all fruits at the moment.’

Which meant Rajni’s mango smoothie with seasonal fruits would be made of what, exactly? ‘What do you have then?’ Rajni snapped. She handed him the menu. ‘Go on. Point it out for me.’

Tarun nodded at the menu, his features squeezed as if she’d challenged him to conjure all of the missing menu items. The look of concentration on his face made Rajni momentarily ache for Anil. It had been a while since she’d seen him so vulnerable. Something happened around the time he became a teenager, when his whole existence suddenly depended upon appearing tough and streetwise. After Rajni reluctantly conceded to letting Anil take his gap year to work, she couldn’t help pointing out that his regular outfits of hoodies and baggy pants weren’t going to impress any employers. ‘If they can’t except my authentic self, then I ain’t excepting their job offer,’ Anil replied. ‘Accept!’ Rajni had snapped, and walked off as Anil scowled and muttered, ‘It’s what I said, though.’

‘Madam, I really don’t know what to tell you—’ Tarun said.

‘It’s really alright, Tarun,’ Jezmeen said. ‘It’s not your fault.’

Tarun uttered another apology and scrambled away. ‘Really Raj, did you have to scold him like that?’ Jezmeen asked.

‘I’m sorry, but when I’m given a menu, I expect items I can actually order, not a wish list.’

‘He’s doing his best,’ Jezmeen said. ‘We’re in India. Adjust your expectations. You can’t throw your weight around like some colonial returnee. Nobody puts up with that nonsense any more.’

‘You think you can just blend in with everyone here? I’d like to see you try to walk outside wearing that outfit and all that make-up and showing off that tattoo.’

There. It was done. She couldn’t even create one day of peace with Jezmeen. ‘I don’t need another mother on my bloody case!’ Jezmeen used to shout when she was a teenager. Mother. Jezmeen always said this word like a foul word was supposed to come after it.

Shirina had a talent for taking herself out of these arguments. Rajni had noticed her training her eyes on the couple in the pool as they splashed each other playfully. Now, she picked up the itinerary. ‘Why don’t we talk about tomorrow?’ she suggested.

‘Yes, why don’t we?’ Jezmeen said. She took the itinerary from Shirina and studied it. Rajni knew it by heart, she had studied it so many times. ‘I was really hoping to take a side trip, but I guess that’s not on the schedule.’

Rajni sighed. ‘Where exactly were you planning on going, Jezmeen?’

‘There’s a music festival in Goa and then I thought I’d get a city fix in Bombay after getting through all these holy places. There are tons of cheap flights to the South.’

I’ll get to Vitosha Mountain in Bulgaria for skiing season and then spend a few days in Sofia. Anil and Jezmeen were alike in this funny way. They talked about places they hadn’t been to with such familiarity and confidence.

Like when Anil said, I’m going to give it all up for her. A shudder went through Rajni. What a fool, she kept on saying to Kabir. What a stupid fool our son turned out to be. They had spent all of Anil’s life trying to steer him towards a steady future, giving him every opportunity at success. More opportunities than children with siblings, Rajni and Kabir told each other over the years, a salve for the pain of being unable to have any more kids. Anil had all of their resources and attention. And although Rajni didn’t always understand her son – why, for example, did he insist on being from the streets when he grew up in a lovely Victorian terrace in North London? – she never expected his path to diverge this far from her expectations.

‘I’m afraid my plans have changed slightly as well,’ Shirina said. She pointed to the final item on the itinerary – the trek to Hemkund Sahib, where they were meant to scatter Mum’s ashes in Lokpal Lake. ‘I was going to email you about it but I thought it would be better to tell you in person.’

‘Tell us what?’ Rajni asked.

Shirina took in a deep breath. ‘It’s really a last-minute thing. Sehaj’s family – the extended family in Punjab – they haven’t met me yet. I agreed ages ago to visit their village at the end of July.’

Rajni stared at Shirina. Was she really telling them now that she would be skipping out on the most important part of the pilgrimage? The mountain trek would be the most strenuous part of their journey. Rajni hadn’t sent her sisters multiple links to websites about preventing Acute Mountain Sickness for Shirina to just opt out of going altogether.

‘I’m very sorry,’ Shirina said.

‘This is a crucial part of the journey, though. I’ve kept Mum’s ashes all this time and brought them to India so we could carry out her wishes. Can’t Sehaj’s family see you a few days later?’ Rajni asked.

‘They’re a huge family, people have already made plans to travel down. If I change the dates at the last minute, it’ll look bad.’

The last minute? Plans for this trip had been in the works since Mum’s death in November. Rajni saw an opportunity to lecture Shirina on priorities – she had missed her chance when Shirina returned to Australia so quickly after the funeral. But Shirina lowered her eyes, as if expecting to be scolded.

Rajni glanced at Jezmeen. There wasn’t much Rajni and Jezmeen agreed on, but Shirina’s marriage to Sehaj had united them, if only in a cursory way. They shared little observations about how Shirina had disappeared into her role. In that first year, every time Rajni sent a message to check in with Shirina, the replies were about Sehaj and his extended family – new business ventures, celebrations of other marriages. Jezmeen also reported to Rajni that she noticed Shirina had taken down all pictures of herself on social media in any skirts above the knee, or at parties where cocktail glasses and beer bottles were visible.

It was surprising, because although Shirina had always been obliging, she had never really struck Rajni as an aspiring conservative Indian trophy wife. In university, Shirina had been ambitious enough to do summer internships at PR firms where she wanted to work one day, and after graduation, she landed a good job, earning a salary in her own right. Rajni knew that all sorts of women chose the arranged-marriage route these days, not just the traditional ones who wanted to keep house and have babies right away, yet Sehaj’s wealth seemed to have bought a certain acquiescence from Shirina. ‘The ring would have cost him six digits,’ Rajni had confirmed to Jezmeen in a single-line email when Shirina got engaged, to which Jezmeen had responded, ‘OMG SERIOUSLY?’ Rajni was hoping to catch Jezmeen’s attention for another Can you believe this? moment, but Jezmeen was busy staring at her phone again. She thumbed urgently at the screen, her lips moving as she read something quietly to herself. Rajni was tempted to pluck the phone from Jezmeen’s hands and toss it into the pool.

‘Madam, your orders.’ Tarun arrived with a tray and two drinks that looked nothing like the pictures. ‘Thank you very much,’ Shirina said, clearing the itinerary from the table. Rajni took a sip of her smoothie. It was a mango lassi and it was sickeningly sweet, like drinking pure syrup. The rapid fire of a drill went off in the lobby, rattling her nerves.

‘Anything else I can get you, Madam?’ Tarun asked tentatively.

Yes. I’d like to fast forward to the end of this trip, please, Rajni wanted to say. Being a wife and mother was complicated enough. She didn’t want to be a daughter and a sister as well. I’d like this week to be over as soon as possible. Tarun wouldn’t be able to grant this request but there was nothing new about that.

Chapter Three

Day Two: Gurdwara Bangla Sahib

If the doctors had let me travel to just one place, it would be to this holy shrine to honour the memory of our eighth Guru, Guru Harkrishan. He was invited to stay here as a guest when it was the magnificent bungalow of a Rajput prince. During our Guru’s time here, an epidemic of smallpox and cholera swept over Delhi. Instead of resting in the comfort and safety of the bungalow, he went out to bring food and medicine to the suffering.

You will spend the morning serving others by working in the Gurdwara Bangla Sahib kitchen. Think about what this place once was and what it continues to represent – a home and a place of healing. It’s a symbol of selflessness, sacrifice and service. If only I could get there, I know I’d be better.

Jezmeen woke up the next morning to a ping! and she lunged for her phone, nearly knocking over the bedside lamp. She had set up a Google alert for searches of her name to keep track of what people were saying about her. So far, nobody had made the connection between the host of DisasterTube and the security footage from the Feng Shui restaurant in Soho showing a woman going berserk and causing more expensive property damage than she could imagine. Jezmeen still maintained she was acting in self-defence, although she knew that the video didn’t show the scale of the threat to her.

The alert that came up this morning was similar to those that had popped up yesterday while she was sitting by the pool with her sisters – somebody describing a clip he had seen on DisasterTube, and criticizing Jezmeen’s introduction of it. ‘Somebody tell Jezmeen Shergill to shut up already. God, she’s annoying!’ Yesterday’s alert had been kinder: an entertainment feature on celebrities who could be twins. There were the usual comparisons between Jezmeen and Polly Mishra, although this writer did refer to Jezmeen as a ‘fun and fabulous TV host’ and Polly as simply an ‘actress’. Was that a subtle snub at Polly? Jezmeen hoped so.

God, she’s annoying. Jezmeen knew better than to let comments from strangers online bother her, but she found herself clicking on that guy’s profile and searching for comments that he’d posted on other videos. It took a few minutes, but eventually she found another criticism. ‘Are we supposed to believe that this guy did it all without the help of steroids – LOL gimme a break,’ he’d posted under a video of a bodybuilder showcasing an impressive lifting routine using household objects. He was a serial troll, then. At least he wasn’t one of those guys who sent around a petition to get Jezmeen and Polly Mishra to have a naked boxing match. Those sorts of things cropped up every now and then. Outside the Tube station a few weeks ago, a man approached Jezmeen cautiously, saying, ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look a lot like Polly Mishra.’ Jezmeen had flashed him a gracious smile and said, ‘Yes, people say I look like her.’ It was the deep-set eyes and the sharp cheekbones, she’d been told. She and Polly Mishra also both wore their shoulder-length hair loose and slightly wavy, although Jezmeen distinguished herself with caramel highlights. The man replied, ‘Oh, I’m glad you’re not offended. I met her once and when I told her she looked like Jezmeen Shergill, she was very annoyed.’

Screw Polly Mishra, Jezmeen thought. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sprang up with more enthusiasm than intended. Her head swam to cope with the sudden rush of blood and the room went dark momentarily. Gripping the bedside table, Jezmeen was taken back to the days of her hypochondria phase. Every minor glitch in her system had been a potential symptom of impending death. Could she be blamed? Dad’s death had been so careless and simple – he had slipped in the shower and hit his head, then carried on with his day. If he had gone to the doctor, a scan would have revealed the dangerous blood clot that resulted from the impact and killed him on the walk to his car after work several days later. Needless to say, Jezmeen was very careful when walking on slippery surfaces. But there was only so much she could do about inheriting weak, sickly genes from Mum. After Mum’s cancer diagnosis, Jezmeen had made multiple mammogram appointments, which she was then forced to cancel because she was informed that she was abusing the National Health Service.

After her shower, Jezmeen got dressed and went down to the lobby. Shirina and Rajni weren’t there yet, so Jezmeen stepped out for a moment into the haze of Delhi. The air was dense with noise and movement and the summer heat bore into her skin immediately. Horns blared incessantly here and the air was thick with dust. But this was also a city where a person could disappear – a thrilling possibility. In a frank evaluation of her career prospects after her contract wasn’t renewed, Jezmeen had considered packing up and moving to India because she had a chance of anonymity here, or at least starting over. But what did starting over mean? She had spent years flitting from one audition to another, landing only minor parts in commercials and extra roles in EastEnders. Her small chance at national visibility had arrived only nine months ago and then she had blown it over one moment of foolishness; there could be another decade of proving herself all over again.

The dizzying maze of shops, traffic and tea stands that made up Karol Bagh market was just around the corner. The King’s Paradise Hotel was tucked away at the end of a service alley. Next door, a row of crumbling shop houses sat obscured behind tangled telephone wires and crisscrossed bamboo scaffolding. A stray dog with jutting ribs crouched under a parked van to seek shade. One of the alley walls was adorned with fading pictures of Hindu goddesses, under a sign saying, ‘Do not disrespect.’ Jezmeen wondered if images of these deities really did anything to deter men from pissing on the walls, as they were intended. Judging from the acrid whiff of urine in the air, probably not.

A valet with gel-slicked hair approached her and asked if she needed a taxi. ‘In a moment,’ Jezmeen said, looking over her shoulder. Rajni was coming out of the lift, wearing beige linen pants and a flowy silk blouse which matched the scarf wrapped loosely around her neck for covering her head later.

‘Where is Shirina?’ Jezmeen asked. She self-consciously smoothed out the wrinkles in her own cotton kameez top. How did Rajni have the patience to press and iron everything, even on holiday?

‘She was still asleep when I called her room,’ Rajni said.

‘Must be the jet lag again,’ Jezmeen said.

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