My life had always been dominated by patriarchy from the beginning and I was more than content with this life. I liked knowing my role and where I belonged.
Being born in Canada there was always a battle between my Punjabi culture and the western culture I experienced outside of our community. I always chose my Punjabi and Sikh culture as I felt at home here. We went to India every summer and visited our ancestral home where my grandparents still lived. Most of my spare time was spent at the Gurdawara or with my large family. My family enjoyed a good status in the community and my father was well respected. I only dressed in suits such as salwar kameez and kurtas. I loved the traditional clothes and hated having to wear western clothes when I went to school.
My Father was a strong man and the family decisions were made through him. He epitomized what it meant to be a Sardar. He had control over my life but I always felt safe. He was stern and the strength of the family. My Mother created a nickname for me when I was younger, Bubbly. This stuck and everyone in my called me by the nickname but for my Father. He would always call me Sukhjeet. He always told me to be proud of my name and I was named after my great grandmother who survived partition. Even when I was mocked at school with inappropriate sex jokes about my shortened name Sukhi, I held on to my Father's words.
At the age of 17 my Father passed away suddenly from heart complications. This left a gaping hole in my life. My Mother's older brother became the Patriarch of the family but I had issues coping with the loss of my Father.
One day at the age of 21 my Mother told me about a marriage request that had been made. It was from a Sikh family in America. It was a family known to us from India and they had a good reputation.
My mother had grown distant from me in the years since my Father's death and I did not have a strong bond with her. The man I was to marry was a kind and decent man so I was happy to go ahead with the union even though it meant I had to move countries.
I settled into my married life in Ohio with my new family. I liked being part of this new household. My father in law, who I affectionately called Baba was a strong man and in many ways reminded me of my own Father. He was in his mid 60's but still physically fit and active.
There was a tension in the household that I sensed between my father in law and my husband. Baba was stern and did not put up with slackness or weakness. He was particularly tough on my husband and my husband struggled under this pressure. I was caught between wanting Baba to go easy on my husband, Kuldeep and knowing that men had to be tough and resilient. It was no place for a woman to speak.
The other matter was that I was not pregnant after 12 months of marriage.
After losing my virginity to my husband my cravings for sex went up but my husband was busy and worked long hours. This meant that he was too tired to have sex most nights and we rarely had sex.
My father in law worked him hard and my husband was too nice to say no. They ran a local furniture store and worked hard to make it successful.
As I had always done I took my duties seriously in the home. The home had lacked a woman's touch in many years as my father in law lost his wife many years earlier.
I enjoyed my role as the woman of the house. I ran the house from top to bottom. I cooked, cleaned and took care of my husband and father in law.
My role increased when my father in law hurt his back while lifting a bed at work. Despite his age my father in law worked as hard as someone more than half his age.
My father in law was confined to the bed but for going to the bathroom due to the pain and I was responsible for taking care of him. My husband liked that I was so dedicated to my family.
My father in law would call me by my name just like my father did. It would give me goose bumps every time I heard him call my name.
"Baba, are you ok?" I ask as he groans holding his back. He is just wearing his vest and I don't know what else under the covers. I have never seen him without his turban even in the home and it is the first time I am seeing him without his turban.
"Beti, it is nothing," he said putting a brave face on his pain.
"Let me help you," I say as I approach him. I want to help him recover and ease his pain.
I turn him on to his side and press his back where he was holding it.
"Ah!" He exclaims in relief.
"Let me help you, Baba," I tell him.
I massage his back and dig my fingers into his hard flesh. I can feel the taut muscles and sinew as my fingers dig into his flesh.
It is at this moment I realize he is just wearing underwear under the covers and I realize why he is slightly embarrassed. He is a proud man and the idea of his daughter in law seeing him in such a weak state will hurt his pride but I want to see him do better.
I don't know why but the more I press and touch his body the more I begin to feel something tingly in my body.
It is a slow purring feeling and not one that I am consciously aware of.
I try to ignore this as I press and massage his back focusing on the pain.
"Very good. Very good," he groaned as he felt the sensations of my massage.
My mind was becoming hazy as I touched his naked flesh. There was a growing sense of unease within me. I could sense these feeling within my body were wrong but I could not stop thinking about them.
"Beti, that is much better," Baba said as he turned around and I stopped.
My mind was lost to lustful thoughts for the moment but his words eventually cut through and I gained some perspective. I was a strong Sikh woman and these thoughts were not something I should entertain.
As he turned around I felt something brush my arm. It was strong and turgid. It caught me by surprise but when I looked down I noticed a large obscene erection in Baba's underwear.
I don't want to embarrass him further and pretend I haven't seen or felt it.
I leave to let him rest and periodically enter to check on him and serve him food. My duties keep my mind and body busy but at times my mind drifts back to what I felt. It was so hard and turgid and I wonder if my massage did that to him.
I shock myself at having such a vile thought about my father in law. I feel a deep sense of shame at having such a thought.
In the afternoon I return to my father in law and he seems to be in much worse pain.
I turn him on his side once more and press the strong muscles of his back. As I do my mind wonders about what I brushed up against before.
I slowly begin to convince myself that my imagination is playing up what I felt. Perhaps it was just his leg I tell myself.
After my massage Baba turns back around to lay down flat on his back.
Unconsciously I let my hand feel that strong and turgid muscle once more but I have much firmer grasp of what I am touching as I hold it with my hand.
I gasp at what I am feeling and quickly let go before leaving the room in a hurry. Baba is embarrassed and I am ashamed of my actions.
In my bedroom I lock the door. I do not know why I lock the door as there is no need but I just feel a need to be hidden and not disturbed.
My heart rate is pulsing and my breathing is heavy as I lay back on the bed hiding under the covers.
My hands are trembling as I try to come to terms with what has happened.
I am afraid of facing my father in law once more after what I have done. Will he tell my husband about my shameless actions?
