Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Ramesh gives up around midnight as the proprietor indicates he wishes to close up. 

He realizes that he has been thinking of the man as “the '. Proprietor,” not knowing his name even though he has been frequenting the establishment, such as it is, for many months now.


“Chacha, what is your name?”

The man looks startled, as though this was a strange question. He takes a few seconds to process the question. 

“Rashid,” he says finally, “Rashid Mohammed.”

“I am Ramesh,” he says, “Ramesh Awasthi. I live right there.” He points at his building. “On the third floor…”

“I know beta,” Rashid says. “I have seen you with the other two guys you live with, Nawaz and Prakash." He makes an expression of distaste when he says the two names, as though he has bitten into a particularly bitter karela. 

“You don’t like them?”

Rashid clears his throat and spits into the gutter. “Bhadwa hai sala, that Nawaz is nothing but a pimp.”

Ramesh knows this to be true, but never had any definite confirmation. 

“You saw the two women that came in?”

Rashid scrutinizes Ramesh’s face. “Yes? You mean Paro or the madam?”

Paro, so that was the woman’s name. 

He wonders where he’s heard the name before. Probably from Nawaz, he decides. There must be some relationship between the Madam and Paro.

“Paro, yes, that who I mean.”

“She’s one of his whores. I believe she also works as a maid. Part-time job, you know?”

An auto, making a noise like it is going to die any second, rolls into the street. They both turn to look at the somewhat unusual sight, this late at night. The vehicle passes them and disappears out of sight at the other end. 

A street dog that has been sleeping on the pavement comes to life, barks a couple of times at the retreating auto, then goes back to sleep.

Ramesh turns back to Rashid. “And Prakash?” 

“Looks like he’s going that way. Can’t say I’ll be sad when their end comes. Their expiry date gets moved up once they enter this kind of life. Always trying to make a quick buck, always trying to victimize people.”

“I see,” Ramesh says, because he has nothing more to say. 

It is clear to him that the old man has a keen eye and knows what happens on the street. He is probably a fount of information, only he doesn’t need anything. Not right now, anyway. And also, he thinks, the old man is quite judgmental.

“What do you think of me, chacha?” Suddenly, and urgently, it is important to Ramesh what this random old man thought of him. He feels somehow that the man should think well of him, not associate him with the pimps and whore mongers his other two roommates evidently are. He looks at the old man with some anxiety.

Rashid narrows his eyes and looks him up and down. At length, he says, “Pehelwan right? Hanuman bhakt, right?”

Ramesh’s eyes go wide. “How do you know?”

Rashid shrugs. “I know. I just know.”

“And do you know what is going on in there today?”

Rashid squints, and stares at Ramesh for a long time. “You’re not a cop are you?”

Ramesh shakes his head.

“Good night then, shabba khair. And take care.”