In love with the rains

The broken bits of music wafted into the kitchen early Sunday morning as Nandini read the morning paper, waiting patiently for the coffee to get ready. She tapped her feet to it, filling up the broken bits as the radio coughed and skipped parts of the raga. She didn't mind, she knew the piece well and sang along with her mother's honey-like voice, never looking up, engrossed constantly in the paper.

By the time the sound of steam escaped the coffee maker, the sky was dark and it had started to rain. The radio was playing well now, the music was inter-spread with the sound of falling water, some hitting the mud outside the house and making a thumping sound, some screaming in joy as they clashed with the tin roof of the garage, while the rest found other homes and made numerous other sounds. The wind chime joined in soon, as the cold wind from the river found a path towards the land. It was all a beautiful melody together, unusual sounds mixing - Nandini, her now deceased mother, the rains, the wind, the chimes.

With the cup of coffee ready she walked into the study, looking for Manoj. She followed the music, still swaying to its beauty, her mind constantly humming the tune, her heart playing along and egging her on for some mischief. Manoj was already dozing off with the book half open and a half smoked cigarette kept in the ashtray, small wisps of smoke still escaping from its half lit end. He was trying to quit and smoking only half a cigarette was the latest in his list of efforts.

She took a small puff from the almost dying cigarette and let it work on her. Slowly dipping her finger into the hot-sweet cup of coffee she let her finger slowly spread it over his lips and week-long beard, her other hand played with his hair. His nap broken, he opened his eyes slowly and smiled as she sat on his lap and struggled with his already haphazardly worn mundu.

It was over within seconds, as her body erupted into spasms of ecstasy, while he held her tightly. The coffee was lukewarm as they enjoyed it together lying on the floor, still looking mischievously into each others eyes, the mundu entwined with their bodies, even as Nandini's mother reached her own crescendo and the piece finally ended.

Image ref - www.corbis.com

Manohar. Sita. Ram.

This is a three part series, read the first part and the second part as well, the order isn't paramount.

Manohar

Manoharlal looked up from under the weight of mighty Khaba, his most illustrious student who had now become adept at defeating him occasionally. Manoharlal had seen Sita often in the past as she purchased vegetables outside his akhara, and had always wondered how she would look and feel in a voracious mud-wrestling match with him. This made it all the more embarrassing for him today, as he lay helpless and defenseless under Khaba.

Later as they sipped chai together in his room at the back of this akhara, she made a highly unusual set of demands. She said that she needed to test him before she could explain her plan to him and take the matters forward. For Manoharlal, the next hour was spent in ecstasy. The number and depth of bites all over his body forced him to excuse himself from wrestling for the next two weeks, but that day he passed the test with his commendable hour long performance. There were three things Sita wanted - to teach her wrestling, to help her husband last and finally if everything failed, take the matters to another level of intimacy and devilishness. He was too exhausted and excited to disagree.

Ram was a difficult student. He refused to let Manoharlal teach him anything at all in the beginning. He was shy, and refused to believe that there could possibly be anything wrong with him, till one day Manoharlal was forced to give him a demonstration; his obsession for Sita's unmatched assets took hold over everything, including his own self respect. Ram was an obedient student after that, but a no-learner. Nothing worked on him, and nothing helped his abject performance in bed. But not everything was well in Manohar's personal life as well. He was torn between his insatiable lust for Sita and his unquenchable desire to be a useful teacher to Ram. Sita continued to visit him under the guise of learning wrestling, though their playground was not the akhara, but his hot, humid and dingy room.

Soon it was clear that Manoharlal could possibly not be of any use to Ram, his progress was so slow that it would be years before he would be able to satisfy the killing lust of his wife. And it wasn't long afterward that Siat visited him and demanded her final wish to be fulfilled, an incident which reminded him of Queen Kaikai's silly argument with King Dashrath over Sri Ram in Ramayana. Manohar relented.

That fateful night, as Ram walked out naked with a very satisfied smile on his face, Manohar jumped from behind and quickly choked him to death with his famous khooni wrestling move. As Ram's body became in lifeless in his arms, Sita also came out, stark naked and with blood-red eyes. She slowly moved her hands all over his soft and dead body, while hot tears flowed continuously down her cheeks.

They had both loved Ram in their own ways, and it was heart-breaking to lose him like this.

Sita. Ram. Manohar.

This is a three part series, read the first part and the third part as well, the order isn't paramount.

Sita

From the time she accidentally saw him in a state she was never meant to, Sita had been fascinated by Ram, who lived in a house right opposite to her Chawl in the sprawling Parel area of Mumbai. Ram was quite a looker and possessed the body of a Greek god, Adonis, or so Sita thought. He belonged to a family which was richer than the rest, and his house even had an attached bathroom. This was sort of a disappointment for her and her many sahelis from neighbourhood, who were forever keen to seem Ram draped in a flimsy semi-transparent towel waiting to take a bath in the common bathing area. This never happened, though she continued fantasizing about Ram in the rare free moment of her life and in every possible way.

It wasn't long before she decided that more needed to be done to entice him into a relationship; despite all his Greek-god-like attributes, he was still a very shy guy and would only momentarily look at the fallen dupatta and pallu, and would then not even be able to look Sita's into the eyes for days together. There was a beast ready for a hunt in Sita and she took matter further in her hands, quite literally, when he was alone at home one cold afternoon. The encounter left her surprised and confused, and she questioned her sanity for a while, before the dreams of an attached bathroom took over. There was no turning back and soon they were married and she moved in with ram's family.

Right from the first night, she knew that Ram was prized possession but there was only so much you could do with him. He was sensitive, understanding and cautious, and none of these were the things she wanted in bed. And he could never last even beyond a few hand strokes, even lesser if it was her hand. Somehow this never bothered him and he was happy with whatever little 'nothing' they did together, but this left Sita completely dumbfounded.

Not the one to be crushed with such luck, she decided to take the matters in her own hands, yet again. Manoharlal had been training the men in the neighborhood akhara for years now, and his fame in the underground world of dissatisfied men and women had reached new heights, thanks to his advanced Ayurveda knowledge. Sita decided to meet Manoharlal, and it was just luck that it happened to be a hot, sweaty June afternoon.

All these thoughts and more crossed Sita's mind, she she lay under Ram and waited. '...Three, four, five...',  she could faintly hear a number with every stroke that he made; in her mind she did her own, and curiously she was two digits ahead of him. But there was another countdown in her head, much more sinister and fearful. Night was still so young, she waited for Ram to finish.

Ram. Sita. Manohar.

This is a three part series, read the second part and the third part as well, the order isn't paramount.


Ram

Ram was extremely satisfied with his performance today, he had lasted exactly seven strokes and it was way better than his career best four, exactly three months ago. He made a silent prayer thanking the ancient art of Yoga, which he considered to be solely responsible for this unprecedented improvement in such a short span of time.

With a proud grin on his face, he looked on his side to see Sita's reaction. Initially confused by what he saw, it occurred to him only later that perhaps she didn't count properly today. But it was impossible to miss such a grand number, there had to be something else.

'So what do you think?', he asked, the grin intact on his face still, despite her obvious disinterest in his personal milestone. Sita was silent, her mind was preoccupied with many other thoughts. But contrary to what Ram thought, Sita had counted every single of his stroke, though she could hardly even feel her tiny husband move inside her. And it was only after he moved away from her that she stopped counting, and so her score for him was an even mightier nine.

'We need to talk, Ram', she replied. He knew right then exactly what the matter was, though she spent the next couple of hours explaining it all to him. He was surprised to know that the culprit was Manoharlal, his Yoga teacher who had been teaching him the various techniques of self restraint and performance improvement for the past six months. Manohar, as Sita often fondly called him, was also Sita's wrestling instructor and her best friend in the whole world. It was Sita one who had asked Ram to go and meet Manohar, who was already famed for his excellence in the ancient art of Yoga and helping the men in need. This was after Ram's consistent failure to engage her in any meaningful coitus, apart from simply soiling her saree every time he came close to her.

But things changed quickly after Sita's confession. Ram quietly took his crumpled langot and walked naked out of the room. There was, however, a sly grin on his face. Seven was still a big number for him and he felt ready to take on the world and floor/ bed all the members of the fairer sex. He thanked Manoharlal once again as the mist of the night outside enveloped him completely.

We walk together, one last time...

I woke up with the smell of fresh coffee beans getting brewed that winter morning. She was already up and getting coffee ready for us. Quite unusual considering that it was a Sunday and making coffee was a task designated to me, I was good at it.

It was just the beginning of series of events that were highly unusual to my life. The night started as usual, but by the time we made love and fell asleep into each others arms, it had already started snowing outside. I had never lived in this town in the winters, and had never seen a snowfall here before. We both smiled, and snuggled into each other one last time, to commemorate our last night together.

There was coffee for me and orange juice for her, just the way it had always been. We knew how difficult this day would be, and had been preparing for it for a while already. She wasn't ready still, I could see her hands shaking as she passed on the cup to me; maybe it was the snow outside, I wasn't convinced still. We decided to take it slow and make it into a long and lazy day and she snuggled up right next to me under the white and blue gilaaaf.

We knew no one would disturb us today, no one knew where we were. We had our numerous hide-outs but this place was new, known to everyone, yet completely unknown to all. She had been insisting for years to visit this old house with me, somehow things had never worked out for us, till yesterday that is. The major portion of the day yesterday was spent getting things in order and for the house to start functioning again. I knew there wont be any more visits to this house, the memories would be too painful, yet we had to do something to not think about the coming day. Kitchen couldn't get functional and we had to survive on the bread that she always carried with her, apart from the orange juice.

Snow had made it impossible to venture out, even the shops were closed and paths blocked. I knew it would be tough to drive the car in this weather, and so dropped all plans of venturing out. Turning together in the bed, we looked out outside from the window behind the bed. Everything was beautiful, serene, yet cold and almost eerily dead. We kissed lightly and decided to sleep again, the morning was not going to get over any time soon for us.

It was the noise of the kids playing with ice which woke me a little before noon, apart from the intense pressure in my bladder. As I stood half asleep and trying to aim, she came from behind and held it for me, something I was expecting already. We spent the next hour sitting in the British era loo, I gave her company by drinking the hot coffee (of course, cold now), while she gulped down two glasses of orange juice to help her bowel movement. No help came, and finally we decided to let things be as they were.

She walked ahead, while I followed her into the kitchen. Breakfast on Sundays too was my preserve, today she took it over from me. She warmed up the already boiled eggs while I made another round of coffee, we were both were certified coffee addicts. In fact it was coffee which bought us together years ago, but that is another long story, there may be another time for that later.

She sat down at the old wooden dining table while I lit up the fire, and drew the huge curtains. As I sat down on the creaky chair, the dust from the curtains too settled down, making a thin sheath on everything in the room, including us and the food. I sipped my coffee while she walked around, this all was new for her. I had described most of the objects in the room already to her, and now she wanted to touch these, feel these, there won't be another day like this after this. She kept asking questions, never looking for any answers. She knew most answers and for the rest I had none; I didn't respond either, simply content looking at her naked body walking across the room.The eggs remained untouched, and were soon cold again. This was our second attempt at eating them already since yesterday,

There wasn't a word we exchanged since the time we got up, yet there was no discomfort. We knew all that was there to know, the rest was all immaterial. The day was passing slowly, but for us every minute spent today was a lifetime spent together. Everything was romantic, the only thing missing were the fights; despite her monologues with herself, everything was completely silent around. We let it all lapse in the background, while we whiled away our last few hours together, looking into each other, looking around at all the things we shared, though seen together only now. There was no music, unusual again for us, but silence was the music today.

The moment came fast, almost like a bolt of lightning, yet she was silent and strangely poised. There was no electricity today as well, and we had to manage ourselves with only one candle. I could see only a part of her in the mirror as I stood behind her with the candle, while she put her clothes on. She took her time, and the candle was finished by the time we sat again together to eat the eggs. I lit the match sticks one after the other, till all of them were finished. Every time there was a flicker, I found her looking intently into my eyes.

We walked together outside. The chill in the air was frightening and I had the most tremendous urge to just turn and go back inside. But walked ahead, there was no turning back now anymore. There were no goodbyes, no holding of hands, no tears, no uncomfortable moments, no comforting hugs. This was the end, as she walked away into the darkness, never looking back.