A Lesson To Remember
This story attempts to blend fact, fiction and biographical notes, in the manner that the really good ones do. Please let me know whether you thought it was done well or not @ [email protected] Bombay – Present Day: Its been eight months since I was transferred here, and pretty lonely ones have they been, since I chose not to shift my family here. I can now empathise with the challenges that our soldiers face, and my respect for them has touched a new high. Yes, I do manage a trip back now and then, but its not quite the same thing. The other thing that had been bothering me for some time now was the lack of physical intimacy. Like most married Indian men, I confess I do not have a roaring, rocking sex life on account of the usual reasons – a kid, poor fitness, stress. But this posting and consequent separation has made matters worse. Sadly, since this is not the swinging sixties, it seems really difficult to even attempt a fling or an affair. Tech like Tinder exists, but strident disclaimers like no hook-ups / benefits / ONS are the order of the day. The other scary part is, even if I did succeed in crossing this barrier, I’d make a fool of myself when it came to performing the act itself. These and other depressing thoughts about ageing and mortality were coursing through my mind and in order to cheer myself up, I decided to go in for a round of self – love. However, unlike my usual recourse of taking refuge in the washroom, I succumbed to laziness and decided to have the happy feel there on the bed where I lay. Eyes closed, I went off to fantasy land, where the object of my lust waited. Soon, I felt my happy reverie going well. I was nearing the summit of Mount Pleasure when I thought I heard the sound of a throat being cleared. I opened my eyes to see the new maid, a replacement for the actual one, staring at me with a mix of sympathy and amusement. Struggling to disguise my embarrassment, I quickly covered myself up and said “ When did you come in and why didn’t you knock? ” She stared back with a look that mixed sympathy and amusement and replied: “Well it seems now that I should have…” I looked back at her. I never ceased to be amazed by her physical appearance. Tall, nearly five – eight, slim, she was in her late fifties, but she did not have any extra ounce of fat on her. Green eyes, silver hair, fair complexion and red lips. Her red saree, worn in the traditional Maharashtrian style accentuated her beauty, which from certain angles reminded me of a marathon runner. Sometimes I wondered why she did the work that she did. But since she had only been around a couple of weeks and was supposed to be there for only a couple more, I hadn’t really gone around to make the effort of asking her. Yet again, she broke my chain of admiring thoughts with a very startling sentence. “I can help you with that” I thought I hadn’t heard it right, but my rapidly reddening ears suggested otherwise. A double check was called for – and I dutifully did that. She replied in the affirmative. “ I can see you have been struggling. And believe me when I say it, I can help you with this. In fact, I can also say that nobody can help you the way I can…” The redness in my ears vanished as the blood raced from there to the groin. I couldn’t hide the bulge fast enough. She laughed and said – “ I can see your answer already – just go down quickly and get some condoms” I raced to the chemist shop downstairs and bought a pack while putting on a very unaffected air, even as my heart continued to beat double time. What was going to happen? Was it right? Is it cheating? Will I get caught? Will she blackmail me? Oh God please help! I came back to my room, to find the drapes drawn and soft light filtering in. She stood there, in the center of the room, her hair untied and loose, reaching down to her waist, looking even more alluring than ever. I shut the door and made sure it was locked, for I could not afford a surprise any more. She came up to me and we hugged. I felt her lips on my forehead and cheeks. She held my hands and took me to the bed, motioning me to sit down. “ Let me start by telling you a short story. Many many years ago, in the India of old, there used to be a system of Kothas. These were houses of women who were skilled in the arts of music, poetry, dance and love making, and teenaged men of prominent families were trained by these women in these arts. It was a rite of passage and a time honoured tradition that had spanned generations. Then came the British raj, which could not understand the morality or this role of the Kothas, and they summarily branded this as prostitution, in line with their Victorian moral code. That one act sounded the death knell for this profession. The really top tier of women either got married and quit, or disappeared into society as consorts of sadhus / tantrics. The middle and bottom tier slowly degraded into cheap prostitution, and things came to the situation that exists as of today. I am telling you this because I want you to understand and appreciate what is going to happen next. I am descended from one of the top tier exponents of this art, and the only reason why I know what I know is a strange insistence from my great grandmother, that these arts be passed onto at least one girl child of the next generation so that the art lives on…” Whoa. This was heavy. This woman, a maid who looked like a queen, had just told me something incredible. I told her I needed a minute to process this. She stood up, smiled, and embraced me warmly. Feeling her firm breasts against my chest, I decided to stop processing further and dive right into what might happen next. “ Now, enough with talking. Talking distracts the body from what we are about to do.