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Fiction: The lover (s) of Harivarsha

I stared at the decayed planked wall inside the decrepit room. The wooden door creaked open and yanked, propelled by the dusty ceiling fan. The pigeons flocked at the edge of the sill and the throaty coos irritated me to death. I feel suffocated speaking to the wall every day and desperately wanted to run away from the boisterous life of old Bombay, the sight of blue-and-yellow cabs, trucks and buses screeching to life, the blaringly loud horns.

The rudderless life, aimless existence and stench of tobacco crushed on the floor felt like a half-dead orgasmic climax. I wanted to puke at the sight of everything. Relentless city noise has deprived me of tranquillity and sleep. The only solace is the alcohol and cheap whisky for 20 bucks. We are in the 90s. My life is cheap. Cheap packet of gold flake cigarette, cheap sex every day and cheap food. The polluted air is free, so is the sea gentle at times and stormy the next. The spangle of light stretched out, coalescing with the dappled sun that made me snigger at everything human and nature. I lumbered, to and fro, between the sofa and the door, inching to slouch on the same space.

Hunched shoulders, tingled skin and unwavering eyes gazing at the midnight’s dotted lights forming a shadow. She left her coat hanging the night before when we were making mad mad love and biting into each other, scratching skins to play silly games like termites crawling into each other’s flesh. I thought she wouldn’t come tonight. Weltering in the high heels and short skirts, she walked straight to flounce her designer bag on the bed. I pretended to ignore her.  My senses are incapacitated with the ego riding high like the cheap whisky I drink at every nightfall, admiring the coconut trees lingering the sea. She left in the middle of the act yesterday. I hate her. Bitch! I wanted to yell.

The sullen look wore thin on my face and hastily pulled the short on my underwear before she started to kiss me sloppily and assaulting my skinny body.  She winked at me. “So much trouble you took, na. What’s the point of wearing the short when I gonna pull it down.” I cannot bear to see her seducing effortlessly written all over the face, the edge she always commands without trying too hard.  The smirk on her face, the look and roving eyes killed me every second.  I wanna talk tough. “The door is open,” I tut-tutted.

She lit a cigarette. The smoke blew on my face.  “Haan! Toh! The door is always open and let fresh air and breeze curl inside this small room like the foggy cigarette. Do you want me to leave? she japed at me. The wickedness, effortless gaze, simpering and cackle sent me in a stew. If I was chicken gravy, she would gobble me at one instant. “Your choice,” I blabbered.

I faked the act of looking unfazed for we are addicted to each other. She may have different lovers and a filthy rich husband but comes to me every night which gives an instant and adrenaline high.  The fear of seeing her going away and the eyes furtively squinted at her moves, the steps towards the door. She stopped abruptly and pulled off the blouse to show the perfected sculpted bareback.  She wanted to say, ‘Fuck off.’ I was pretty sure of that. She slowly turned around in her curvy shapes like an artist and trotted on the heels of a cat mewing behind the door, grabbed the poor thing, ruffling furs and kissed it. The poor animal shrieked and slipped away from her.

Slouching on the torn off sofa that bore our violence for shaking and jumping several nights, I was amused to watch an object flung towards me. I avoided it in time through twists and turns. Her stilettos almost kissed my face. She threw herself at me.

I don’t even know her name. We have been doing it every night for several months. She’s an egoistic and maniacal woman hell-bent to see me lose control and doesn’t flinch in saying. The large wry smile on her face is the triumph of seeing me growing weak at the idea and name of sex.

She never played the victim card. I did. She is an enigma and doesn’t flinch in asking for intimacy but claimed it as if a birthright. I loathed it for getting monotonous like morning brunch. She is nonchalant. “Roughen me, man. You are sexy. Caress my body and skin. I am not feeling anything. Let your hair down. You know the best thing about us is how when we kiss and your mind wanders. No complaint. I love to take the lead. You are easy-going unlike my husband and the lovers I meet during the day. I want more.” It’s a piece of cake for her.

I am panting. Words are flowing and dunno from where. Must be the effect of the imported scotch she brought from US. “I want you, only you,” I pressed harder on her. She flailed her hands and long legs slithering my lip and pressed my stomach. “Baby…” I breathed. She almost kicked me in the groin. “Stop calling me that. I am a free bird. I cannot be possessed by males like you. Set yourself free. Feel it.”

“I hate your husband, the money bag, expensive cars and hotel suites,” I doggedly say.

“You cannot…a dimwit you are. You don’t even know him and I am fucking you right now. Stop eyeing my boobs and hating my husband. It’s like asking for coins when you got the notes. Time to get out of this poor and dirty room for you are caught in this virus cheap mentality of poor vs rich, envying the rich. Such a fuck all mental ejaculation with this envy thing.”

“Come on! Fuck me harder, “she moaned.

I nodded. “It’s not like some fucking competition going on,” I almost told her.

I was tired of playing this game with a rich woman who got nothing else to do but dragged me on top of her every night. This routine ailed me. We fucked and smoke up. There is nothing between us. I loathed it. No meaningful conversation, no cuddling and laughing together.

She called me a train boggy but gelatinous. I termed her as the biggest earth-shattering mystery and a nymph wearing the chameleon colors. She freaked out and became violent when I stubbornly insisted on hearing her name. She doesn’t want to know mine, either. Names are our dirty secret, not the sex.

A dominant woman who flaunts the most expensive clothes, bangles and jewelry, she took pride in overpowering me with a kooky smile drawn on paper.  Every dog has its day, I whispered into her ears. “You bet,” she faked a coquettish smile. I galumphed at the small victory. She spent the entire night in my kholi, the rat-infested dingy square room and I got a sadistic high way bigger than the climax admiring the flies and insects hovering above her head and the sleepless sleep broken by the ear-splitting pigeons cooing near the lobe. I tasted victory and sipped my alcohol that filled the nostril and swirled on the tongue.  Sweet revenge has never tasted so good and lingered in the mouth for months and years. Harivarsha disappeared like a mystery was never seen again.

PS: This fiction has been inspired by one of the short stories in Adwaita Das’s novel Colors of Shadow. Click to buy the marvellous book about human lives and relationships on Amazon.




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Fiction: A riotous night and the dead Goddess

Skitter of light and blitz. Of color canvas. A bevy of partygoers swirling and scrumming in line like diligent kids at the Opera House. Drizzle of light caressing the foam in the sky and white line hiding the line of copulating stars in the vast sky.  Night fall exudes a mysterious look. Silent owls tottering for the kill.

Men and women. Young boys and girls swooning as if hunting for a prey. Decked in short skirts, spunky jeans, hippie hair and twisted locks holding each other tightly as if it’s doomsday.  Fleeting voices,  warble, and footsteps scampering in the moat and hopping in the narrow alley to heckle the plump and bald security guarding the fortress, intricate wooden door. Some could have caressed his twirling mustache to sneak inside.

The linoleum floor shone brightly in a speckled bright wood colors and tiny dots of spangle blended with muddy footprints. The singer wore a backless black sleeve that grabbed eyeballs of male ogling at her and women spouting fireball of jealousy. The voice screeched at decibel level to charm pigeons off the branches. Alcohol and beer guzzle at every table and Lonavla chikki popped inside mouths. The Mumbai skyline paled in comparison to the jarring voice and hushed tones among revelers, stealing silly pecks, long smooch and sensual caress.

The Queen’s necklace spread and skated its might to witness party life in the city, petty thieves planning the next move, silent lovers sky gazing to untie the lace and innocent hands flitting past loose skirts and blouse witnessed by the naked sea, iconic black-and-yellow cabs swirled in the traffic and underworld planning the killing. Cops were bored and pretended to look the other side by chasing flies in the hot South Mumbai summer.

Drunken souls traipsed their might inside the pub to and fro, waiters wore a bedazzled look at the sight of skimpy but adorable women flirting nonchalantly with them for their favorite drink. The night was a drudgery for some single men like me bored and gulping alcohol to curse their luck for not landing hot women and cuddle raging like a storm in the head. Something was brewing and boiling, not just the sizzler served piping hot on plate.

Cards shuffled and flickered on the table to change hands within span of seconds. Women paraded on stage in transparent lingerie and gyrating their seductive curvy moves to the latest pop songs as urn of money slung on stage.  Discreet heads lolled at the tables, dance floor and guests wriggling their way among the crowd. Pack of notes sifled on row of tables flicked expertly and swiftly greasing palms of greedy waiters, bouncers and single men and women game for a night of swing in rooms upstairs. No soul could decode business traveling like light in the  Opera House. No business is unfettered by the shady world, black turned into white, pink became crimson and the world wouldn’t get a stench of flesh trade flourishing freely like the alcohol on the rocks.

The noise reached decibel level stomping wildly on the ground, barman expertly flicking the vodka shots and Scotch to make everyone high while cocaine, hashish, coke, and LSD smacked its way inside where control was on the loose.  Strangers turned into momentary lovers, waltzing discreetly in open corners for rumpy-pumpy acts, changing partners and drenching in a trance. The mood was exuberantly set. The perfect ambiance glittered. Wicked smile on chaffed lips. Routine business. Let the kids swap to the tunes and not deny pleasure. Worship the phallus. The trade thrives for money never lies. Deceit is just another name.

Deal done inside and outside. Holy baba feared and loathed by many but still worshipped by millions where ingenuity sealed the lid to sprinkle blessing on followers, Jai Mata Di, he thundered. Caressing his grey beard and flipping a coin on million followers in his darbar, he made a sign with his eyes, pressed the left one. War will be declared in the city. Politics got the signal. Riot will be their treat. Statue of the revered leader’s wife was blackened in the crowded center as thick stench and odor wafted in the atmosphere. Buses and cars smeared into holy fire as offering to appease the Gods. Humans and vehicles splattered into fire resembling ghee to perform ablutions.   The holy sacrifice for the mother, the unsung Goddess of her devotees worshiping humans. Blind love and the lust for bloodshed wreathed on the tarred roads.

A night of reckoning. The luminous night, sparkling moon and raucous noise made by music, lovers, and rave wore thin at the next fall of darkness. Deal went horribly wrong. Hands of devils wore its shadow like a veil. The huge bag and money parcels pocked with crores landed in the wrong hand who fled the country, bribing airport officials and hid inside an invisible cave with filthy riches. War was declared. After all, the kingdom has to be saved. Factionalism, underworld, rich babas, bureaucrats and politicians slug it out on roads and streets. Riot spread like wildfire in the city. Intelligentsia blamed it on the blackened face of the dead Goddess to her millions of children. She was a sensitive soul and sentiments hurt, they languished.

The night club-cum-shady hub was razed by the BMC and the place scanned to uncover the crime. Revellers were harassed, slapped and assaulted but the treasure has long disappeared. Powertoni decided to wreak havoc.  Sins to be atoned. Sour revenge. No party anymore, drugs were taken on the roads and rave banned. A sly game splayed. The pub and ecstasy have gone sanskari (religious) with men and women, party animals and sexualized souls wearing orange robe, chanting hymns and selling agarbatis, sacred noodles blessed by the Lord himself, shuddh Makhni condom, shuddh Makhni noodles,  shuddh Makhni honey,  shuddh Makhni garments and shuddh Makhni concocted with ghee, going back to the days of purity. Doomsday was yet to strike. A matter of crores lost and buried.








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Full Moon Halloween Night (2)

Full Moon Halloween Night: The Blood Prayer

Menka curled on her toe and strutted seductively inside the room. She wore thick black mascara below her black kohl eyes and a line up of crayoned mustache and thickened blood roughened her lip in a perfectly sculptured tone. The female face was covered with black spot and green dots. A turnip was tied to her hand. She bent till Jason’s Knee and tied a potato on his wrist.  “Woah! You are wearing the cloak of a scary witch. Come out of the closet honey for I wanna dip you in my tea,” he teased.

She unfolded the scarf. The hair flittered in all directions taking the form of a real witch.  “Now, see what I make you dip inside out.” She pulled him tightly.  He breathed profusely. “I am the hunter, you are the hunted,” she screeched. “I will kill you. Taste death. I will suck the vampire’s blood.” Smacking her mouth on the gape of his neck and clenching her teeth, she sucked the frothy reddish liquid on her tongue and lip. A chilly and icy cold sensation ran wild on his neck.

She pushed her lip harder to sip the blood from the mouth of the vampire. It felt like a bee stung on the skin. He stood paralyzed and inert for a second. “I am your shadow…the protecting devil. Blood doesn’t spare the Gods and Goddesses. I am just a witch. The pagans have blood raging all over the place and wolves only think of blood. We are having blood and not sex. We worship blood,” Menka thundered.

She was his witch. He was the vampire. They played along in their mind and imagining themselves to be a witch and vampire. He flashed a wicked smile: “You are right. We are all vampires in human form and concocted with the worse and the best of blood. I survive on it. It’s my staple, my brown bread woman.”

She slouches her naked flesh on the couch. He moved closer. Their bodies were separated by a holy flask of water and together they invoked the prayer, “Oh! Lord! Goddess! The shamans! Pagans! Devils of this world! Horrible creatures! In blood, we seek us and play. I am You! You are me! O creator of evil, of gods and demons. There is no black and white. We seek the root of oneness. Till alive, fill me with blood to satiate hunger and thirst. We are half good and half evil. We seek everything in half, the Gods, demons, and wolves. Implore protection from death. We want the power to be invincible and destroy everyone on your path reducing them to ashes. We are immortal souls. A cross is what we don’t need nor do we seek weapon.”

Menka and Jason closed their eyes and penetrated each other.  She didn’t yell in pain.  She breathed in intermittent lapse. The mind veered into the sub-conscious and stirred the forces of evil, the demons, witches, vampires, and wolves off their slumber. All hell broke loose for the lovers have altered nature, moved the sun, sky and shook the earth upside down to interfere with the force of evil. Both were trapped. She was under his control. He was in the clutch of evil forces.  Two bodies, two souls were in conflict. They were no longer human. A jarring sensation blocked their veins and felt like a stiff mask shoved inside their throats. The skins became stiff like 1000 kg of pumpkin bundled on them. The clock spun into 1500 years ahead into a futuristic demonic world of bloodbath and calamity.

The long and jet black hair worn turned into thick and oily tresses.  Blood spattered on the battered face of Jason. The white and flawless face bore cracks like the dry rough mud.  He slowly lifted his hand to caress her hair tresses and ran the rough finger inside the patch of her hair.  The vampire’s face faded from white into a black surface and the body temperature dipped like wild fire slowly ravaging his blood and skin. He felt dizzy and blank. A timid fight against nature’s fury and cupped his lip to Menka’s neck, sucking her blood ravenously like a hungry and homeless child. After all, it was a matter of survival in the wild world of vampire, ghosts, and witches. It felt like sucking drops of water and the mouth stuck on her cheek, lip, neck, and stomach to feed himself.

The witch growled with anger. She felt suffocated with this male mouth not sparing an inch of her flesh.  Her hand lay stiff on his naked skin and over time, the green ladyfingers she wore on the toenail grew longer and turned into sharp claws.  The sharp and razor edge claw pressed harder on his shoulder and a wild fire sensation struck the vampire, scratching the surface that made him spin right in front of the witch. A thunderous sensation and lighting struck like arrows on all sides of his body. He was growing into a round balloon.  She clenched her teeth and spattered fire on his face. His entire body flattened and became normal.  He sat still like a mud statue.

The witch hooted like an owl and bit into his ear and chest, “I have the reaper’s eye. I am made of flame and smote. Meet death. Looking into me,” the eye turned reddish and flicked with raging fire.

“I am death. I will kill you. You are the hunted now and the prey in the wild.” He almost passed out when the fingers suddenly stretched into long green thorn scratching his back violently. The blood oozing from the vampire’s emasculated body splashed on her face and she grabbed the old wine bottle, emptied the liquid on the white floor desperately filling it with his blood. The wine bottle was sealed tightly and placed in the middle of the large bed. He gulped it. “Want more wine,” she winked. The entire bottle was thrust into his mouth.

To be continued…



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Full Moon Halloween Night (1)

Full Moon Halloween Night: Trick or Treat


A gently flurry of wind and sudden chill wafted through the thick and creamy coated snow layer in the azure blue New York sky. Lights electrified the brittle evening pocked with people singing enthusiastically and jested loudly on the dark and rainy road. Fire and flame zipped in the air. The road and streets bustled with colorful faces bleeding tomato juice and pumpkin shaped Halloween carved with cube-shaped candlelight waltzed below Brooklyn Bridge and jutting out to Times Square. The night looked like a jamboree with a horde of colorful faces bleeding tomato juices and pumpkins shaped Halloween waltzing below Brooklyn Bridge.

The city glittered with the 360-degree view, the colorful flash of lights, right from the branded stores to the Empire State Building and cheap Broadway selling 10 dollars ticket for the special night. The live rock performance on the road bustled with activity, Brooklyn Museum sprang to life and Statue of Liberty serenaded by the giant sculptures in ghostly shapes.

The Great Jack O’Lantern Blaze bore an unusually beautifully sight serenaded by 7,000 pumpkins glowing with myriad colors celebrating the unwavering spirit of Halloween. Giant sculptures and lanterns were spread over 2,000 pounds of multiple pumpkins to scare the shit out of revelers and people let themselves loose in vampire outfits, wearing the ghostly shade of black, blue and tomato juice flowing on the lip and under the chin. The goblins leaped into the dark shadow and kids doing the souling act unfolding their tiny hands in front of strangers and drunk revelers, knocking on doors for donations.

The ferocious wind swirled the white curtain fluttering and weaving into short knots, unwrapping past the window and gently flowing inside the room in the night. A strange silence engulfed the house and traveled like light inside the spacious room adorned with crystal and blue emerald lamp hanging on the wooden roof in a multitude of colors.

The huge palanquin bed was occupied by two human bodies snuggled together and squatting on the mattress munching on pizza, Tandoori chicken and flat Indian bread (roti) spread with the crumbs scattered on the blue bed cover. The two pair of eyes furtively glanced across the room and heads bobbed towards the lamp that flashed right into the corner of squinted eyes. A spurt of lightning struck and the vibration shook the entire house. The spacious bed stumbled on its own as if gravitated by an unknown force.

Glasses and the bottle of red wine tinkled together to make an eerie sound pulled by the might of the invisible. The occupants in the room sat unfazed by the noise ushering past the wide window blew open and squeak of owls, shrieking of dogs and goblins dancing furiously behind the curtains.

Image source: Google

A svelte female shadow was enveloped tightly in a long black skirt, jerked off the bed, half body swinging on the floor like a pendulum to pick up the wine bottle. She gently held the white glass in the palm of her hand and slowly poured the liquid swirled like waterfall. “Hold the glass straight. I am filling it to the brink. A special wine concocted by your soul to spurn the bedazzled night with a grain of wickedness. Watch this lethal liquid hitting you on the head,” the sensual voice whirred.
He cupped the glass to his lip. She pushed herself behind the male’s bare back and he almost flung off the bed. A pair of hands clutched tightly to the upper part of his naked torso, scratching the red fingernail on his flesh. A tiny speck of blood seeped. She took a dip as if it’s French fry dipping in tomato ketchup and drenched in the red wine. She pushed her body in a swift movement, held on her boobs to the chest, legs clutched to stomach, a sip of wine lashing her tongue and smothered it on every inch of his ear, biting ferociously with her teeth like a famished witch.

Bending her knee on the mattress, she walked on the tip of the toe and the long black skirt cut perfectly from the waist to the knee showed her flawlessly sculpted brown leg flailing seductively.

She pressed his stomach, planning her moves expertly and the next flicked her long leg like a football kick caressing his face and ear. Twisting her body and curves, the female boob was cupped and towards his chest. The male hand gently slid past her blouse to run up and down inside. She grew stiff. There was a naughty gaze inside her black eyes peering at his face and the strong hand tracing the line of her body with speed.

She pulled off her black gown and thrust it on his face. “I am a bad ass! Let’s run around in the dark for I ain’t an elf on the shelf,” she whispered. He turned blank. “Baby, say something in secret. Reveal yourself. We are not playing doggie and I am no cat mewing for milk.” Her voice suddenly grew like a shriek.” He untied the lace from her bra and ran his hand, pressing her back, slipping down her bottom, navel, and bosom.

A black shadow looped like lightning behind the curtain, bent, twisted in folded movements. Heads, knees, and bodies grew like elastic bands coalescing into hundreds and thousands like termites. The invisible forces grew in a multitude of colors, from black to red and blue.

“Play with me,” she exhorted him. They were running passionately into each other, legs and bodies clutched and suddenly turned into a circular form, enveloped like a mothball that possessed and imprisoned them. The spell was cast and the dice thrown.

Tearing each other’s clothes, they voraciously tasted and explored the naked flesh, hands, and legs spinning out to reach unexplored positions that broke all limits. Jason felt a liquid seeping down his navel and flowing past his underwear, and tilted the head towards her. She was pouring the glass of wine on his body. She winked at him, “Tonight, the raging blood, red wine and liquid bear no stain or human odor. Stop pretending to be a virgin.” Halloween shaped chocolates were unwrapped and smeared on his body as if it was a lotion to keep him fresh. “Jet set and prepare yourself, baby. It’s the night.”

He lay on the couch. She dropped everything. He fixed her naked body and lashed his tongue out. She thrust her body on him and laughed maniacally, “I tell you a secret: I am a witch lusting for your blood. I suck humans like you. You are the vampire man. I am the woman lusting for blood, blood, and blood. Your water is blood. It’s my hunger lust…blood thirst female I am. I may be a nymph for you. We are all vampires in human shape. You forgot to put chocolates and candies outside for them. They will knock…will knock…will knock…we will be cursed…cursed…cursed…heavenly curse. I am not Menka, you naughty white man,” she roared in a screeching laugh. He freaked out.

“Let’s play Jason,”

“Scared of this brown woman? I have an enticing idea, let’s play witch and vampire. We will turn into ajnabee meaning strangers on this night. Repeat after me: I am no man or woman. I have no human flesh. My soul is cracking. The body is distancing itself. We have no age or sex. I am a vulture, she is a vulture. We are possessed by the demonic forces.”

She grabbed a tennis ball rolling on the floor, spun it and removed the skin to flick it right on Jason’s face. He grabbed the ball. “What? It’s not your ball dude. At least, I know your size…it does matter.”

“You are an expert at ball,” he retorted.

“Let play this game,” she insisted. “Today in Halloween. I ain’t sitting in shit boredom and fuck my night like that. Add some spice to our sex life.” They huddled together. She held the candy bowl filled with candies and Halloween shaped chocolates.
Menka turned to him and grabbed his fist, almost ripping his skin. Jason yelped in pain. “We are playing Halloween. I am the witch. You are the vampire. We have no human identity. Let’s play the game…wicked, ruthless, spitting fire. I will kill you. It’s the night…the full moon.”

He smirked. Jason repeated, “I am the vampire trapped in the human body. I am your shadow.”
The door banged furiously and a loud thud continued uninterruptedly. She barely had time to wrap a towel around her waist and scampered towards the door.

A harrowing voice lumped at him, ‘Trick or Treat.” He didn’t have the time to bob his head up when a burning force grabbed his fist and the next, the body flung towards the wall. His head banged several times against the cement concrete. The body twisted and spun in the air in a somersault movement. He almost fainted on the floor growling in pain, unable to take the hit of the sudden invisible force piling on him from all sides, kicking his stomach, head, and chest. The chest exploded in pain like a moth of fire ball raging inside, head twirled and a jabbing sensation on his head pressed tightly. He almost choked and was on the verge of passing out.



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Fiction: The whistling candy and jamun tree

In the faraway village, stood a Jamun tree standing tall and alone facing the dusty road where a rare vehicle spluttering past the muddy terrain brought alive the sleepy crowd flocking to trail in numbers. The villagers walked miles on their tired feet to sit under the shade of the tree during the tribulations of daily life and it provided the only luxury to the battered faces sprinkled with mud and sweat as if water fell from the sky on this dry land.

An old petrol lantern was dimly lit inside the square room smeared with cow dung on the hut roof and erected on the unpolished, decrepit wall. Little Gotiya squatted on the floor and at times changed his position to sit cross-legged while holding his second standard book to study but his little head decked on the floor. The seven-year-old rubbed his eyes and was dreaming about running with his tiny legs and naked feet in the mud to sit under the shade of his favorite jamun tree. It was too late to flee home in the night and after all, Maa told him about the doktar unngkle( Doctor uncle) who preys on young children to give them injections before throwing them to the wolves. Poor Doktar, he died but his bhoot (ghost) roamed around in the quest for small children like Gotiya who shy away from being a good boy at school and doesn’t memorize lessons at home.

The spanking at school and holding his ear on the floor sitting on the knee like a monkey, being mocked at by teachers and friends was still ringing in his mind. He recited a small prayer, “Dear God! I will give you ladoo. Please kill my teacher.” He suddenly bobbed his head and fell asleep on the floor. A tight slap hit him hard on the head which suddenly woke him up. Ouch! It hurts. He stood straight and sat cross-legged. “Don’t you dare doze off like that. Now, recite the table,” Maa gave him a stern look and snatched the book from his hand. Poor boy mumbled and slurred like a drunkard with fear in his eyes. He stammered.

Gotiya was distracted by the perfume of daal and aloo sabzi wafting on the petrol stove inside the tiny room as the cool breeze flew inside. His eyes furtively traveled towards the wooden window to get a peek of the Jamun tree slowly waning away in the fleeting distance. He had no choice but to recite the table by closing his eyes but couldn’t buckle his mind. There were too much of distractions, thinking about his friends in the village, food and the shade he craves for.

The hazy morning complicated little Gotiya’s life when he was pulled brutally from his sleep on the floor and a bucket of cold water poured on his skinny body, hair combed with force and blue school uniform thrust on him. “I don’t want to go to school,” he cried his lungs out. In a flash of anger, he bit his mom’s hand and ran with all his might towards the paddy field outside and crossed the river. The tiny soles pained and wore bruise but nothing would stop him from running with force.

He stood in front of the Jamoon tree as if it was his best friend and a revered God, “Oh! my friend. Everybody is mean. The school is bad. Mom is also wicked. No one understands me like you do. Hide me if you love me.” He fell asleep under the tree’s shade that mothered and protected him like its own child.

He was fast asleep and felt a tickle inside his belly, inching his tiny body on the grass from left to right. A bright smile flashed on his face and was carried in a dream pocked with games and moon walking to enter the perfect world of adventure, where his favorite candy that he always longed for by standing in front of the shop across the road popped inside his mouth. A loud whistle pierced his ear and it grew louder by the minute like a melody. He slowly opened his eye and got up on his knee. A bright smile appeared in front of him and a tender hand pulled open the wrapper of his favorite candy. He grabbed it with both hands and whistled on top of the candy. It wasn’t a dream but real. His mother stood and smiled at him, gently whistling on the candy. Gotiya’s eyes sparkled and ran to grab his mother’s pallu. There was no fear of school or lessons. Only him and the favorite whistling candy under the shade of the Jamun. He winked at Maa, ‘My angel.’






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Left Right…Romance chowk: Passionate toilet love and train ride

Left Right…Romance Chowk

Chapter 7:

Ouch! A thunder like sensation hit the hairy chest. He almost yelped in pain.  Sejal stroke her lip with the tongue like a maniac and untied the lace on her Salwar Kameez while Mann pressed her curvy body with his hand, cupping his lip on her neck, to reach the naked back.

The sensation drizzled down his spine as he pressed and caressed the Salwar Kameez that she was wearing and ran his finger on her breast covered by the garment.  Sejal pressed his belly with her hand that ran like a hot iron up and down, towards the chest and navel.

The sun shone glittered on their faces and the heat flew past the window to surround them on all corners. Sejal and Mann were unfazed and stuck to each other like glue, laughing unabashedly. Making out inside an empty train gave them a thrill and Sejal face was cupped to her lover who was playing with her tresses. Suddenly, the local at Bandra chugged slowly and they were caught up intensely with each other as their bodies pulled together and slipped like soap that pushed them violently inside the Indian toilet that made the door flung open to hit bang close right in front of them.

“Shit! The train is moving fast. Pull the chain,” She ordered. Mann pulled the toilet flush instead and the water that roiled inside the vase splashed on their faces. He made an innocent face, “Obviously, it’s the toilet chain and it cannot stop the train. Damn it, it’s the Indian railway to Punjab or something.” Sejal was sweating, “We gotta jump somewhere and it doesn’t matter if we land up with bruises or hurt the ass.” The train stopped after a long forty minutes and they nearly choked inside the toilet. Suddenly, footsteps and loud voices scampered inside the compartment before the engine roared to life again.

She slowly opened the toilet door and saw the horrifying image of a jam-packed compartment, human mass swathing like eggs. “We are screwed, dude!” she hit a panic mode.

“Obviously, we cannot make up inside the open toilet like that under the dirty water and shit. Shitty potty and stupid love,” he let off.

She shrugged it off and laughed like a maniac. “There is little that we can do. You can squat if you wish and me shall watch your performance as your sole audience. Baby! It’s your moment of fame.”

“And it’s your moment of thrill. Where do you get such crazy ideas of sitting inside trains to do weird stuff? You get a sort of orgy like feeling and lust spurting inside your body,” he pulled a senseless joke.

The latch was stumbling up and down as if it’s going to break at any time soon. Someone knocked on the door that freaked them out and Sejal whispered in his ear, “Now! We have to play chor and police inside. Keep pulling the flush to distract attention and make those idiots think that someone is having terrible loose motion.” Mann kept pulling the flush as if it’s some gun trigger to ward off the grandkids of Osama Bin Laden hell-bent to seek revenge on the United States.

It seems that the person who wanted to relieve got the message with the toilet flush sending the signal, Do Not Disturb for serious work is in progress inside. They almost stumbled on each other and the balance in the toilet tilted as if it was under the spell of an earthquake and both pulled their legs together, carefully not to step on water flowing on the edge of the urine bowl.

He held her by the waist and she pulled his hand away. “Shut up and don’t do that, you idiot. We are not in a five-star hotel but a toilet. I am feeling suffocated now,” she felt like biting his ear.

“You asked for such fun na. Your idea of unearthing some secret and that too inside a moving train’s toilet,” Mann sarcastically hit at her. Sejal turned her face away from him and was biting her fingernail, wondering how to get out of the train.

“Listen, we need to get out of here and coaslesce with the crowd without arising suspicion,” he furtively looked at the roof. She was restless. “But how? As it is, I am dying inside this train’s toilet. Think dude, think.”

She yanked the door open and pushed her body out of the toilet, closing it with a loud thud. Mann was almost thrust to the wall with force while she wriggled her way past the crowd, relieved that she could walk away from the odor inside. She moved with great difficulty between the crowd and finally found a place to stand awkwardly near the door to breathe free.

She stood to admire the rural life and forgetting for once that they have left Mumbai behind, as the wind blew on her face.

The sight of kids playing in a pool of mud, a villager walking with a pot of water in his hand adjusting his lungi and village women trotted with water buckets on their head as the train moved with hurtling speed. It abruptly stopped at the next station that was filled with people scampering their way inside like chickens sprouting in a farm. Mann pushed the door wide open and someone who was standing with his back firmly stuck on it, almost slipped. He looked at Mann menacingly who sneaked out by muttering a quick apology to avoid being beaten black and blue.

Mann was hanging at the train’s edge doing a Shah Rukh Khan with his hands wide open admiring the paddy field when someone pushed him and his body flung in the air to fall in a huge pool of muddy water. Sejal fell on him and the force with which she threw herself hit him like a tornado on the back.

“Now, stop looking at me like that. I pushed you off the train and thank me for that.” He was at a loss of words, not knowing how to react.” Mann’s body was spinning and hurting as if he has been whipped by a belt.



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Left Right…Romance Chowk: Panda love and Anarkali

Chapter 6: Panda love and Anarkali

“Abe Anarkali, at least say something? Why are you acting pricey like a mehenga bride and I am no sasta Dulha,” Sejal ruffled his hair. He gave her cold stares. He pushed her hand away from her. Mann shunned her and was in no mood to speak.

“Don’t you dare to touch my hair or come an inch near me or I will call aunty?” he warned her. She was unfazed by his empty threats and dared him by walking seductively in her shorts, moving an inch closer to him. Sejal eyed him like a tigress lusting on its prey. Mann almost shouted like a child, “Aunty…”

She was amused and grinned. “Let it be. I am not going to molest you in any case and drag you on the bed. Cry babies should be left on their own. You such a girl, Mann.” He protested, “It’s so racist and sexist. How can you speak like that?”

“Whatever,” Sejal muttered. “Ab agey bhi kuch toh bol. I ain’t going to sit in silence and please stop this tear jerking sullen act.”

“Why did you do that?” Mann sat cross faced in front of her.

“I did what?” she was perplexed.

“Don’t you try to change the topic and pretend to be innocent? We lost our sleep and courted danger to find you sitting inside the train on the Monsoon Day when the city was sinking. Is this your idea of fun? One rainy night, to run away and sit inside a train compartment that was filled with water. Are you aware how worried aunty was?”

She became silent and suddenly broke into a cackle. “You are such a cute chamcha! Abe oye! My Mom’s chamcha. What do you think that you got a legitimate fuck entry into my house as the official damaad.” She pinched his cheek. “You look like such a sweet little munchkin yaara. I couldn’t imagine that you are so stuck with this rain incident and in the end, like filmi people, we did smooch. Guys will be guys.”

Mann exuded a faint smile and went point-blank. Deep inside, he was trying to be pricey and putting an act pretending to be all hurt since Sejal didn’t bring up the topic of the monsoon tryst.

“Stop behaving like Dadaji,” she told him. “There is a big secret behind me sneaking out in the rain to go sit inside the train with a book as companion. See! I love thrills and adventure.”

She made a straight face and pressed her naked feet on him. “I am a bit, just little bit ashamed for that day but you saved my life braving danger.  I am sorry for putting you and Maa through all this. You love me a lot, na.”

Mann slowly moved his face an inch away from her. “Tell na. What are you being so shy? You became my Dabbang hero on that day and putting your life at risk to save me from the water. I was shit scared that both of us would never be able to make it.”

“Oh! Wow! Lara Croft you are. You had the time to think about us while drowning,” he teased.

“You see. I am a thoughtful girl friend. And, you were cross with me. Acha sorry yaar. What else do you wanna me do now? Uthak Bhaitak like a monkey,” Sejal flashed a bright smile. “At least tell that you love me, na,” she was eager to hear him spell the three-letter words.

Mann breathed in and out. “No! I was saving you and not to take Paap of letting a girl die. I am in love with Shaina.” Sejal turned her face abruptly and her voice rose, “Now who the fuck is Shaina?” It felt like a pinch inside her heart.

It was his turn to laugh gleefully. “My neighbor’s pet dog. Of course, I love you, idiot.” Sejal pushed him on the bed, pressed his chest with her leg and pump fisted him on the stomach. Both wriggled and rolled with each other between laughter and cuddled each other. She smacked him on the mouth and whispered, “It’s a secret that I am going to tell you. The day I sneaked out to sit inside the train…”

He moved his eyes furtively to ask in a hush and seductive tone, “What’s your train secret?” She dragged him off the bed, “Now! Let’s go out and unravel the mystery. Another clue, the secret destination lies in a public glare.”

Mann protested that they were not able to make out, “You are such a kabab me Haddi’ and to which she responded, “That I am! I promise you the spicy sex if we unravel the mystery together. Well! It’s not over and patience will reap the fruit, my dolled panda.” She scratched his nose.