3. j

It is a dilemma. There are two strong emotions reigning your thoughts. And you don’t exactly know which one to subscribe to.

On one side you have the pain of loosing your love every moment. And on the other side you have a revenge ablaze inside you. And you stand holding these two emotions laterally. Like the symmetrical wings of a butterfly. Occupying equal parts of your contemplation. Choice of one neglects the other. You tend to loose your balance around hundred times a day making a choice. You try to correlate them to draw solitary solution for both. But they expand in different directions. And you run directionless to contain them.

Your sensations heighten. You can get highly reactive. Even on a snap of a finger. And it’s a phase when you could display any outburst of emotion any number of times.
Piyush enters the room depressed. Considering his emotive latent, it is an obvious reaction to some inconsequential incidence. Based more on assumptions than on reality.

“Welcome!!....cigarette?” I held out the cigarette in my hand before him.

He refused it. I didn’t force him. He didn’t demand again. I would’ve loved to say ‘fuck yourself’. His high power melodrama puts me off somehow. Each time he wears this morose expression, he assures me that a long verbal assault in on its way. The one against which I would he defenceless. And the only solution to counter it is by using the primitive method of defence. Attack.

“What happened?” My aggravation condensed into a question.
“Nothing!”
‘Then why are you sad shitpiece?!’ I felt like shouting on his face. But peace is a virtue.

“Then why are you sad dude” I say peacefully.
“I saw them together” He replies with pain. A pain of a lifetime for him. A pain of a teenager for me.

“Who?” I ask.

He sits on the bed pulling his legs close to his chest. A clear sign of prevailing gloom. I walk over and sit besides him. I give him a cigarette.

“Tell me…whom…”

He breathes in deep. Exhales. Then rubs his palms over his face. He tires me well with his damned built up. He speaks out…

(Contd.)

3. i

Light emits as I unfold the last corner of the paper. A blindening light. It fills the room. I close my eyes. I look at it through the small gap of my eyelids.

I touch it. An electromagnetic wave emanates from it. It touches my fingers. It enters the pores on them and soak my fingers in itself. It sends a vibration down my fingers and keeps them throbbing. It moves ahead with its gazillion crawlers. Millimetre by millimetre it approaches ahead. Swallowing each layer of me steadily. I am not able to take my hand off. It spreads in my hand and takes my shoulder in its wrap. Like an enormous army of ants it spreads over my chest. It begins expanding in opposite directions. One towards the belly and other towards my head. I feel it rising up my neck, my chin and my lips. I don’t move. I don’t resist. I just let it occupy me.

The wave gulps down my cheeks and my nose. Slowly it takes in my eyes. I don’t feel the pain anywhere now. My forehead gets nibbled by it. And then my head. The wave reaches the top of my head. It ends at a point and I become a part of a sudden blankness. All I can see around me is clean white luminescence. And I stand at the centre of it. I don’t even know if it is the centre. I just stand there. Or maybe I float. Suddenly countless plugs arrive from all directions and poke into me. They bring me back to my existent self. I quickly take my hand off it.

The cover is intriguing. A blue prince with a flute and a peacock feathered crown. He has countless faces. He has numerous hands. He possesses innumerable weapons. A series of myriad bodies follow on both his sides, replicating him, like a folded belt of human shaped bullets kept behind him. But everything dissolves into that single self. The blue flutist. Limitless rays of light flowing out from the rear of his head. At his feet I see two sides of a war. Each side looking at him in awe. From the lines of chariots that stand where his feet rest. And a cloud of dust. The devoted have joined their hands. And the opponents are enthralled. They are in no state to join hands. It’s a scenario that no warrior shall forget. And it’s a scenario that no war shall have.

But there is something more above that blue figure of almight. A name in bright red bold letters.

Bhagwad Geeta

I turn to Aparna.

I find her looking at me with a smile. An emotive upsurge occurs within me. I put my arm around her and kiss her deeply. I close my eyes tight.

This woman knows me inside out. Maybe she reads my soul. Or is it visible in my eyes to her. Is it that she feels my vibrations? Or is it that she is one with me? Or is it that she is a piece of me separated at soul distribution in heaven. Or have I transferred a part of me when I kissed her for the first time. Was she me? Or was I her. Or were we each other.

Even when I forget her completely, she is a part of my life. She unknowingly forms the backdrop of every thought I think. She is like a diary in which I note every moment of my life. Expressed or unexpressed. Told. Untold. I keep writing my life into her. Things which I don’t say at times, and yet she understands.

And it is only when she is parting away from me, I realise this. I realise that I am bound to her. Of all girls I live with, she is the one I am compulsively obsessed about. She is my need, my craving, my addiction. She is my high. She is my breath. She is my erotica. She is my romance.

She is…

Kolkata was about to render me dilapidated. I yearned for her even in her company.
Maybe, I was in love with her. Maybe it’s just a parting thought. Maybe its Maybelline. Maybe it’s just a temporary feeling.

Maybe I won’t be the same Anay after her.


(Contd.)

3. h

“Why did you have to fight?” she tosses a rhetoric at me.
“I didn’t Apu…he did!”
“Out of the blue?”
“Not exactly…sorta’ revenge” I clarified.
“For what?”
“For teasing before general audience!”
“Why do you have to tease someone in public?” She touches my cheek with the warm water bag.
“I believed that he was my friend…”
“So now it’s proved that he wasn’t”
“Yeah…the bastard!”
“Cool down angry young man!...” she mocks. My face creases bit. She sees it. She bends over me and spreading the curtain of her dark hair and kisses me gently on my cheek. “My Doga!” she says and laughs aloud. I regret revealing my Doga addiction to her.

“Yeah my Monica!” I run my hands through her soft hair and slid my fingers slowly down her cheek. My finger slides swiftly down her silk. It reaches her lips. I trace her lips with the tip of my index finger. She smiles and looks into my eyes. I smile with a tinge of discomfort. My cheek pains whenever I smile. She is sitting on her knees, resting her legs on the sides of my waist.

I pull her closer. She bends further without a spare word. Our lips touch each other.

Aparna was about to leave for Kolkata in three days.

“When will you be back?” I had asked her when she had told me about it.
“Don’t know” she had answered.
“As in…”
“As in I don’t know about it…I don’t know if I may return or not” She had said gravely.
“Why??”
“I have my own reasons!” She had replied. Like every girl she too had kept a mystery to herself.

The rest of the evening we had spent wiping each other’s tears. There were abundant of them. I was loosing her. It was like loosing the most essential gear of the machine. It was like leaving me incomplete.

Today I was meeting her for the last time. And this occurred. Poor thing had taken me home and was helping me out with my lame endeavour of pain management.

My hand slowly crawls to the back of her head. Her hair flowing through the gaps between my fingers. I caress her hair. She digs in deeper. Pain begins to spread in my cheek as we get passionate. I neglect it and continue with the spree. My other hand wanders on her waist. It finds the gap between her top and her pyjamas. I slip my hand in through it. She intends to limit it to kissing. She immediately resists it and slaps my hand. She looses her balance in this attempt and she crashes on my jaw. A lightning of strikes my jaw and goes running to the brain. I push her back and yell in pain. She picks up her balance and sits back. But on my belly. I feel like a hammer landing on my belly. I shout again. She shifts back impulsively to land her buttocks on my apparatus, crushing my balls. The eternal pain of my manhood popped up. I ‘ouch’ed as cutely as the pain emerged. Another impulse of guilt possesses her. She shifts back and places her lovely lady hump on my thigh. Exactly where Rahul has kicked me. Ripples of pain run through the entire area. I cry out again. She finally jumps off me. I twist and turn with the agonizing remnants of my pain.

“I am sorry!” she says filled with concern. I can se the fear of seeing the dead body of a man killed by mistake in her eyes. She escapes to the kitchen. I think she feels she has killed me and is worried about it. Maybe she will return with a sack and stuff me in. Then she will put me in the dicky of her car and take us to a cliff and push us down. Me and the car. And the car will go down rolling and blast into pieces. And so will my body. All evidences gone. I begin thinking about the cliff she would take me too.

Instead of a sack she arrives with a bottle of water and a glass.

“Here…” she says pouring the water into the glass.

I am still twisting with pain. She bewilders over the perfect way to feed me water. She takes a try to pour it directly into my mouth. But her aim isn’t so good. It falls on my eye instead.

She keeps the glass aside and helps me sit with my back resting against the wall. She then helps me out with gulping water as rapidly as possible by tilting the glass further before I take any gulp. I feel better. She sits reclining her head on my shoulder.

“I am sorry” she says.

Her apology pushes me into a fit of rage occupies me The pain reminds me of Rahul. Of his punches and his kick. Of my public humiliation. And of pain. Of a hurt ego.

“Why are you sorry?....He should be sorry…”
“Leave it na Ani…”
“No Apu…I can’t…the favour will be a returned…”
“You are too hot headed sometimes.”
“Or I wouldn’t be me…”
“Yeah yeah…I am scared”
“You lost your turn…” I say winking. “It’s Rahul’s now…”
“Again the same thing!...Ani…promise me…”
“What?”
“That you won’t touch that son of a bitch…”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to be in any problems Ani…these are shit guys!...”
“I don’t care…They should get their due…”
“Okay…don’t listen to me if you don’t want to…who am I?”
I look helplessly at her. She looks away.
“Okay…” I agree finally. “No raising hands on them…”
“Sure?” she throws a fake glare at me.
“Yeah…promise” I keep my hand on her head.
She hugs me.
“Ani….” She says adjusting her head in the notch on my shoulder.
“Yeah naanu…?”
“I have a gift or you…” she says.
“Are you pregnant?” I ask with a mischievous smile.
“Shut up!” she hits me with a pillow.
“Then?”
“One sec…”

She jumps out of the bed to her bag. A typical Socialist marked Shabnam with Che Guevera and Bob Marley on it, living within the constraints of circle badges and other such signs. She pushes her hand in and pulls out a neatly gift wrapped rectangle.

“What is it?” I say fondling it.
“Parting gift…a new perspective…”
“But what??”
“Open it.”

I untie the ribbon and put it around my neck. I unwrap the gift paper like tearing off the gift’s clothes. I open the paper.

What I see inside delights me.


(Contd.)

3. g

“What time?” I ask Sneha.
“Five thirty” she says.
“Where?...same spot?”
“Yeah…Opposite the ice cream parlour”

It was a lazy afternoon. Aunty was sleeping inside. The place was almost empty because the flockers of the place were busy with lectures. The roll I ordered for formality lay between us. Within the range of my hands. As in a preparation for a quick escape. We were making a plan for next day’s meeting in the city part, after her college.

A sweet little small date. At least that’s what we always expect it to be. It begins off as it too. Then slowly it creeps into us and we go wild. We want to watch a movie, and we end up making out through it. We want to sit with our legs dipped in the cold waters of the lake and we end up groping each other. We want to talk about things sitting along the dark shore of the river, and we end up with hands in each others clothes.

She is like a wild mare, like all rebellious teenage girls are. She wants to drink, smoke, make love and eat meat against her strictly religious vegetarian family background. She wants to break free. She wants to adopt the life of other privileged carefree girls of her age. And I am her passport to that life. At times she changes her clothes before meeting me. The Sneha behind the counter and the girl who meets me in the city are two totally different attires. I like the later more. Because it’s fun to tame a wild mare. It’s a different kick.

Suddenly I saw her straighten up. It was an alert signal. She had seen someone coming. It’s a consensus. If she sees someone coming over my shoulder, she alerts me. Same on my side. I picked up my roll and turned.

I have a surprise walking towards me. It’s Rahul!

The urge to call him Aditya has died in me. He no longer is Harshal’s roommate, whose leg I can pull anytime and then somehow manage to escape his wrath. He was a different individual now. I quickly move out of his way. He looks at me threateningly. I walk away and take a seat at the farthest table.

He buys a Vada Pav and sits at a table close to me. I avoid and interaction with him. Even the one with eyes. I look outside. Beyond Aunty’s netted fence, I see Harshad standing with Dhananjay, the youth party spokesperson and his henchman Akshay, the PR on the opposite footpath. I find them looking at me strangely. I wave out to Harshad. He waves in return. I signal him to come over and join me. I don’t feel like making my repayment clear at the moment. There’s always a right time. He waves back in refusal. But what puzzles me is the company he has. It could be that they had caught him the way they had caught me. But if that had been the case, why could’ve they been staring me with preparedness. I try to create a circuit board of thoughts trying to find the right connections. They loose their interest in me and start looking somewhere else.

I finish my roll hurriedly and get up to return the empty plate. Rahul stands up with me and crosses my path on my way back to the counter. I bang into him, after a futile attempt to avoid him. The left over ketchup draws a neat line on the right arm of his T-shirt. He turns around enraged.

“Lost your eyes?” He asks in a menacing tone.
“Sorry man!” I reply gently.
“What sorry?!…you spoilt the shirt!” He held his arm before me for a moment.
“Didn’t do it purposely man!”
“Are you back answering me?...It’s your mistake fucker…wash it and give it back to me”
“Yeah…sure man!...take it off!” I try to evade a situation with a smile.
“You think this is funny?...Madarchod!”

Suddenly I felt a hard punch in my stomach. Waves of agonizing pain spread through my belly. I curl back holding my belly.

“You still think this is funny?...Laugh now.”

A strong punch settles on my jaw, unsettling it.

A sharp sound occupies my ear and starts dissolving everything in itself.
I loose my balance and I lie on the ground.

“You want jokes na?...take this joke!” He kicks me in my thigh. It is obvious that he had missed his aim.

He leaves the plate at the counter and walks away.

I try standing up again. Sneha comes to pick me up. I get up on my feet again. I feel throbbing pain in my jaw. A metallic taste spreads onmy tongue. I go to the net and spit it out. I see red drops spewing out of my mouth. They land on the leaves of an grown by itself alont the footpath. My heart beats occupy my head. A slow blur invades my sight.

I see Harshad and the party workers walk away from the point where they were standing. I see their erect backs. That is the last sight I see. The world dissolves in a pitch black vacuum after that.

But before I pass out, I successfully get all my connections in the circuit right.


(Contd.)

3. f

She continues talking on phone. The warmth of her body glues me to her. I don’t feel like letting her off. Her touch spreads through me. It absorbs me into itself. I melt in its warmth. She jerks me back. I keep on holding her. She continues talking. I unhear what she speaks. It’s her personal matter. She is my personal matter. I gently rub my cheek over the smoothness of her neck. She hits her elbow in my stomach. I bear it. I kiss her gently on her neck instead. I have learnt from great Indian leaders to love in return of hatred. I hear a small sigh. She hits her fist on my hip in return. Her conversation with Harshad on phone goes on uninterrupted. I love Matahari for this. She doesn’t let even the closest confide know whom she is with and doing what when such incidences of seduction occur. I slowly slip my hand down, taking it below her belly. I rub it over her zip. She tries to push me back in vain. I spread my fingers and hold the entire region in my hand, anchoring my fingers at soft notches. I press the area gently. A light moan escapes her mouth. She hits me lamely on my thigh. I unzip her pant and push my hand into the newly formed gap. I feel her body shudder.

I run my fingers over the smooth cloth of her Victoria’s Secret. My finger reaches the upper edge of the Secret. I fondle with it. I touch the softness of her lower belly that descends into her depth. A temptation blooms within me. The temptation to pull it down and reach the depths. To feel the touch of the tender skin at the edge of the depth. To rub my finger softly over it. To caress it with tips of extensors of my palms. To scratch a steady line with my blunt nails. I hear a soft gasp. I pull the elastic edge lower. She disconnects the call and turns around.

I look into her eyes. The hostility in them transfixes me. I keep looking into them with my hand struggling to get out. Within a fraction of the second, her hand lands on my cheek. Everything darkens before me for a moment.

“Stay off fucker!!” She almost shrieks.

I move back. But my hand is stuck in her zipper.

“Pull this shit off my zipper you motherfucking arsehole!”

I drop the book and put my other hand on her mouth. She abuses further in a muffled voice. I desperately attempt to pull my hand out of her zipper.

She manages to free her mouth from my hand.

“You womaniser…”
“Shut up Barkha…you will wake up everybody!!”
“Let them wake up and see what an arsehole you are…”
“What happened?”
“You are asking me what happened?...Don’t you know what happened?”

I have a fair idea of what has happened. But I continue to be ignorant. But I want to hear it from her. Just as a matter of conformation. I jerk my hand to get it off her zipper. It moves in millimeters.

“What?!” I ask.
“Will I have to tell you that too?”
“Yes!”
“Okay…” She attains pseudo calm. “…Tell me…did you enjoy?”
“Enjoy what?”
“Her you fucker!”
“What?...Who?!”
“Her!...Shamita!...was her cunt juicier than mine??” She spit words out.
“Shut up Barkha…what’s got into you?”
“Come on tell me…were her thighs warmer?...”
“Shut the fuck up Barkha!!...”
“Why?...cant handle the truth??”
“What truth??”
“What truth??!!...Sleeping with Shamita you son of a bitch”
“What?!!...who told you this shit?” I know who has. But again I give in to the factor of confession.

“Whoever told me…what you have to do…you had your dick happy na…”
“Whichever fucker told you…is lying…or doesn’t know the truth.”
“Then…what’s the truth?...you took her to a hotel room for taking notes from her…”
“Nope…I took her to meet her brother…”
“To the hill-station?”
“Yes!”
“Do you think I am a fool?”
“I didn’t…but now I think you are…you are outta your mind Barkha…” My hand slips out of her zipper in my final attempt.

“And you are outta yourself you bastard!”
“Alright…If you aren’t listening to what I have to say….you will know the truth at the right time…see you than Barkha!” I say calmly and leave.

She stays dumbfounded by the serenity in my line. I leave there quietly. She stands speechless, dumbstruck by my move.

I exit her compound and walk away with heavy steps. And a stab-punctured heart.

I know who is behind this. He has a due to pay now.

(Contd.)

3. e

I get down from the rickshaw and I call her up. She doesn’t answer first three calls. She answers the fourth one.

“What?!” she stings.
“I am outside your house” I say.
“Why?”
“…the book”
“I said tomorrow”
“I said I was coming!”
“Anay…”
“Barkha…”

A brief pause passes between us. “Wait there…I am coming” she breaks the silence.
With all the lights off, her house seems sleeping. A restful darkness peeps through its windows. A see a quick switching on and switching off of her study lamp. Her room fills up for a second with its light. The way lightening fills the skies for an instant.

The door of her bungalow opens and she comes out watchfully, with the book held to her chest. She closes the door carefully, to avoid waking up her grandmother, the only inhabitant of the bungalow. The indirect benefactor of my sexual exploits with Barkha. She sleeps early and wakes up late. To add to her generosity, he doesn’t hear properly. Her Mom and Dad stay in Dubai. My statistics say she couldn’t get through any institute there. Her reason says that the quality of education is better in India. Be whatever, she lives here alone with her grandmother, studying in my college and prefers me to share her bed. This information is enough for me.

She comes walking feather light steps and stands before me.

I look into her eyes and smile. She returns it with a stern glare.

I move a step closer. She pushes me back with the book and holds it out for me. I take it touching her hands gently. She quickly draws them back.

I hold the book tighter. My first attempt wasted.

“What happened?” I ask “Why you so grumpy?”
“I am not…” she snaps back.
“But the nosy here doesn’t say so…” I touch the tip of her nose.
She slaps my hand off with an irritable “Don’t touch me…”

Second attempt failed. Her behaviour is getting on my nerves. This is an ordinary reaction seen in people who suddenly stop getting something that they are so used to getting without much effort.

“What happened Barkha” I ask her with a sprinkle of firmness, holding her by her shoulders.

“Nothing Anay…” she says shaking my hands off her shoulders. There is a sharp edge of sadness to her voice.

“Then why are you behaving this way??...” It erupts out finally.

The phone in her hand rings exactly at that moment. He answers the call instantly.
“Yeah Harshad…tell me.” She says a bit louder for me to understand.

She moves away from me talking on phone. I follow her. Her swift moves blow me over once more. I keep walking behind her. We enter the compound of her bungalow. We reach a dark corner in her premises. Her attempts to gain privacy give me a chance to follow her to the cosiest of places.

She stands with her back at me. I move closer. She moves farther.

This time I am determined.

I move closer to her again. The darkness in the corner intoxicates me. She stands still. I wrap my hands around her.

(Contd.)

3. d

I move closer to Barkha. She moves farther.

I don’t understand what the fuck is happening.

I had been observing it since morning. Through the day she wore a sensuous black Ganji deep enough to give a glimpse of her miracle bosom. Her harem pyjama added to the voluptuous gorgeousness. I spent every moment of the day in the shade of her ebony seduction. Her every movement was a schooner of wine. My eyes were transfixed on every flinch of her stunning body. And an irresistible urge of attaining it burned through me. I approached her with my predatory instincts on every moment that I could. But she somehow, unlike herself , she lugged herself away from me each time. I was guessing if this was some new tactic she was devising. But my concerns grew stronger as the day ended and she avoided even a slight brushing of our skins. Forget sensuous touches. It was not so her.

Barkha, as her name meant, was a shower. A shower of chilled rain drops. The one which pricked you and soothed you at the same time. The shower of countless cold and wet needles. The shower which taught you of the pleasure that lay hidden in pain.
Like the abundance of a shower, Barkha was an abundance herself. An unending reservoir of lust. You could jump in. Take a plunge. Have a sip from it. Or, if u had enough guts, gulp the entire thing down. But this abundance showered only on the chosen ones. Like rain chooses to empty its clouds on the villages along the foothills of the mountains, and drizzles faintly on those over the other side.
Like everybody else, she too had her share of desires. Just that it was a bigger one. Big enough to keep her constantly occupied in an endeavour to quench it endless thirst.

I had noticed her pull towards male bodies through her overfriendly physical gestures and repeated attempts to establish a close affinity with male friends. My speculation was cemented by the news from Shamita’s room. A place for college girls to gather and gossip. A word spread out that she was loose. And I rode on the wave of that word. I impressed her, lured her and subdued her. I made a territory in the pool of her desires. A very large one. And I swam in it proudly, keeping petty contestants at bay. And what I got in return was hundred per cent accurate information about Shamit’s room briefings, Harshad’s heart and Dilip’s inner secrets. She was my Matahari. And my chocolate. My ebony obsession.

I call her up.

“I need a book…” I say.
“Which?” She says rather impassively. The draughtiness in her voice leaves a tearing scratch inside me.
“Any” I could have said. But I thought of being more specific in this delicate situation.
“Ramaswamy and Namakumari” I replied.
“Okay…” she said “take it tomorrow.”

She had begun attacking with a stream of ballistic missiles. I had to move forward facing them; attacking her and protecting myself from her jet stream of curt replies.

“I wanted it today….in fact…now!” I said appearing as normal as I could. That was my only defence and attack.

“Now?!” she exclaimed with gentle insolence and then fell silent for some moments. I had felt the heat radiating through her words. But I was unable to lead myself to the spark of it. “can’t you take it tomorrow?”

Damn! It’s the fuck up day. But one has to take chances.

“No!” I say. “Today…I am coming to your place…now!” I disconnect.

I rush down. Catch a rickshaw and reach her room. Using Piyush’s bike once has proved risky enough. I decide not to mess up my life further.

But I detest the idea of going to her house walking. It’s considerably far.

The rickshaw begins moving at the speed of light. Or at least I feel so.

(Contd.)