It wasn’t a good time to mention the sprouts.

Nervously I looked at my watch and he said “so you have a western watch also?” “Drat” I thought “caught again.” Just then his phone rang and he answered it with “Is that you Pinky?”
“Pinky!” I thought with growing rage “PINKY!”
“Who is this Pinky, and what kind if Sikh name is that for your child?” I shouted, to which he knew he had been beat and fled. I smiled to myself as I saw him running down the street in his Armani suit and white trainers as I crunched on a sprout.

As I turned I saw Auntie crossing the road towards me, obviously she had witnessed the whole incident, I quickly stuffed the sprout in my mouth and muttered “Hello Auntie Ji” and realised my mistake, but it was too late, I was now on the defensive. “SAT SIRI AKAL puttar” she said triumphantly “getting ready for Christmas?”
“No no Auntie” I said sheepishly looking down at the ground “we don’t really celebrate Christmas you know”
“You had better take off that tinsil off your pag then” she said
“Ooh the office party” I thought. I needed to get on the offensive “Ha, you have a Christian ring on” I blurted out, got you now. “Actually it is not a wedding ring” she said matter of factly “it is a copy of The Ring”
“The Ring?” I said puzzled
“Yes, its a copy of Frodo’s ring”
“Who is this Fradoo and why has he a nickname and not a proper Sikh name?” I said only then realising the second error I had made, but it was too late. She just sneered ignoring my remark and asked “was that uncle bothering you?”
“No no Auntie Ji” I said desperately trying to think of something intelligent “He’s not a very good Sikh you know”
“Well you had better find the other earring to go with the one you are wearing in your left ear” she said “ and try to straighten out the thin beard-line around your jaw, it looks wonky”
“Drat and double drat “ I thought trying to make a mental note to myself “I mustn’t design my beard when I am half drunk”

As I got home and parked the car in the driveway I switched off the CD player and realised that another aircraft was taking off from Heathrow, “those planes” I thought “make so much noise. Not like my beloved Bhangra music, now that is culture!”
I stood outside my house looking at the array of flickering lights “Aaah Christmas is great” I thought, then correcting myself “ Aaaa I mean, New Year celebrations are great, and of course Gurpurbh will be coming soon.”
“Pritam Kaur-ray, are you home?” I shouted, walking into the sitting room.
“Yes darling” came the reply. “aah Darling, such a lovely thing to call your husband” I thought.
Pritam Kaur came into the room “You know it will be Gurpurb soon” she said.
“Yes of course” I said “People seem to think we celebrate other peoples festivals and not our own, but this is not true, I am fully prepared for the Gurpurb”
“Really?” said Pritam Kaur “Will we be going to the Gurdwara with fresh flower haar and offerings and giving thanks to Guru Ji?”
“What?” I said distracted “Oh yes that as well.” But my eyes had glazed over “But first I will get the BMW fully polished, and I have recorded a new Bhangra tape and I have added extra speakers in the back. I have also made a small hand held Nishan Saab that I will wave in one hand and ……….” Just then panic took over me “what about my other hand” I thought, then I remembered, the half bottle of malt whisky was well placed under the seat.

“Ha, and people say we do not celebrate the Gurpurbs with joy and vigour” I mused as I put my hands behind my head, closed my eyes, settled into my arm chair and imagined what the ‘Jaloose’ down Broadway was going to look like.

The day of the jaloos came and I crawled out of bed and staggered into the bathroom. I quick splash of water on the face and a rub down with the towel and we were up and running. “Oh, what about the paath?” I thought to myself, “I will put a Japji Sahib tape on in the background while I get dressed, that should do it.” I put my favourite trousers and shirt on and donned on a couple of medallions around my neck, not too large mind, we don’t want to be mistaken for a fashion victim. I finished it off with a pair of three inch platform boots that zipped up the side. “Lookin’ good “ I said to myself as I stared in the mirror and slapped on some lotion.

Aloo prathey and yogurt is the dish of the morning, they say it increases your cholesterol but you only live once, so I piled them on my plate, three large ones with a dollop of butter, fantastic. I looked out of the kitchen window while wiping the last ghee off the plate with my thumb and I could see Dhidaar Singh in the garden next door. It was good living in Southall with all my jatt brethren. Not that I am into jaap/paat or anything mind, for we Sikhs don’t believe on caste. But this is different, it’s your roots innit. But those takhans with their own gurdwaras, and what is with all the Vishvarma business ? Not like us, where would Sikhi be without the jatts eh?

I shook my head a little, I had gone into a little day dream. I got up and left the dishes on the side of the sink, Pritam Kaur will wash them up, and went next door. I tidied the glassies from the mini bar that I had made in the corner of the living room a few years back and nearly knocked over the framed picture of the family. You see we Sikhs don’t believe in pictures of the Gurus on our walls, it’s like idol worship you see. Then my eye caught the sight of Pritam Kaur grinning back at me from our wedding on the mantle piece and I smiled. One thing to do before I head for the jaloose, that was to check the old reddies in the wallet. I took out the wallet to check my credit cards and again my eyes fell on a picture of Pritam Kaur stuffed next to the visa card. “No siree” I thought “We Sikhs are definitely not into idol worship.”

The jaloos was a fantastic affair. Jassa, Massa, Laddy, Fladdy and myself all cramped into the BMW getting totally plastered while we drove up and down Broadway waving our hand held nishan saab and shouting “Raj karega Khalsa” at the tops of our voices trying to drown out the shouting from all the other cars. Of course we ended up outside the Glassy Junction.

“How’s the Gurpurb being manaad ?” I shouted at Jagtar Singh who looked a little worst for wear. He responded by doubling over and emptying the contents of his stomach on the pavement. “Shabaash puttra ” I shouted. I wasn’t feeling to good my self to be honest, so I decided to slump next to the wall. My legs just seemed to loose all strength and I found my self sitting on the floor with everything spinning around me. All of a sudden I felt a wet tongue all over my face. “Pritam Kaur-ray” I slurred “ not in public yaar, lets have some dignity.” My hands went over her face and grabbed her ears “ you taken your kan-tay off , yaar ?” I asked. “Oi, that is my dog your are molesting” came a very English voice, which sounded a little alien in these parts. But I was too far gone “good night” I thought and closed my eyes. I am sure one of my bhaji’s will take me home.