02-01-2019, 11:55 AM
I switched back the tv on and what the hell, both the openers and the one down were back in the pavilion after five overs. As I watched, the fourth wicket fell in the eighth over and I switched the set off and threw the remote to the sofa. Typical start, leaving the task for the middle order and the tail enders. ‘Pah!”, I spat out, ‘Those openers were good only on paper and in endorsements only.’
From the bedroom, Kajol’s exasperated voice came, “What are you doing Ramesh! They will be here any moment. Come change your shirt.”
Still cursing the team and their three generations, I made way towards the bedroom. She was putting the final touches to her getup and pointed at the starched pair of fresh pants and shirt laid out on the bed. I hardly noticed her for my mind was on the disgraceful show that those idiots were putting on. Buttoning up I turned towards the mirror to get the comb.
She tuned around and asked “How do I look?”
One look at her saree clad figure and all thoughts of cricket evaporated from my mind. If earlier on she looked like stepping out of the covers of a fashion magazine, now she looked as if we were to step out to a marriage party.
I pushed her onto the bed and tried to embrace her. “Goodness, you look like an apsara Kajo. I must have you now.”
She pushed me back with an annoyed face and started adjusting the saree ends. “Get off”, she shouted , ”Don’t you dare to touch me”, she warned.
As if on cue, the housephone buzzed, announcing the arrival of the Prof Bharadwaj. Kajol literally dragged me down to the parking lot to greet them.
A man in the mid-forties stepped out of his Maruti 800 and so did his wife from the passenger side. Kajol hurried over to them and bowed her head low in greeting them with a namaste. I followed suit. The professor adjusted his glasses to have a good look at me and then held out his hand forward which I shook. Surprisingly, he had a strong grip, something I didn’t expect from an academic. He just mumbled a few words of thanks. But my attention was drawn to Mrs. Bharadwaj who must have been a decade older to me. Tall and fair, she had an air of elegance about her. The moment she smiled, it was all grace and I took an immediate liking towards her. What the hell had Kajol meant when she had said that she was the nagging housewife type! I stayed by her side and Kajol was all respectful towards her Guide, as we made our way up to our drawing room.
Mrs. Bharadwaj handed over a packet of fruits to Kajol and commented. “Ah nice house! And quite airy as well.”
“The breeze is excellent here”, I said, “on the fifth floor.”
Then we chatted talking about the alarming level of pollution and out of the corner of my eyes I watched Kajol gently whispering if she could get some sherbet or cold drinks. The professor was having a good look at Kajol and her party look had had the effect. He removed his thick glassed spectacle and began polishing them while unabashedly gawking at her. Then his gaze traveled from her face downwards. Good lord! He was checking her out – directly in the presence of both his and her spouses. I got quickly annoyed but then choked down the rising anger when I remembered that the poor guy would hardly have had the opportunity of seeing her dressed up so pretty. Mentally, I cursed Kajol for putting the old codger in such a state. Why couldn’t she have been dressed in the normal way she used to when going to the univ!
“I will have coffee before and after dinner.” The tone of Prof Bharadwaj indicated that he was someone who liked to be assertive.
Mrs. Bharadwaj, however declined to have anything other than a glass of water and she had turned her face towards me.
“So you are in image consulting. Quite a challenging profession, it must be.”
I tried to explain that it was heavy at times and slack at others.
“Seasonal, you mean/”, she declared, hitting the nail on the head.
“Yes, that’s so.” I said. She was quick.
“Have to put in late hours?”
“Yes, sometimes it gets so hectic that I can’t return before nine and even ten or eleven on a couple of occasions.”
“That bad, eh!” There was a note of genuine concern in her voice and somehow I felt like telling her all my office tensions. “But, you have got to undergo all these before you get to the top positions in the industry.”
“Yes, of course.” I couldn’t agree with her more.
Prof. Bharadwaj showed no interest in me and I couldn’t care any less. Kajol however sat very attentively near him and I paid no attention to their semi-academic discussions. After fifteen minutes, he said that he was feeling hungry and Kajol jumped up.
We sat front to front, me before Mrs. Bharadwaj. She removed the lids of the casseroles and drew in the aroma with appreciation. Both she and Kajol helped out serving. I watched as she dipped her spoon in each, drawing the gravy or a morsel and tasting it. Mouth full, she would join the thumb and forefinger of her left hand to give the perfect signal. How on earth could Kajol find this sweet lady offensive in their earlier meet, I wondered. Anytime, I would love to have her company. The professor, on the other hand had taken a generous portion of the pulao and covered it with the mutton curry. He was attacking the food with a gusto.
Sometime in the middle, while tasting the fish curry, Mrs. Bharadwaj had a strange look on her face. She then dipped the spoon to the gravy and tasted it again to make something sure. Turning to Kajol, she said; “This is a bengali preparation. I didn’t know that you could cook Bengali dishes too. It is too good. In fact, the whole menu is simply delicious.”
Kajol and me looked at each other and shared a guilty smile. Haltingly, I explained how Riz had dropped in so unexpectedly and it was a bonus for us to use his culinary skills. Mrs. Bharadwaj seemed suitably impressed and asked Kajol if she had the recipes for some of the dishes. Kajol said that she could arrange to get those for her. She nodded and happily launched into to meal without much further talk. The dinner was a success as far as I was concerned.
Meanwhile, the professor had rather voraciously consumed the main course of pulao and mutton curry paying scant attention to the rest of the dishes. Obviously, he was the type that took what he preferred and that too with vigor. The contrast between the eating styles of both couldn’t have been more pronounced. He launched into some of their departmental matters and while that went way over my head, Kajol was all attention. They went on discussing topics of academia and I was forced to nod my head dumbly when he looked at me, just out of politeness. Desserts over, we rose up and while the professor plunked himself in the sofa and Kajol hurried to get him his post dinner coffee; Mrs. Bharadwaj expressed a desire to have some fresh air. Accordingly, I escorted her to the deck of our balcony.
We both stepped out and as a gust of wind hit us, I realized with horror, that the vodka bottle – still holding some and the cigarette pack were lying on the center stool. As I stood like a guilty dog, she picked up the bottle to inspect the brand and then put it down. Depositing herself on a lounge chair, she said, “Let’s sit here a while. Sit down please.”
Then she drew a cigarette from the pack and lit it and then pointed the pack at me. I drew one and lit as well. “You were having a party with your friend before we came, weren’t you?, and she continued as I looked abashed, “No no don’t worry, there was no smell. Only I could tell because of experience, experience of growing up in an army family.”
I relaxed completely. Though she stubbed her stick after just a couple of puffs, she encouraged me to consume mine full, saying that she knew how satisfying it is after a full heavy meal. God! She was so comfortable to be with. We chatted a bit about our backgrounds and sat in companionable silence enjoying the view.
Then she got up saying it was time to go. On the way back, she paused at the bedroom and said, ”Ramesh, you know, your house is so beautifully arranged.”.
“All credit goes to Kajol”, I replied hastily, “she is quite finicky about orderliness.”
“But it lacks one thing, one important thing.”
She read my vacant expression and said, “You need kids. Then only your family will become perfect. And mark my words, when that time comes you will realize that having couple of brawling kids with messy diapers everywhere and overall being untidy would be far better than the living like this. My advice, the sooner the better notwithstanding all your both professional careers.”
I didn’t know what to say. What do you reply when someone talks to you like an older sister?
In the drawing room, the professor and Kajol were sitting close together on the sofa engaged in some academic discussion. Kajol had her head low hanging on to every word that he was saying in his strong and clear voice. Mrs. Bharadwaj walked straight to the door and started putting on her sandals and I stood in silence near her. Then the professor concluded whatever he was saying and stood up for departure. As we walked them back to the car and bid good-bye, Mrs. Bharadwaj whispered to me “Pay attention to what I said, have kids at the soonest.” Thereafter they were gone.
While Kajol walked straight away to clear the dinner table, I collapsed on the sofa and switched the tv on again. The match was over and India had lost comprehensively. Evidently, the last minute miracles did not materialize this time. But my mind was far off. There was a puzzling quality to Mrs. Bharadwaj; though her behavior couldn’t be faulted for anything other than behaving like an older sister. And then it hit me, what had been remiss. During their entire period of stay, I didn’t recollect seeing either speaking a word to the other. My God! That must be something.
Kajol was piling up the soiled dishes in the sink for the maid to wash up tomorrow. I walked behind her and said “Say Kajo, this Mrs. Bharadwaj turned out to be quite affectionate. Your Buddha looked quite grumpy in comparison.”
She replied without turning back. “Huh, what do you know about women! All appearances, all appearances only.”
I thought better of prolonging this line of discussion and so retired to the drawing room with the cigarette pack to catch the late night edition of the day’s news. By the time the program hour ended, Kajol was already in bed, in her night gown, though she wasn’t asleep. She lay spread-eagled on the bed and there was a glazed expression in her eyes. Obviously, she was going through the events of the day in her mind. I took a good look at her and fancying a chance for some straight forward romp, switched off the lights and climbed over her. She made no objections as I removed her gown and tossed it aside. Encircling my neck, she started kissing deeply. And then as I tried to position myself for the entry, she pushed me back, down and down. “Just a little, a little please, first”, she whispered. And I traveled down straight to her honey pot and plunked my face down.
Then I got the surprise of the day. She was soaking wet. How long had she been leaking, I wondered as she pushed my head down. And what had triggered it, I started thinking, as I gave her a furious tongue lashing. Was it the kiss from Riz? Or was it the placing of her hands in my ‘fit’ boss’s palms? Maybe it was all the excitement of the close proximity of her Guide. Even after several minutes of sucking her dry and her reaching multiple orgasms of various degree, she was still gushing – something I had never experienced before with her. Finally, she arched up her pelvis and pulled my hair with force before collapsing with a mighty shudder. I knew that completely spent and curiously enough I had no further interest for dipping my dick.
“Kajo, let’s go to sleep now. I am quite worn out.” I said.
She turned to me and using a portion of her gown wiped my face of her juices. Then she kissed me very tenderly and very long.
“Go to the bathroom and wash your face”, she commented.
By the time I returned from the bathroom, she had turned to a side and was snoring softly, due to the whole day activity and aided by my oral ministration. I spooned up at her back drawing her for a close snuggle.
Still asleep, she started to mumble, “Ah, you are so strong. So strong.”
From the bedroom, Kajol’s exasperated voice came, “What are you doing Ramesh! They will be here any moment. Come change your shirt.”
Still cursing the team and their three generations, I made way towards the bedroom. She was putting the final touches to her getup and pointed at the starched pair of fresh pants and shirt laid out on the bed. I hardly noticed her for my mind was on the disgraceful show that those idiots were putting on. Buttoning up I turned towards the mirror to get the comb.
She tuned around and asked “How do I look?”
One look at her saree clad figure and all thoughts of cricket evaporated from my mind. If earlier on she looked like stepping out of the covers of a fashion magazine, now she looked as if we were to step out to a marriage party.
I pushed her onto the bed and tried to embrace her. “Goodness, you look like an apsara Kajo. I must have you now.”
She pushed me back with an annoyed face and started adjusting the saree ends. “Get off”, she shouted , ”Don’t you dare to touch me”, she warned.
As if on cue, the housephone buzzed, announcing the arrival of the Prof Bharadwaj. Kajol literally dragged me down to the parking lot to greet them.
A man in the mid-forties stepped out of his Maruti 800 and so did his wife from the passenger side. Kajol hurried over to them and bowed her head low in greeting them with a namaste. I followed suit. The professor adjusted his glasses to have a good look at me and then held out his hand forward which I shook. Surprisingly, he had a strong grip, something I didn’t expect from an academic. He just mumbled a few words of thanks. But my attention was drawn to Mrs. Bharadwaj who must have been a decade older to me. Tall and fair, she had an air of elegance about her. The moment she smiled, it was all grace and I took an immediate liking towards her. What the hell had Kajol meant when she had said that she was the nagging housewife type! I stayed by her side and Kajol was all respectful towards her Guide, as we made our way up to our drawing room.
Mrs. Bharadwaj handed over a packet of fruits to Kajol and commented. “Ah nice house! And quite airy as well.”
“The breeze is excellent here”, I said, “on the fifth floor.”
Then we chatted talking about the alarming level of pollution and out of the corner of my eyes I watched Kajol gently whispering if she could get some sherbet or cold drinks. The professor was having a good look at Kajol and her party look had had the effect. He removed his thick glassed spectacle and began polishing them while unabashedly gawking at her. Then his gaze traveled from her face downwards. Good lord! He was checking her out – directly in the presence of both his and her spouses. I got quickly annoyed but then choked down the rising anger when I remembered that the poor guy would hardly have had the opportunity of seeing her dressed up so pretty. Mentally, I cursed Kajol for putting the old codger in such a state. Why couldn’t she have been dressed in the normal way she used to when going to the univ!
“I will have coffee before and after dinner.” The tone of Prof Bharadwaj indicated that he was someone who liked to be assertive.
Mrs. Bharadwaj, however declined to have anything other than a glass of water and she had turned her face towards me.
“So you are in image consulting. Quite a challenging profession, it must be.”
I tried to explain that it was heavy at times and slack at others.
“Seasonal, you mean/”, she declared, hitting the nail on the head.
“Yes, that’s so.” I said. She was quick.
“Have to put in late hours?”
“Yes, sometimes it gets so hectic that I can’t return before nine and even ten or eleven on a couple of occasions.”
“That bad, eh!” There was a note of genuine concern in her voice and somehow I felt like telling her all my office tensions. “But, you have got to undergo all these before you get to the top positions in the industry.”
“Yes, of course.” I couldn’t agree with her more.
Prof. Bharadwaj showed no interest in me and I couldn’t care any less. Kajol however sat very attentively near him and I paid no attention to their semi-academic discussions. After fifteen minutes, he said that he was feeling hungry and Kajol jumped up.
We sat front to front, me before Mrs. Bharadwaj. She removed the lids of the casseroles and drew in the aroma with appreciation. Both she and Kajol helped out serving. I watched as she dipped her spoon in each, drawing the gravy or a morsel and tasting it. Mouth full, she would join the thumb and forefinger of her left hand to give the perfect signal. How on earth could Kajol find this sweet lady offensive in their earlier meet, I wondered. Anytime, I would love to have her company. The professor, on the other hand had taken a generous portion of the pulao and covered it with the mutton curry. He was attacking the food with a gusto.
Sometime in the middle, while tasting the fish curry, Mrs. Bharadwaj had a strange look on her face. She then dipped the spoon to the gravy and tasted it again to make something sure. Turning to Kajol, she said; “This is a bengali preparation. I didn’t know that you could cook Bengali dishes too. It is too good. In fact, the whole menu is simply delicious.”
Kajol and me looked at each other and shared a guilty smile. Haltingly, I explained how Riz had dropped in so unexpectedly and it was a bonus for us to use his culinary skills. Mrs. Bharadwaj seemed suitably impressed and asked Kajol if she had the recipes for some of the dishes. Kajol said that she could arrange to get those for her. She nodded and happily launched into to meal without much further talk. The dinner was a success as far as I was concerned.
Meanwhile, the professor had rather voraciously consumed the main course of pulao and mutton curry paying scant attention to the rest of the dishes. Obviously, he was the type that took what he preferred and that too with vigor. The contrast between the eating styles of both couldn’t have been more pronounced. He launched into some of their departmental matters and while that went way over my head, Kajol was all attention. They went on discussing topics of academia and I was forced to nod my head dumbly when he looked at me, just out of politeness. Desserts over, we rose up and while the professor plunked himself in the sofa and Kajol hurried to get him his post dinner coffee; Mrs. Bharadwaj expressed a desire to have some fresh air. Accordingly, I escorted her to the deck of our balcony.
We both stepped out and as a gust of wind hit us, I realized with horror, that the vodka bottle – still holding some and the cigarette pack were lying on the center stool. As I stood like a guilty dog, she picked up the bottle to inspect the brand and then put it down. Depositing herself on a lounge chair, she said, “Let’s sit here a while. Sit down please.”
Then she drew a cigarette from the pack and lit it and then pointed the pack at me. I drew one and lit as well. “You were having a party with your friend before we came, weren’t you?, and she continued as I looked abashed, “No no don’t worry, there was no smell. Only I could tell because of experience, experience of growing up in an army family.”
I relaxed completely. Though she stubbed her stick after just a couple of puffs, she encouraged me to consume mine full, saying that she knew how satisfying it is after a full heavy meal. God! She was so comfortable to be with. We chatted a bit about our backgrounds and sat in companionable silence enjoying the view.
Then she got up saying it was time to go. On the way back, she paused at the bedroom and said, ”Ramesh, you know, your house is so beautifully arranged.”.
“All credit goes to Kajol”, I replied hastily, “she is quite finicky about orderliness.”
“But it lacks one thing, one important thing.”
She read my vacant expression and said, “You need kids. Then only your family will become perfect. And mark my words, when that time comes you will realize that having couple of brawling kids with messy diapers everywhere and overall being untidy would be far better than the living like this. My advice, the sooner the better notwithstanding all your both professional careers.”
I didn’t know what to say. What do you reply when someone talks to you like an older sister?
In the drawing room, the professor and Kajol were sitting close together on the sofa engaged in some academic discussion. Kajol had her head low hanging on to every word that he was saying in his strong and clear voice. Mrs. Bharadwaj walked straight to the door and started putting on her sandals and I stood in silence near her. Then the professor concluded whatever he was saying and stood up for departure. As we walked them back to the car and bid good-bye, Mrs. Bharadwaj whispered to me “Pay attention to what I said, have kids at the soonest.” Thereafter they were gone.
While Kajol walked straight away to clear the dinner table, I collapsed on the sofa and switched the tv on again. The match was over and India had lost comprehensively. Evidently, the last minute miracles did not materialize this time. But my mind was far off. There was a puzzling quality to Mrs. Bharadwaj; though her behavior couldn’t be faulted for anything other than behaving like an older sister. And then it hit me, what had been remiss. During their entire period of stay, I didn’t recollect seeing either speaking a word to the other. My God! That must be something.
Kajol was piling up the soiled dishes in the sink for the maid to wash up tomorrow. I walked behind her and said “Say Kajo, this Mrs. Bharadwaj turned out to be quite affectionate. Your Buddha looked quite grumpy in comparison.”
She replied without turning back. “Huh, what do you know about women! All appearances, all appearances only.”
I thought better of prolonging this line of discussion and so retired to the drawing room with the cigarette pack to catch the late night edition of the day’s news. By the time the program hour ended, Kajol was already in bed, in her night gown, though she wasn’t asleep. She lay spread-eagled on the bed and there was a glazed expression in her eyes. Obviously, she was going through the events of the day in her mind. I took a good look at her and fancying a chance for some straight forward romp, switched off the lights and climbed over her. She made no objections as I removed her gown and tossed it aside. Encircling my neck, she started kissing deeply. And then as I tried to position myself for the entry, she pushed me back, down and down. “Just a little, a little please, first”, she whispered. And I traveled down straight to her honey pot and plunked my face down.
Then I got the surprise of the day. She was soaking wet. How long had she been leaking, I wondered as she pushed my head down. And what had triggered it, I started thinking, as I gave her a furious tongue lashing. Was it the kiss from Riz? Or was it the placing of her hands in my ‘fit’ boss’s palms? Maybe it was all the excitement of the close proximity of her Guide. Even after several minutes of sucking her dry and her reaching multiple orgasms of various degree, she was still gushing – something I had never experienced before with her. Finally, she arched up her pelvis and pulled my hair with force before collapsing with a mighty shudder. I knew that completely spent and curiously enough I had no further interest for dipping my dick.
“Kajo, let’s go to sleep now. I am quite worn out.” I said.
She turned to me and using a portion of her gown wiped my face of her juices. Then she kissed me very tenderly and very long.
“Go to the bathroom and wash your face”, she commented.
By the time I returned from the bathroom, she had turned to a side and was snoring softly, due to the whole day activity and aided by my oral ministration. I spooned up at her back drawing her for a close snuggle.
Still asleep, she started to mumble, “Ah, you are so strong. So strong.”
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