Happy Birthday!

I didn't hear you as I sat with my back against the painted walls of the shrine. The men played their music, different pitches intermixing, different voices creating absolute, sublime magic, their music divine. I remained numb to it all, numb to your presence, even when you perhaps called out to me constantly, asking for my love, asking for life.

The words filled my ears, echoed in my soul, yet I remained indifferent. I had to make a choice that day and I didn't know how. I always believed in Him, but my faith was already wavering. The soothing words, the smiling faces, the beautiful red roses strewn all around, they all spoke to me, all asked me to listen to your calls; I remained deaf, didn't hear anything. The void within was shallow, and it didn't allow me to hear anything, to feel anything.

I walked around looking for a sign, looking for your guidance, looking for an answer. It was all around me to see, but I remained blind, never saw anything. I saw a young woman playing with her young kids, yet I missed out on their smiles, and their laughter. I saw grown ups with their old parents, yet I missed out on the love between them. I looked past them all, and I made my choice.

Hours later as I woke up alone in the cold hospital room, I felt an acute emptiness within. It was your absence that made me realise how your presence had become inseparable from my existence. As tears flooded out, I was blinded by your thoughts, and my love for you.

You would have been four today,
To you my baby, Happy Birthday!


image ref: www.corbis.com

Strangers who knew each other too well

Smoking was something Roshni never indulged in, yet today she laughed uncontrollably every time she tried making rings of smoke. Almost every time she tried, smoke came out looking more like smoke from Aladin's lamp, and in her current state she laughed and waited for the djinn to come out and join them on the terrace.

All this while Arvind just stood in a corner, the ice cubes slowly melting in the glass, smoke slowly escaping out of his amused smile. He had tried his best to teach her, but today wasn't a day when success would have come to him easily. He stood back and looked at her, but saw nothing. It was a space filled with his past, filled with remorse. Looking at the perfect arches of now redundant yet iconic Ellis Bridge beyond the curls of her hair, he tried to keep his mind from wavering

Without any warning, Roshni came close, stepped on his feet and blew the last sleepless, shapeless smoke ring directly on his face. Taken by surprise he held her back and slowly turned her around towards the river so they both faced the bridge, the peaceful and sleeping river, the life lazily passing by. They had so many of their memories centered around the bridge, of the many vacant evenings spent strolling on it. It was one public space they could secretly call their own...

It was late in the night and with a few lights to disturb their view, they could clearly see the city beyond the river and its numerous bridges. Instinctively Arvind lightly wrapped his arms around her and smelt the fine fragrance of her hair. It was beautiful, more beautiful than anything else he could imagine at that time. She turned around, reached up and lightly brushed her lips on his, stroking his hair with her fingers, leaning against the terrace wall, her cold fingers curling around on his ears. None of them knew what was going on, none cared.

Arvind moved back as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps; no one came up from the party going on in the open verandah of the old house, no one saw them there. He offered her another cigarette, this time she refused. The spell was broken, the moment was gone. He went back to his glass of whiskey, while she looked on towards the bridge, playing with the rings of her hair.

While other guests at the party were still asleep, some drunk while others high with the smoke of marijuana, he walked her back to her house in the wee hours of the new day. The laughter was lost, the silence between them had become overbearing. They both wanted to go back to those few seconds of intimacy, yet knew it would never happen again. She had pined for his touch for so long, and knew that it was the last time she would see him. Her mind kept going back to the few beautiful, rushed days they had spent together years ago, to the moments that were fading fast from her memories.

                                                                       ---

Walking alone in the slowing awakening pols of the old city, Arvind took the last drag from the last cigarette on him. His insomnia was back, he knew the memories from last night won't let him go back to his life again anymore. Stubbing the cigarette, he finally made up his mind and decided to go back to Roshni. It was an end to a life long struggle for him. Finally.

                                                                        ---

Later she sat alone on the balcony as the sun lazily rose across the river, oblivious to the golden light filtering through the rich flora. A long journey awaited her, a place called home was calling her back. She decided to let go of the struggle inside and move on. Arvind was past for her. Finally.



image source: www.corbis.com

the call of sarangi

The glitter on string caught the slow glow coming from the overhung lamp; with all the darkness around, it looked like suspended light, floating alone, along with the constant sound from ustad's sarangi. I was spellbound once again, the slow and wistful raaga today was perhaps just a preface to the more tragic set of events that were to unfold later in the night; for now it just bought me closer to tears, tears of melancholic indulgence. I looked into ustad's eyes and found them brimming with the salty water as well, always on the edge, the tears never quite managing to fall. Even as the light outside continued dimming, the music played on, my heart kept skipping a beat. The ebbing light made it easier for me to let go, to free my tears, to let them flow, to let them wet my face, wet my soul.

Just as I was a slave to his music and his soul, so was the ustad to me, the man in love with his music for years. Ustad wouldn't stop playing the music, unless I asked him to. When he was so deep within his music, there was no coming back to the real world for him, unless called back forcibly. And for that the music had to be stopped abruptly. As I sat there looking at his face, slowing eaten up by the darkness around, I didn't know what to do next. It was so beautiful and serene, and I didn't want to disturb it, and the music played so beautifully, I could barely breathe. I was bound in my own web, and though I knew I had to do something fast, my heart and my body refused to listen.

The music went on, I could now hear ustad's little boy on the table as well. Opening my arms wide, I let it all soak in. Permanently. The ruins of Roshanbaug were awake again tonight, despite the near complete darkness. Somewhere I knew, this couldn't go on, not for long; but I didn't move, not as yet. I had to make a choice I possibly couldn't, and finally didn't.

I never quite realized when the ustad stopped playing the sarangi, and my mind had completely taken over and replaced his music with my own imagination. In the frenzy that followed, I cried and screamed and pulled my hair our. I confessed my love to him, made promises I knew can never be kept. But he never stopped, not even once and played on, in my mind, for my heart. Forever...

As I caressed his face, wiped his tears and closed his tired eyes, I finally let go of him. It had taken me a lifetime to come so close to him, only to leave him so far behind.



I would like the above story dedicated to Ustad Sultan Khan who passed away yesterday (27.11.2011). His Sarangi was a big influence on me, not just for this small post, but also for my love for the instrument. Do explore it, if you haven't done it already...

ghosts of my god...

The sound of the bell kept playing in my head hours after the aarti got over. It wasn't the first time either, and I knew this won't even be the last. It made me restless. It never let me sleep, made me an insomniac. As I lay wide awake, staring at the fan, the bells kept ringing inside, ready to break out. It went on and on and on, filling every bit of my existence, every bit of space inside me. I screamed, but the bells silenced me once again, never letting my voice out.

I heard them every morning, every evening. Every time I opened my eyes, ever so briefly and looked at the swarm of pious visitors, they watered with pity. I wanted to tell them to go away, to not prostate here. No one lived here, but me. But they kept coming, over and over again, day after day, year after year. Some had been coming here for as long as I lived. But they needed to be stopped, they needed to be told that it was just four walls here; just dead walls, just an empty space, a place with no soul.

I kept thinking this, day after day, a few years after the bells started chasing me. I begged for redemption for my lack of faith, and my little faith failed me again. Giving up on my self and my god, I carried on with life. Maybe I will carry on for years to come, maybe I will scream out loud and close the doors of this space forever. Maybe I will become a believer once again...

For now, I live with my ghosts, with the bells chasing me everywhere...

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

The smell of my mogra

'How much for a bunch?', I asked, the bitter taste of my last cigarette still fresh in my mouth and on my fingertips. I liked how the faint smell of tobacco remained on my fingers, sometimes even hours after my last session with the cigarette; a far cry from the past when it disgusted me, of course my past was way past my present and no longer a part of me.

I paid the tiny sum of Rupees five to the old lady and took the sweet smelling flowers wrapped in fresh, wet green leaf. I had never quite bought flowers like this before, but this was an impulsive purchase and anomalies were allowed here. I walked further in the dimming twilight of the first cold evening of January , reading the names of shops passing by, in a language I barely understood.

I smelt them much later, through the open edges of the green leaf. The fragrance took me by surprise, I never expected it to be so extraordinarily beautiful. People stared at me as I stood right there, in the middle of the ocean of people flowing all around. Shoulders brushed against mine, and clothes rustled as everyone rushed past, some going home while others away from it. Everyone was busy. I stood alone.

I met Sonia an hour later in our usual cafe, the fragrance still with me, the flowers tucked away safely in the side pocket of my backpack. This was our last coffee date, but I heard nothing, even when she screamed and stormed out. This was her moment, yet I robbed it off her, though unintentionally. She could have stayed back and screamed some more, I wouldn't have minded. I was happy with the beauty I now possessed, with the unexpected joy of connecting with myself through the faint smell, with the mystery these little white flowers were going to reveal to me in the night.

I had the flowers crushed on my face as I worked upon myself, building up a climax I barely even knew existed. I was in a trance while the smell filled all the space around me. The bed sheet was damp with my sweat later, even as the fan whirred slowly overhead and I lay satisfied with the faintest ever smile on my face.

I got a fright the next morning when the flowers wilted and their beauty waned. The grief was as unexpected as the joy of finding their beauty the previous evening. I slept through the morning and the afternoon, dreaming intermittently about Sonia and the white flowers, my throat going dry and an expectation building up at the thought of the old woman and buying the flowers again. Even before the sunlight started fading, I was ready to go out and explore. I wasn't the same animal anymore.

Breads vs Royals

Jess, the little princess

In a three floored palace lived a princess. Her name was Jess. Her face was round, her lips were rosy pink and her eyeballs were green. Also her hairs were light blue. Jess had a mother named Sristi. Sristi had a thin face and her eyeballs were light red and her hairs were purple. Jess’ father’s name was Swayam.  Swayam’s face was long and he had golden eyeballs and green hair. The family had a servant named Sleeptastic.  Sleeptastics eyeballs had no colour because he was always sleeping. Sleeptastic’s hairs were also not seen because he always wore a sleeping cap.

One day Jess was toasting breads and suddenly the breads started attacking Jess .They broke the palace. Jess was very scared and she did not know what to do as she was alone in the palace. Everybody else had gone for a carriage ride and Sleeptastic was sleeping.

Suddenly the door opened and Jess was very scared that who had come to the door. The royals entered very confidently.  They knew what had happened in the palace. Sristi went to her room. She sat on her soft bed. She thought what to do and she had an idea. She went to the kitchen and brought two cups of butter. Then time for Swayam’s turn. Now Swayam was very scared, but he tried not to be scared. So Swayam went to his hard bed. And he had an idea. He went to his closet and took out a magic bulb. Now time for Jess’ turn. Jess went to her secret hideout and got a knife.

Sristi’s turn was the first one to try. So Sristi put the two cups of butter in the bread’s nose and the breads could not breathe. Now is Swayam’s turn. Swayam rubbed the magic bulb on the breads and the breads fainted. At last came Jess’ turn.  Jess took the knife and cut the breads into pieces and ate them. Then after a while Jess asked Sristi that how did you know that the breads were attacking me. Sristi said that she knew about this because every year on 1^st January 3:30 pm if anybody toasts the breads, the breads start attacking.

After knowing this everybody slept and lived happily ever after.

Mihika is my seven year old niece and this is her first short story, along with an illustration. She shared this with me a while back and then graciously agreed to it being published on my blog. There is more on Mihika on this blog here. 

The Road Trip

I wasn't out on the road for the speed, or the thrill or even to travel. Or to meet new people, take part in their lives or simply to enjoy the moment, alone on my own. I didn't yet know why I was out for the almost three days now. Maybe to belong, maybe to un-belong. I didn't know.

The past two days were just the same, long winding roads, green all around, occasional people crossing my path, occasional cars overtaking me, occasional rains that I always missed. Nothing new, nothing unusual. Yes I was on a road trip, but I was alone. I was out to meet someone, someone who lived far, someone who used to be mine, someone who had moved on.

It drizzled as I started my third and the last day. I had originally planned to drive through the night and reach the end early in the morning, but then I saw the sand dunes and decided to camp. It was nothing like I had ever experienced before. I drove into the dunes and went as far away from the road as possible, trying to disappear, half hoping to lose my sense of bearings and get lost in these ever changing waves of sand. A sudden stillness around made me stop and look up, and look at the stars. The sky was clear now, despite the clouds and mild rains in the afternoon. I came out of the car and without even realising, screamed at the glittering sonsofbitches. They didn't flinch, and I screamed even more, never realising how tears flowed ever time I screamed.

Tired and drenched in my sweat and tears, I slept in the car itself, never bothering to camp, or look at the bright dark blue sky and the stars. All I felt was the hollowness around me, a complete lack of feelings, an absence of emotions. There was smoke, smoke of my own making. It overwhelmed me.

Morning came easily and without even thinking I went back to the road and continued driving. When rains came once again I stopped, and decided to get drenched finally. I didn't know if I would do it again today, or ever. But I couldn't feel the rain, I didn't feel anything, at all. How can things be so empty, how can I be so lost? I knew there was little meaning in going forward, and even lesser in taking the road back. The road didn't take me anywhere, anymore. Suddenly I was free of any questions, and my mind sought no answers.

I knew nothing, yet my mind and heart told me that I knew it all. There was immense knowledge in not knowing, and accepting that this was how things were always meant to be. Why seek answers, when there were none? At least none for me.

I didn't survive. I didn't exist anymore. I was dead. Finally.


Epilogue: The body of a dead man was found a days later and a few miles from the highway, rotting inside the car, stranded in the desert. The cause of death was confirmed to be Carbon Monoxide poisoning inside the locked car.




Thanks to Tej for the illustration, read and know more about him here and here.

A night to remember

As the sun set and the cool breeze started blowing, we decided to walk back home crossing the bridge over Sabarmati. I looked sideways to see Sudha smiling and talking animatedly, yet never looking at me.

'So have you ever tried the filter coffee at Sridarshini?'
Karan laughed out loud and said, 'That's not exactly fair, am just a day old here and all I have see so far is you, though still not enough of you!'
Sudha pondered for a while and said, 'You men, all are just the same!'
She complained, though her cheeks flushed and she fumbled with words.

We all went silent after this, I tried to pretend that I was busy looking down at feet, while they got busy looking at their hands and nowhere in particular. I knew this moment would pass and we would get back to our composed self soon. Somehow it was always left to me to make a humorous remark and break the sudden conversation barrier, but this time I decided to let it linger on for a while more. I wanted her to feel my pain, or whatever unusual emotions I was going through for the past two days.

We walked in silence for the rest of the journey. Maybe Karan already felt guilty about what was going on, and was happy to be away from conversations, or perhaps he was just happy and content with the breeze, but he remained silent. I knew we were finally reaching a point where we needed to talk, and have a conversation where I was also involved. Karan was leaving in the morning and I could feel an odd tension building up between the three of us.

I broke the silence and asked them if they wanted coffee, they both nodded. We were already in the new part of the town and so decided to go to the nearest posh new coffee place, sit in the open and enjoy the weather. The rains in the evening had ensured that the air was cool and extremely pleasant. Karan lit a cigarette and after a couple of drags, offered it to me. As I took my first puff, he started talking. I could see he was waiting for the moment, but somehow I panicked. I was not yet prepared for what I knew was coming, and when the words did start flowing, my world vanished.

I walked back home alone that night with the promise that my world would be returned back to me tomorrow. I wasn't sure anymore; Karan was my best friend and Sudha my wife, yet these promises somehow meant so little now.

Thanks to Vikram Tej for the superb illustration, read and know more about him here and here.

Indra's luck...

I knocked on the door knowing fully well what to expect – a lonely, beautiful woman unsatisfied by her beloved.

‘What you doing here Neil? I thought you were on your way to Ambaji’, she asked, her steaming cup of chai evaporating the air and aura around her. I decided to ignore the not-so-concealed mock directed at my faith; I was a man on mission today and nothing was going to distract me from my new found purpose in life.

‘I am Indra and today am here to help you help me release my rasa, so as to help you feel complete and content in life’, I said this with all possible seriousness. Alley listened to me carefully, and offering me a cup of chai asked casually, ‘But I always thought you were Neil?’

‘Not today and certainly not for you’, said I. She was certainly amused now, and decided to play along, lightly pulling at the hair of my hand and looking oh-so-briefly into my eyes. ‘Hmmm…so what brings you here today Indra? I am sure there are lands parched elsewhere as well, and need more rains than my humble abode’, as she said this her hands curled seductively around the remote she had in her hand; the channels flicked at an uneven pace, and the sounds from serials intermixed with the squealing penguins from the more earthy channels. The message was confusing, yet the array of broken, mixing sound was surprisingly seductive.

Soon we were on her bed, our clothes on the floor and all our rasas flowing, inside and outside. Alley's hands turned into claws and she drew blood with them, while her teeth left a trail of marks on my muscles. I was a feast for her, and she was making sure she left nothing to be had later.

                                                                     --

Gautam was humming to himself as he walked up the steps to his house. It was for the first time he actually walked up instead of taking the stairs, as Alley always demanded. He was happy as his weight had shown a reduction of 2 kg over the last three weeks. Just 15 more kgs and he would be a perfect husband. He knew she would be pleased today and might even allow him some bread for dinner. 

There was much in life that Gautama was unaware of, including the fact that he had special powers that could wreck havoc in the materialistic world around him. He didn't yet know that his curse could castrate a man, remove his phallus and cover his body with a thousand vaginas. All he had to do was say - your body will be covered by that which you desired so much!

                                                                     --

Gautam's first reaction when he saw his beloved Alley entwined with what looked like a bundle of injured muscles, was horror. He was afraid for the man, who he thought was being eaten alive by his virtuous wife. He screamed and suddenly the world around him started moving in slow motion, and he alone moved in real time. He realised what was going on and had a tremendous urge to do something.

He looked at the sky, but his view was obscured by the ceiling. While everything was still slow, he went out in the air and got instant karma. This was the moment his cursing abilities were revealed to him!

                                                                     --

The last thing I heard was Alley's fat husband screaming 'Your body will be covered by that which you desired so much!' All of a sudden, I ceased to exist, my existence only a joke...

Meanwhile Alley fell on Gautam's feet and begged forgiveness which he instantly granted. It took only one look at my thousand-vagina-covered body to make her realise that a fat husband was better than the unusual and helpless mass that I was at that moment. They walked away from my quivering body, while the TV in the living room screamed 'You have to try this' for a shampoo ad...

Alley and Gautam lived happily ever after.

Closure, an end

Ref: www.redbubble.com

I lit one another cigarette, and was yet again engulfed in the dark cloud of smoke and despair. I knew it was senseless to wait anymore, but it was impossible not to. I continued to wait, staring out from the closed window into the dense darkness and the feeble fog of the listless night. There was smoke coming out from the house on the near-by hill, perhaps the man in family had just come in and food was getting ready for him, or maybe it was just the smoke of death coming out from the abandoned house.

We had agreed to meet here a few years ago, as we walked along the river on a cold moonlit night. She had her head on my chest and was humming her favorite tune - a jazz number from the era gone by, about lovers separated by time. The small town down the hills was already sleeping and we had absolute silence around us. As we sat right there, looking at the stars after making love slowly under the moonlit sky, she asked for this promise. It was not something she would normally do, she was just not the sort; perhaps she was just happy and content then. We cuddled into each other and agreed to meet at the same place, ten years from then. Maybe she already knew then that we won't be together for long; however, for me it was a promise in blood, and I always thought we would come here again, together...

The coffee was ready now, my fifth so far. Smoke and coffee don't always go well, but I was savoring its bitterness today; it helped me kill the time and also relive the past. I had buried it with much struggle a couple of years after she suddenly decided to leave me. The end was as torrential as our brief spell of togetherness, but the parting always remained incomplete, open. But she moved on, and eventually so did I. 

For the last one year, the itch was growing again to meet her one last time and seek answers for all my unanswered questions, or perhaps just to hold her like I did in our moments together. I often looked into blank spaces, flickering lights, and slow moving fan and wondered if she would even remember the promise she had taken from me. I knew that she would, just as I was sure she would come and meet me one last time today...

The sound of the chirping birds woke me up, and I got up with a start. Warm early sunlight was filtering into the room through the wooden blinds; somehow I had dozed off after my nth cup of coffee. Was there a faint familiar smell lingering around my chair? Had my coffee table been moved and the cigarettes collected neatly and kept in the makeshift ashtray by someone else? Everything looked just the same, but my heart was not ready to believe that nothing happened while I was living through hell in my sleep. Maybe she was here last night as I slept off on the rocking chair, maybe it was just my imagination. My heart struggled with more questions...

Already late for my train I rushed out quickly. It was finally time I moved on, seven years is a long while, and for once I was willing to start all over again. This was finally closure for me; or so I thought...

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.

Mrs. Lili! Mrs. Lili! Mr. Lili! - Part I

Bohemian! Yes that's exactly how he described her to his friends the first time he saw her. Goes without saying that he was wrong, just as he almost always was with almost everything else, with an absolutely infallible consistency. She was an artist, which made it highly probable for his assumption to be correct, yet she was not a Bohemian. It was a 'Fancy Day for my Mom' competition at her daughter's school and she was dressed as a Central European gypsy.

He was the daughter's classmate and after that day always remembered Mrs. Lili as his first crush. His own mother was dressed as Cleopatra, and despite his persistent inquiries amongst his peers, he found none who had a crush on her. This left him highly disappointed with the state of things, and he felt shortchanged in life for having a mom no had had a crush on despite the Cleopatra attire. This, however, rapidly changed as soon as Mrs. Lili entered the humble school party hall dressed in her gypsy attire. He wasn't the only one found ogling at her, in fact he found her through the frozen glance of their Mathematics professor, Mr. Patel. The few men (and many boys) suddenly felt that visiting this party would certainly form the high point of this school term, while all women took affront to the stocking-less left leg on display. While the women internally debated the right length of left leg that could be displayed at a school party, men found their imaginations running wild gaping at the ample cleavage and other overflowing assets on display.

Mrs. Lili brought about a whole new revolution in their little town, the wave of change not noticed by anyone that particular evening, or even for weeks thereafter. The impact of her first public appearance was such that soon most men lost their sleep and became increasingly agitated with their dull, boring and meaningless lives. The next few weeks saw an alarming drop in males engaging in conjugally blissful activities with their partners. This, in turn, had the most unfavourable impact with a whole lot of dissatisfied and frustrated women, in desperate need of men who would show any interest in them.

Everything was absurdly odd. All the men wanted Mrs. Lili, and no one else. All the women wanted men, any men, but still found none interested in them anymore. What Mrs. Lili wanted remained unknown, but the odds against any possibility of her entertaining all the males who could participate in possibly mutually satisfying acts with her, remained dismally high. Of course no one realised this, they were all holed up in their own worlds, waiting for some reprieve.

No help came, and things got only worse in the coming few weeks.

So what do you think happens next? Do share your thoughts!

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.

A full night of kinky ecstasy...

She got up with and came towards him, curling up her upper lip and suggestively playing with the rope in her hands. This was new, she had never done this before and his pulse ran high with anticipation. There were sweat beads on his head, which she casually wiped off with the soft cotton rope, which in turn gave him numerous goose bumps...

This wasn't the first time they were trying something new together, it was only a week back when she had insisted on trying food on bed, a suggestion he jumped at. However, the evening ended with lots of food and wine on bed but nothing else followed. They were too drunk by the time they finished and slept off in the different corners of the bed; it was only in the morning that they realised that there was food all over the bed and on them. They decided to call it a failed experiment, and vowed never to repeat it!

Not that today was risk-free, there was a high probability that he might just end up dead after this new round of experimentation. He had never seen her with a rope before, and wasn't quite sure if the complicated knot she was trying to tie around his neck would work out exactly as she thought it would. There was something child-like about her, her innocence and of course, her laughter. For a second he forgot that it wasn't Sheila, but someone else with her.

She was successful in tying the knot around his neck, only to realise that it was his hands that she had originally intended to tie. Not the one give up, as all attempts to loosen the knot failed, she went around looking for scissors, failing which the search for the knife started. And there it was, the jet black and shining knife, clutched solidly in her left hand (her right had still had the leather hunter, to be used with better results later), looking vicious at me and ready to strike. Sheila was still hopeful of salvaging the night and refused to free her right hand, the hunter continued to dangle seductively. The knife went to work, and as expected, chipped off a piece of his neck along with the rope. There was a little blood but for them it just added to the kink. Almost on cue, the hunter came hard on him and more noises of ecstasy followed.

However, they failed to stop the flow of blood from the neck, a fact they initially found very funny. They laughed together, but by the time he choked laughing, there was blood all over the bed and smeared on their bodies. She laughed more, thinking about the food and red wine on them last week, while he stared at her with glazed eyes. They were blissfully happy for the hour, and he, dead thereafter.

Unexpected...

The most unexpected thing happened last night while I was watching an almost action movie, I thought about love.

The young and the innocent love. The boy and the girl meet, but can't look up into each others' eyes. They want to touch, feel...but to make the first move is almost impossible. The heart beats fast, often skips a beat. The skin tingles lightly, the throat goes dry. The lips quiver, eyes almost wet with tears of anticipation. As they stand still, the time also stops with them. The uncontrollable chaos within, and ripples of anguish all over.

The first touch, ah the first touch. The fingers open up and the skin curls. The eyes close, and the skin burns some more. A sheath of cold covers the skin and the lips open up...

अंधेर नगरी, चौपट रजा

Its weird how some stories remain with years after you have heard them, or at times just the titles remain. This is one such title which I remembered out of blue today afternoon as I was sitting with animator Alok and rendering a dining table for Godrej Interio.

And it clicked something in me, I did a quick search and read the story and enjoyed it completely. Many others have already written about it, and this is one decent link.

Enjoy reading.