27-04-2019, 04:37 PM
Indian Wife and the Nukkad Guys
Note: I am trying my hand at a long multi-part story like aurelius1982 and bdrew86 are known for. It will start off slow and progress slowly. Will take weeks, maybe even months to complete. I am posting as I write. I will try to update whenever I get time but there may be long periods of inactivity. Please bear with them. I do have a life outside erotica after all, and it can be demanding sometimes. So with those words, here goes.
It was about 11 in the morning on a Wednesday. I finished my chores around the house and the short assignment I had been working on for my online course. My husband Vinay had gone to work very early and said he wouldn't be home for lunch, so I didn't need to cook. I watched TV for a while but there was nothing to grab my attention. I walked to the window and looked out.
It was a beautiful 26 celsius day. It was the middle of the summer when temperatures would usually be scorching on the Indian plains but it had rained the previous day and it had cooled things down. Perfect weather for running, I had told myself from the moment I had gotten up. My body almost ached for a run. If it had been Bombay, I would have been out in a flash. But it wasn't Bombay. It was a small town in the cow belt, which even after six months, felt like a foreign country.
"Fuck it, I really need some serious cardio." I told myself and headed to the bedroom. Opened my closet.
I shuffled through my wardrobe to find something appropriate to wear. When we lived in Worli, this was never a hard decision. My standard attire for running was a tank top and shorts. In the perpetual humidity and the heat of Bombay, they were the best thing to wear for a 10K run. Plus Bombay in general, and Worli in particular, was largely safe for women, despite the occasional media report about a bang. I would be one of several women running in that attire, either along the sea-face or in one of the parks.
Sure, men stared, and there was the occasional whistle, and the rare proposition. I have been blessed by the creator with a pretty face, a voluptuous body, and thick shiny hair. I got attention from men all my life, in all walks of life. So even running in Worli, I knew that at any moment, there were dozens of male gazes fixed on my toned buttocks and on my heaving size D boobs.
But I never felt unsafe. I had grown up in Worli. I knew Worli. I could handle Worli.
But this was a cow belt small town. The attire would be considered scandalous here. Maybe even an invitation for trouble. And with the "Nukkad Guys" always hanging out at the end of the street, I might as well be wearing a "Come Harass Me" sign on my chest.
The Nukkad Guys. This was a foreign phenomenon for me until we moved here, but my husband, who had grown up in the cow belt (but in a big city - Kanpur), said the phenomenon was common all over the region.
You see, Bombay is the lodestar that attracts anyone who wants a job. And anyone can get a job. Bombay is an extremely industrious city, and everyone from a CEO to a broker to a street seller to a dabbaw,.' is busy busy busy. Everyone has a job. to do. Everyone had places to get to. Everyone is in a rush. You don't usually see groups of men just lounging around for hours at end everyday at street corners.
But the cowbelt is different. Unemployment is high. There is very little industry. So in most neighborhoods, there is apparently a set of "nukkad guys". Anywhere from 6 to 12 men just hanging around a pan shop or a tea stall. They are either unemployed or are underemployed, which means they don't work full time. Most are connected to one of the local political leaders and "bahubalis", or political enforcers.
And these nukkad guys are notorious. And are a bit feared by "decent" folk. The nukkad guys are an excellent illustration of the saying - an empty mind is a devil's workshop.
The nukkad guys in our colony were apparently aligned with a regional party that currently ruled the state. So they were even more brazen.
Like I said, I was used to attention, and the occasional teasing and proposition from random men in Bombay once in a while. I either ignored them or occasionally gave a sharp retort which would shut up those men. But these guys were at a completely different level altogether. I still remember the first day I encountered them about six months ago. It was the day after we had moved to the town.
It was the middle of the afternoon and I was home alone, getting bored. This was the first time in years I wasn't working, so I had no idea what to do with my time. I decided to cook an elaborate Avadhi style biryani for dinner. As I checked the recipe online, I realized I was missing a lot of ingredients. So I just picked up my purse and stepped out of the house.
"How are you, Sheetal didi?"
Sarita, the young daughter-in-law living in the house right next door piped up. She was in their verandah, watching over her two-year old as he ran around.
"Oh hi Sarita."
I walked over to the wall separating our properties. She got up and walked towards me too.
"Getting adjusted okay?" she smiled and asked. "Our tiny town must be a big change from Bombay for you, didi."
"It's not a big deal." I smiled back. "And please Sarita, don't call me didi. You are....how old?"
"20, didi." she said, blushing for no reason.
Wow, just 20 years old and she already had a 2 year old. They really were a very traditional family as I had found out the previous day. They had come over to welcome us and offer their help. Sarita, her husband, and her young son lived with her husband's ageing parents.
"You are 20. I am 29. We are not that far apart in age. Just call me Sheetal." I said.
"Okay." she said, sounding uncomfortable. "Where are you going?"
This was another aspect of cow belt life that was unfamiliar to me. Neighbors in Bombay generally maintained a figurative distance from each other. We said hi hello namaste, were courteous, but a question like "where are you going" would have been considered too intrusive in most of Bombay.
"Just going to the grocery store to get some stuff." I said, reminding myself that she didn't mean to be nosey. This is how things worked in her world.
"Wearing that?" she said, raising her eyebrows.
A little surprised, I looked at myself to make sure I hadn't walked out in lingerie or something. No, I saw capri pants and a t-shirt. Perfectly normal clothes. I know we were in the cow-belt but surely that wouldn't be considered provocative.
"Yes. You have a problem?" I said, with an edge to my voice.
"No no, didi." she backed off.
There was an awkward silence. And I walked away after a goodbye nod.
I opened the gate of our yard and stepped out, walking up the street towards the main road where the store was. As I walked a couple of hundred meters, I got my first look at the "nukkad guys". There were about 8-10 of them milling around a tea stall at the corner of our street.
They were laughing and joking with one another, a couple of them smoking, until I approached. It felt weird when they suddenly went silent and started staring at me. I kept my eyes straight ahead, deciding to ignore them. But I could feel that half their gazes were fixed on my chest and the other half on my bare shins and calves. Wow, I thought to myself, how desperate must these men be to consider this an attire worth gawking at?
And as I walked past them, a few feet away, one of them, a balding young guy with a mustache suddenly started singing,
"Dhoop mein nikla na karo rooop ki raaaaani....."
Which was an old Hindi song with the line saying "Don't go out in the harsh sun, you beauty queen"
I was a little taken aback by the blatant comment, but I kept walking. And suddenly the rest of the guys joined in, forming a chorus,
"Kahin gora rang kaala na pad jaaye!!" (You might just tan your white skin)
That was followed by a big burst of laughter. I stopped in my steps and looked back with a frown on my face. I focused my attention on the balding guy who had started singing. He was leaning backwards on a wooden bench with his hands on the seat. He looked back at me cockily.We stared into each other's eyes, me frowning, he grinning.
"Where are you going, memsaab? Need a lift?" he asked in a leery voice.
For a moment I considered giving a sharp retort like I might have in Bombay. But I reminded myself, this is practically a different country. I broke our staring contest contest, looked straight and kept walking.
The guys kept singing the song, as if to underline their little victory over me.
I walked to the main road and then the grocery store. I bought all the things I needed, noting with annoyance how the shopkeeper and his helper also kept checking out my tits and my bare shins and calves like I was some stripper on display. I paid for everything and started walking back.
As I walked back, I was already thinking about what to do if those nukkad guys teased me again. Should I confront them or ignore them? Polythene bags in my hand, I kept trying to decide as I turned around the street corner and approached them again.
I expected them to break out into song again. But they didn't. All of them stayed quiet, grinning and whispering to each other as they blatantly stared at me going past. It was slightly tense, but no one said anything for a while. Until I had walke past them, and a different voice shouted out,
"Need some help carrying those bags, memsaab?"
There were a few chuckles. I kept walking, realizing that Sarita had not been entirely wrong in questioning my choice of clothing. I was a Bombay girl in the cow belt. I needed to understand its culture to avoid such trouble.
Note: I am trying my hand at a long multi-part story like aurelius1982 and bdrew86 are known for. It will start off slow and progress slowly. Will take weeks, maybe even months to complete. I am posting as I write. I will try to update whenever I get time but there may be long periods of inactivity. Please bear with them. I do have a life outside erotica after all, and it can be demanding sometimes. So with those words, here goes.
It was about 11 in the morning on a Wednesday. I finished my chores around the house and the short assignment I had been working on for my online course. My husband Vinay had gone to work very early and said he wouldn't be home for lunch, so I didn't need to cook. I watched TV for a while but there was nothing to grab my attention. I walked to the window and looked out.
It was a beautiful 26 celsius day. It was the middle of the summer when temperatures would usually be scorching on the Indian plains but it had rained the previous day and it had cooled things down. Perfect weather for running, I had told myself from the moment I had gotten up. My body almost ached for a run. If it had been Bombay, I would have been out in a flash. But it wasn't Bombay. It was a small town in the cow belt, which even after six months, felt like a foreign country.
"Fuck it, I really need some serious cardio." I told myself and headed to the bedroom. Opened my closet.
I shuffled through my wardrobe to find something appropriate to wear. When we lived in Worli, this was never a hard decision. My standard attire for running was a tank top and shorts. In the perpetual humidity and the heat of Bombay, they were the best thing to wear for a 10K run. Plus Bombay in general, and Worli in particular, was largely safe for women, despite the occasional media report about a bang. I would be one of several women running in that attire, either along the sea-face or in one of the parks.
Sure, men stared, and there was the occasional whistle, and the rare proposition. I have been blessed by the creator with a pretty face, a voluptuous body, and thick shiny hair. I got attention from men all my life, in all walks of life. So even running in Worli, I knew that at any moment, there were dozens of male gazes fixed on my toned buttocks and on my heaving size D boobs.
But I never felt unsafe. I had grown up in Worli. I knew Worli. I could handle Worli.
But this was a cow belt small town. The attire would be considered scandalous here. Maybe even an invitation for trouble. And with the "Nukkad Guys" always hanging out at the end of the street, I might as well be wearing a "Come Harass Me" sign on my chest.
The Nukkad Guys. This was a foreign phenomenon for me until we moved here, but my husband, who had grown up in the cow belt (but in a big city - Kanpur), said the phenomenon was common all over the region.
You see, Bombay is the lodestar that attracts anyone who wants a job. And anyone can get a job. Bombay is an extremely industrious city, and everyone from a CEO to a broker to a street seller to a dabbaw,.' is busy busy busy. Everyone has a job. to do. Everyone had places to get to. Everyone is in a rush. You don't usually see groups of men just lounging around for hours at end everyday at street corners.
But the cowbelt is different. Unemployment is high. There is very little industry. So in most neighborhoods, there is apparently a set of "nukkad guys". Anywhere from 6 to 12 men just hanging around a pan shop or a tea stall. They are either unemployed or are underemployed, which means they don't work full time. Most are connected to one of the local political leaders and "bahubalis", or political enforcers.
And these nukkad guys are notorious. And are a bit feared by "decent" folk. The nukkad guys are an excellent illustration of the saying - an empty mind is a devil's workshop.
The nukkad guys in our colony were apparently aligned with a regional party that currently ruled the state. So they were even more brazen.
Like I said, I was used to attention, and the occasional teasing and proposition from random men in Bombay once in a while. I either ignored them or occasionally gave a sharp retort which would shut up those men. But these guys were at a completely different level altogether. I still remember the first day I encountered them about six months ago. It was the day after we had moved to the town.
It was the middle of the afternoon and I was home alone, getting bored. This was the first time in years I wasn't working, so I had no idea what to do with my time. I decided to cook an elaborate Avadhi style biryani for dinner. As I checked the recipe online, I realized I was missing a lot of ingredients. So I just picked up my purse and stepped out of the house.
"How are you, Sheetal didi?"
Sarita, the young daughter-in-law living in the house right next door piped up. She was in their verandah, watching over her two-year old as he ran around.
"Oh hi Sarita."
I walked over to the wall separating our properties. She got up and walked towards me too.
"Getting adjusted okay?" she smiled and asked. "Our tiny town must be a big change from Bombay for you, didi."
"It's not a big deal." I smiled back. "And please Sarita, don't call me didi. You are....how old?"
"20, didi." she said, blushing for no reason.
Wow, just 20 years old and she already had a 2 year old. They really were a very traditional family as I had found out the previous day. They had come over to welcome us and offer their help. Sarita, her husband, and her young son lived with her husband's ageing parents.
"You are 20. I am 29. We are not that far apart in age. Just call me Sheetal." I said.
"Okay." she said, sounding uncomfortable. "Where are you going?"
This was another aspect of cow belt life that was unfamiliar to me. Neighbors in Bombay generally maintained a figurative distance from each other. We said hi hello namaste, were courteous, but a question like "where are you going" would have been considered too intrusive in most of Bombay.
"Just going to the grocery store to get some stuff." I said, reminding myself that she didn't mean to be nosey. This is how things worked in her world.
"Wearing that?" she said, raising her eyebrows.
A little surprised, I looked at myself to make sure I hadn't walked out in lingerie or something. No, I saw capri pants and a t-shirt. Perfectly normal clothes. I know we were in the cow-belt but surely that wouldn't be considered provocative.
"Yes. You have a problem?" I said, with an edge to my voice.
"No no, didi." she backed off.
There was an awkward silence. And I walked away after a goodbye nod.
I opened the gate of our yard and stepped out, walking up the street towards the main road where the store was. As I walked a couple of hundred meters, I got my first look at the "nukkad guys". There were about 8-10 of them milling around a tea stall at the corner of our street.
They were laughing and joking with one another, a couple of them smoking, until I approached. It felt weird when they suddenly went silent and started staring at me. I kept my eyes straight ahead, deciding to ignore them. But I could feel that half their gazes were fixed on my chest and the other half on my bare shins and calves. Wow, I thought to myself, how desperate must these men be to consider this an attire worth gawking at?
And as I walked past them, a few feet away, one of them, a balding young guy with a mustache suddenly started singing,
"Dhoop mein nikla na karo rooop ki raaaaani....."
Which was an old Hindi song with the line saying "Don't go out in the harsh sun, you beauty queen"
I was a little taken aback by the blatant comment, but I kept walking. And suddenly the rest of the guys joined in, forming a chorus,
"Kahin gora rang kaala na pad jaaye!!" (You might just tan your white skin)
That was followed by a big burst of laughter. I stopped in my steps and looked back with a frown on my face. I focused my attention on the balding guy who had started singing. He was leaning backwards on a wooden bench with his hands on the seat. He looked back at me cockily.We stared into each other's eyes, me frowning, he grinning.
"Where are you going, memsaab? Need a lift?" he asked in a leery voice.
For a moment I considered giving a sharp retort like I might have in Bombay. But I reminded myself, this is practically a different country. I broke our staring contest contest, looked straight and kept walking.
The guys kept singing the song, as if to underline their little victory over me.
I walked to the main road and then the grocery store. I bought all the things I needed, noting with annoyance how the shopkeeper and his helper also kept checking out my tits and my bare shins and calves like I was some stripper on display. I paid for everything and started walking back.
As I walked back, I was already thinking about what to do if those nukkad guys teased me again. Should I confront them or ignore them? Polythene bags in my hand, I kept trying to decide as I turned around the street corner and approached them again.
I expected them to break out into song again. But they didn't. All of them stayed quiet, grinning and whispering to each other as they blatantly stared at me going past. It was slightly tense, but no one said anything for a while. Until I had walke past them, and a different voice shouted out,
"Need some help carrying those bags, memsaab?"
There were a few chuckles. I kept walking, realizing that Sarita had not been entirely wrong in questioning my choice of clothing. I was a Bombay girl in the cow belt. I needed to understand its culture to avoid such trouble.
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