Adultery Indian Wife in the Prison of Spring by aurelius1982-Completed

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Although we are old friends, I don't know much about what happened since we lost touch."

Mansi kept finding these "old friends" references odd. Yes, they lived in the same neighborhood over a decade ago. But they barely knew each other. Even so, the old lady was being so nice that it was hard not to think of her as a friend.

"Well, not much happened." she shrugged.

"Is yours an arranged marriage?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why of course? I knew many people having love marriages in Meerut."

"I know. So did I. But you didn't know my parents." Mansi said.

"Hmmmm...so did you get to spend any time with your husband before you married him?"

"Oh yes. We went for a movie once..." Mansi said.

"Okay..."

"But my mother was with me."

"Oh..."

"It was nice." Mansi smiled.

Reena realized that Mansi's upbringing had been even more sheltered and protected than she had imagined. She knew those type of families. Doing their best to stamp out a woman's individuality as soon as she is born. And then trade her away in a marriage like cattle.

"How many years have you been married?"

"Almost eight years."

"And how old is Pinky?"

"Seven."

"So Amar didn't waste much time, huh?" Reena winked.

"Aunty!" Mansi blushed.

------

"Pinky seems like a very intelligent girl." Reena said.

"She is. We have put her in this really good international college. Amar wanted it. In fact...that is another reason our finances are tight. The college is quite pricey."

"I can imagine."

"Anyway, speaking of Pinky, I should get going." Mansi got up. "She will be home soon."

"Oh okay. It was really great spending time with you." Reena also got up. "You should drop by whenever you are free."

"I would love to."

"I can have one of our hotel cars drop you home if you like."

"No aunty, don't worry. I will take the local. The traffic will be too much anyway."

The two women walked out of the office and towards the hotel lobby. As Reena escorted her young acquaintance through a crowd of guests waiting to check in, she noticed something. A few of the men discreetly checked out Mansi. Nothing blatant or disrespectful, but something Reena caught. It didn't seem like innocent young Mansi had noticed though.

"Okay aunty, thank you so much again." Mansi held her hands in gratitude.

"Stop thanking me, Mansi. Oh and wait!" Reena took out her phone. "Sunil, come here."

She called out to a bellboy hanging around. She handed him the phone.

"Take a few pictures of me and my old friend here."

"Oh." Mansi smiled.

"Just to remember the occasion. Who knows when you will drop by again?"

"Oh come on, aunty. I will come again soon."

Mansi said and the two posed for a picture, smiling. Sunil snapped a good one and was about to hand the phone back.

"Take a few more. My phone's camera can be very unreliable." Reena said.

And Sunil took half a dozen more pictures. Reena took the phone back from him. Mansi said goodbye once again and walked out of the hotel.

Reena went back to her office and looked at the pictures. Mansi had a nice smile, she noted. And she was not bad looking at all. Not exactly a drop-dead gorgeous hottie that would set the ramp on fire. But pretty enough to turn a few heads as she had just done in the lobby without realizing. Even in a conservatively wrapped sari, it was clear that she had a nice slim body. And a pleasant symmetric face with big eyes and a sharp nose, with a light-wheatish complexion.

Reena looked at the pictures for a little while more as she thought about everything Mansi had said about her money problems. She then opened her contacts list, found the name she was looking for. She chose the 3 best pictures she thought Sunil had taken. And forwarded them to that contact with a message.

'What do you think?'

------

Mansi walked to Malad station and took the local to Borivali. Throughout her journey, she kept thinking of the time she had spent with Reena aunty. It all had seemed so nice and posh and plush. From the fancy hotel lobby to aunty's tastefully furnished office to the restaurant they had eaten at. She was amazed at how crisp and clean the clothes of the waiters had been. And the waiters actually spoke English! The only waiters she was used to wore stained tattered clothes and looked like they hadn't taken a bath in weeks.

Even the food itself was so unbelievably delicious. She had seen that the menu had a lot of French, Italian, and Spanish dishes. But with no idea about what those things were, she had ordered from the Indian part of the menu. Her usual order, dal fry and jeera rice. Aunty then asked if she was vegetarian. Mansi said no, she wasn't. So aunty also ordered some fancy sounding chicken dish and a fish started. Everything, right down to the simple jeera rice, had tasted heavenly. Even the plain rice in that restaurant was so much tastier than what she was used to - super long grains like in Basmati advertisements, and lovely flavors. And then of course, there was the dessert, which Mansi decided was the best dessert she had ever had.

As she walked through the narrow lanes of Borivali East towards her building, Mansi started thinking less and less about that amazing time with Reena aunty, and more about the chores she had to do at home, and what she would cook for dinner. And then she remembered that she had to buy more onions. She walked towards her vegetable seller, mentally thinking about how to negotiate him down by 10-15 rupees.

That night, after dinner and cleaning the kitchen, she went to the bedroom. Pinky was asleep and Amar was reading a thick book about the Ottoman empire.

"Listen."

"Hmmm." he responded.

"I am thinking about getting a job."

Amar shut the book and looked at her.

"A job? You?" he said, surprised.

"Why not?" Mansi asked, a little hurt by his condescending tone.

"Why not indeed?" Amar shrugged and opened the book again. "What kind of a job?"

"I am not sure yet. But Pinky is now grown-up enough to not need my constant attention. She is at college most of the day. In the free time I have, I can earn something extra to support our finances."

"So it's about money?"

"What?"

"Is it all about they money? Isn't the world already materialistic and consumerist enough that I should hear this from my own wife?" Amar asked.

Mansi stared at him in shock. From the day she was matched with Amar for marriage, she knew that she was going to spend her time with an idealistic and academic man. And for eight years, she had heard his monologues and speeches and rants about society and materialism and everything. But to bring it into this?

"Come outside." she quietly said.

"What?"

"Come out to the living room and close the door behind you. I don't want to wake Pinky up."

Amar sighed and got up, following his wife as she angrily stormed out. As she had instructed, he closed the door.

"Yes, my dear wife." Amar said in his typical condescending professorial way.

"What do you want from me?" Mansi said, her nostrils flaring.

"What do you mean?"

"I understand your principles and ideals and all that. But you don't run the house. I do. You have no idea how difficult it is to stretch the budget, especially when I include all those parties you throw for your friends."

"Mansi, hospitality is our..."

"Yes, yes, I have heard that before." she said with a sneer. "All I said was, I would like to get a job. And yes, Mister Professor, it IS all about the money for me. If I can make a few thousand rupees more to buy my daughter whatever she wants, I don't care if it is about the money."

"Fine. Fine." is all Amar said. "Get a job. When have I ever stopped you from getting a job?"

"Then what was that materialistic and consumerist taunt about????"

"It wasn't a taunt. I was just expressing my opinion."

"So I can get a job?"

"Again, Mansi, when have I ever stopped you from doing anything?"

The young wife stared at her husband. He wasn't entirely wrong. He was a bit weird in his ways, and his habits and way of living did put a lot of stress on her. But he had never been a domineering demanding husband. Especially when it came to the question of getting a job, it was a brand new topic. She had never thought of it before. Her parents had raised and trained her to be a housewife, just like her mother and grandmother and aunts and all other women in her family had been. After marriage, she just assumed that position by default. It's not like she had some great qualifications anyway.

So Amar was right. He had never stopped her from doing anything. She just had never talked about getting a job before.

"You have not." she quietly said.

"If you want to get a job, get a job. If you want it to be for money, that's fine. My humble suggestion to you is...get a job that is satisfying for you. Aim for real satisfaction."

"Satisfaction." Mansi repeated.

"Yes. Aim for a job where the money is just a welcome bonus for doing something that truly satisfies you." Amar said, using a line he often used to lecture students about their career choices.

"Truly satisfies me." Mansi nodded and walked back to the bedroom. Amar smiled and followed her.

-----

The very next day, Mansi thought about calling Reena aunty about the job opportunity. But then she felt it might come across as opportunistic and desperate. The way she thought about it, that nice woman, who barely knew her in Meerut, had bought her daughter shoes worth almost six thousand rupees. Then she had taken out for a fancy lunch, that based on what she read on the menu, easily cos another two thousand rupees at least. Now if she called her right away about a job, it would seem like she was some opportunistic woman. So Mansi decided to wait until Reena aunty herself called her again.

Reena on her part was thinking in a similar way. But in an equal and opposite way like Newton's third law. She saw a lot of potential in Mansi. Potential for something that would be mutually profitable for them. It had been at the back of her mind when she paid for the shoes. And had solidified when she spoke to her during that lunch. But she did not want to come across as too pushy and eager. She knew that middle class women from small towns could be very touchy like that. So she too held off, waiting for Mansi to call her.

This continued for another two weeks. Both ladies thought that the appropriate thing to do would be to wait for the other to call. Finally, it was Mansi whose resolve broke. It was a combination of yet another impromptu dinner party thrown by Amar for his intellectual buddies and a tantrum thrown by Pinky demanding new clothes.

"Hello, aunty. It is me, Mansi." she finally made the call one Monday morning when she was home alone and had finished her chores.

"Oh hi, Mansi, how are you doing? How are Amar and Pinky?" Reena was delighted that the call she had been eagerly waiting for finally arrived.

"They are good. How are you doing?"

"I am great." Reena said and paused as she wondered about how to proceed.

Mansi was also thinking about what to say. She did not want to instantly talk about the job. That would seem impolite.

"So aunty, I am free today. If you are free too, we could meet too." Mansi said, and then not wanting to seem like she was trying to mooch off another meal, added, "You can come over to my place and I will cook for you."

"Oh, that sounds lovely, Mansi. But today, I am busy." Reena said. "Oh wait, someone has just come into my office for something. Can I call you back in a few minutes?"

"Oh sure."

There was no one in Reena's office. She reached for her phone and sent a text message.