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.’







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.



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.



Fiction: Footprint of love

A fiction tale that I am doing after a very long time. A love story that I have tried to write in a different way set against the backdrop of Monsoon, and something that I have perhaps never tried before. Hope the readers will like it and looking for honest feedback.

Footprint of love

The water see-sawed from gentle to violent and roiled into a storm to reach a crescendo high and the windy breeze blustered its way past the Arabian Sea. The Monsoon has reached the shores in the evening and it became dark everywhere.  A feeble blip could be spotted on the buildings that sprawled in the city.

The Jamun and peepal trees warped in a half circle and the leaves splayed like glue on the wet pavement. Black umbrellas were pushed by the thunderous force and human bodies jolted and wavered to balance their steps.  She was caught in a storm and the body lay erect and stiff like a statue on the cement concrete and unfazed by the maelstrom of fury. No power on earth that could make her bulge away from this position. Everyone skittered to safety. The water splashed on her face. The sticky white dupatta and Salwar were drenched and the Kohlapuri chappal sat like a glove on her soft and flawless feet. She longed for his sight.

After all, they met for the first time, held hands and kissed voraciously on the parapet at Marine Drive before he left her to defend the nation on the border. He had to go. She couldn’t stop him. Tears were filled to the brim. Her soul has already died but the lifeless body was adorned like a bride wearing shiny attire and a bindi applied on her forehead as she sat on the parapet to wait for her prince every night. There was nothing on earth that could make her see reason.

The slim boy empathized with the Didi who bought a single rose and bunch of flowers from him every evening and his eyes became moist looking at her state. She tied the flowers on the bun and imagining that it’s the hand of his prince adorning her hair.

The last time he walked with poise in his army uniform towards her and warbled into her ear on a Monsoon evening. She loved how he bent on his feet and kissed her hand like a gentleman of royal lineage. He held her hand slowly and took off her chappal, as they trudged the rocks to sit atop watching the water flowing down. She bit him on his ear and not giving damn to the world.  It was just him, her and their universe. Thrusting her legs to stroke his ear and jumping within inches of his waist, he held her as she smacked his lip and swayed to the tune of intimacy, the love bites flew deep inside her soul. He untied the lace of her blouse and kissed her, running his finger deep inside her body. It started raining suddenly. They traipsed their way downstairs and walked on the soggy path together, clutched to each other by the waist and unmoved by the roving eyes.

It was the dreaded phone call that wrecked their world. Emergency was declared. He had no choice. After all, he had to urgently report to his post in Ladakh. She became furious like the stormy sea water.  She roared like a tigress, scratched his face before pushing him away. “Go! I don’t want to see your face,” she sniveled. He held her tight and pushed his tongue inside her mouth.

It’s been a year. The war has stopped. No one heard about Major Vikrant. He never sent a letter home. He pretended that she never existed. Perhaps, he found someone in Ladakh. Mitali was blinded by his love. She made the trip every night and waited for his footsteps in vain. But, the human instinct could never fail her. She knew that. The voice of reason of her loved and closed ones bore no impact on the soul that was drowned in his love. The tears have stopped. She has ceased to be human but a lifeless robot, anticipating that one day Major will wait for his Mitali at the parapet and pick her in his arm. After all, their love can never die. The mountains and the sea listened to her shriek at night. The dead soul was hanging by a thread and a faint hope like the dim light in the city was the only reason that kept her alive.  The chubby girl slowly lost her spark and the dark spot on the face echoed the bruise of a heart shred into pieces.

Thunder roared. Lightning struck. The grey sky and cloud slowly turned black. The rain slathered every space in the city. There was not one soul or animal wading on the parapet that wore a desert look.

The violent wind shook her off and ruffled the crumpled hair like a rush of divinity lashing on her.  It jolted the half dead soul that suddenly stirred to life after days, nights and months that felt like a life time. She slowly upped her face to stare blankly at a car. The door slid open. A powerful but unknown force dragged her inert body to life and Mitali wheezed towards a wheel chair rolling its way on the parapet. She stopped the wheel chair with all her force.  She felt dizzy but hanged to the human flesh that sat like a corpse. His eyes lid moved slowly and a feeble smile surfaced. It was him. Major Vikrant twitched fingers touched her skin. Stream of tears ran down on her face. He was inert like a stone but the facial nerves were moving. The love of her life was convinced that he will find his Mitali in the nest where the love once bloomed. It was written in the stars. Together, they will conquer love and brave the storm. It was a matter of time. They never lost faith. It started raining again and water sprinkled on them as she tightly held to his hand.



Left Right Romance Chowk: Chapter 1

Hey, people! I am writing a brand new rom-com and campus romance novella on the blog, ‘Left Right Romance Chowk.’ It’s the first chapter, ‘Blueberry kiss.’ Hope you will like this fresh romance outing that I am doing after a long time.

Chapter 1: Blueberry kiss

The knotted silky long hair and black curly tresses decked on Sejal’s hair like the Pharaoh perched on its crown. The brightly painted yellow room shimmered in the sunny afternoon as sunlight percolated inside the room. The curtain was pulled out and the sea breeze blew inside. She wore a plain white tee and a black short.

The soft music, Kabhie Kabhie mere dil mein khayal aata hai aired on Radio Mirchi felt like the fresh dew inside the modest apartment standing tall in the outskirt of Mumbai and four legs separated by a thin distance. He wore a pink short. Their legs touched each other as they sat on the bed. He was wearing Sejal’s short. The smoke billowed inside the room that metamorphosed with the sunlight flowing inside. The joint was passed between both hands. Her voice chirped to the sound of a bird cooing insanely in his ear. He was already high on ganja. She was zonked.

A bottle of wine, lays chips and birthday cake was splattered on the wooden table. Her voice blurred in his ear, “Your name is too long…I am calling you Mann. Fuck this Manendra. It sounds like an orgy gone wrong.” There were no reasons to celebrate. Just like that toh party karo nahin toh bhalu ayenge humein lene was Sejal’s swan song. It rang an echo in Mann’s ear as if it has become their love anthem.

She slowly perched her body backward, oscillating from a sitting position to spread herself on the bed in a playful mood.  The peachy eyes started intensely at his green Tantra Tee shirt with the tagline, ‘Tell your boob to stop staring at my eyes.’ “You lecherous man,” she snickered. “It’s the fault of your eyes. Kya karna ka irada hai? Don’t think too much or have high expectations. I ain’t letting your quivering lip touch me. I’m no chocolate.”

He slowly pushed his body on the bed to rest on his side and grabbed the palm of her hand. The lovelorn man twisted her hair lock with his fingers. “You are a mystic princess,” he whispered. He was trying to find his balance on the small bed and awkwardly moved his body. “How are you feeling inside? Hope it’s not hurting your asset,” she winked.  It was their dare day. Sejal called the shots and challenged him to wear her clothes, pink short and underwear. They exchanged each other’s clothes, were stoned and drank wine to heavenly bliss.

“Nah!” he made a face like a sad pup eyed dog and she mocked him playfully with doe-eyed expression, “Cho chweet…my little puppy…mera bacha handsome ladka aur mein ladki beautiful.”

Mann lashed his tongue out and gravitated his head towards the rotating ceiling fan. She slapped him on the hand, “Pass me the joint na and stop behaving like a guzra zamana ka dejected Aashiq. I am no Meena Kumari, mere Dilip Kumar.”

She took a deep drag and passed to him. Their vision became blurred. “Oh! This shaadi,” he blurted out. Sejal slowly moved away from her position to sit on the bed. “Dude! Why the fuck you get such crazy ideas about shaadi? We are only 18 something. What makes you think that I am going to elope with you? I love thrills but not itna. I don’t have any intention to make history in 2017 and for fuck sake, Laila Majnu or Romeo and Juliet were chutiya.”

“This shit is so fucking good! Waise bhi who is speaking about Shaadi,” he pretended to be under some magic spell. She pulled his hair, “Dude it’s you. Where are you?”

“In your arms,” he pretended to be a coy bride and rested his head on her lap. Sejal grinned, “Yes! Of course. I thought you were selling pani puri outside Salman Khan home in Bandstand.” He laughed loud.

Beaming like a child, Mann longed for a kiss. “Please yaa! Just once,” he pleaded. She shrugged off his demand, “I told you that I am no candy or chocolate and you are no kiddo. It’s my lip. Nah! It doesn’t like your taste today. As it is, your body perfume feels like raita.

He almost belched out what the fuck…when she clung to him and pressed his mouth. Mann was too stunned to react. “Chalo! It’s been bery long time for a blueberry kiss,” she cupped her lip to his face. They kissed again and their lips were pressed together like glue, exploring every line, inch, and angle.  She brutally pulled away from him.

It hit him like an electric jolt. Mann stammered , “Excuse me!” She was unfazed, “You haven’t heard or what! Get out of my house.” He protested. She dragged him out, “Buzz out man.”





#QuotedStories #4: Lost voice in the art of silence

This post is written as part of #QuotedStories  #4 hosted by Rohan and Upasna on their blogs. I choose to combine the two quotes to make it into fiction:

In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends

-Martin Luther King, Jr.

Silence is one of the hardest arguments to refute

-Josh Billings


Disclaimer: The post below is a work of fiction that doesn’t have the slightest bearing on my life and the people surrounding me. Trust me, I have broken up in the past with kisses and pain but on very healthy terms. Of course, my friends are the most wonderful thing that happened to me and am forever grateful to them. Truly blessed I am to have them in my life.

blog link up

#QuotedStories: Lost voice in the art of silence

It’s the story of my break up. I choose to stay muted and silent at the rocket of accusations flung on me. I stood there and faced the accusations that felt like sniper during war. My eyes conveyed sadness and hurt that spoke a thousand words. I choose silence as the weapon to defend myself. It was her choice to listen to strangers who wanted to drift us apart. I stood accused in the courtroom prosecuted and judged by her. Who says that I didn’t have any defense to put my best arguments forward? It was the silence. I choose silence to refute the balls of fire thrown at me. It was my best defense.

Don’t they say, silence is the best weapon. I let her speak for I was convinced that her fury wouldn’t subside. It was like the fire ravaging my soul. She would be satisfied only after ripping me apart, emasculated my dignity as a lover, man, and human. The hell-bent conviction to bring me down and insult me in front of everyone, my friends and her gang made her the victor. She hated it when her ego was bruised.

The weapon in her hand was my silence which echoed guilt to her eyes and the anger that rose and spiraled inside her. Every single thing that happened between us was brought in the open. But, I knew that she was going to lose her force and the anger that boiled inside her would be doused like fire. It’s my silence, right. There is no winner or loser in a relationship. The silence has empowered me and slowly, nursed the wounds, scars and bruise that cut and bled through my veins.

There was another reason for me to remain silent. It was not her. My friends who knew the truth. They choose to remain like mute spectators and it hurt me the most. Silence can be a weapon and sow the seed of destruction at the same time. Not that I need them as a shield to justify myself. Pack of lies was told. They were my own who knew the sacred truth but they chose to dishonor it. It was not their words that mattered but silence. It’s their right. It hurts the most when your own choose to be spectators when you are disrobed in an open court. They were my pride and ego. Their silence was the one thing that hurt more than she did. She was a victim of falsehood and manipulation. But, they were not. Not a single word. My friends! The weapon that pierced my heart and soul bore their names.

The gentle and still seas at night become stormy and turn into a whirlwind at the sight of the high tide to defend its occupants. Don’t they say, the high tide lifts all boats!



Sex with an ex (10): The Final act

The waft of stormy breeze blew past the yellow curtain with dotted gold that rolled like balls knotted into each other. It seems like a tale from the Arabian night. She looked like a Goddess who conquered love, defeat, angst and pain. The shadow of her resplendent body, the freshly sculptured face, nape, and naked body from top-to-toe shimmered and glittered like gold.  She wore a nymph form and shadow that intrigued and scared him at the same time, the flawless skin and the mysterious deep eyes morphed into intense human form.

Ajay flung his cigarette butt as he stood outside the balcony in the dark and admired her from a distance. She was too beautiful to resist. But, at the same time, he didn’t dare touch her in the current avatar. How she transformed into an Arabian princess! Her lusty eyes invited him to burn into the fire of intense love. She slowly hailed her hand like an invisible angle. He couldn’t say no to her. Ajay slowly climbed on the bed and gaped at this naked body that lay in front of him. She was the Goddess of seduction, sparked illusion and yet was real at the same time.

There was something evil about her and the flurry of emotions displayed in her eyes sent a shiver down his spine and an electrified sensation that ran deep inside his body. He almost fainted on the bed. She ran her fingers sensually inside his white shirt and unbuttoned his blue denim, pressing inside his under pant. It hardened him. He couldn’t control the sensation. She was in control of his senses, twisting her body towards him as both swirled and rolled on the bed. There was a power that stroked and captured him and he kissed her passionately on the mouth. It felt like thunder. Slowly, he reached her neck, back and slid his hand and cusped his face under her round, curvy   bottom. The passionate kiss shone like the trace of butterfly that adorned her flawless and creamy skin.

The gentle woman that she was has suddenly turned into a fiery and wild tigress who pressed her leg and knee on his chest with force and violence. It hurt him. He yelled. Yet, he wasn’t complaining as she unzipped her bra and gently took his hand to explore and make her stiff as he bit her nipple with passion. She felt light. It was the most fulfilling sex that she ever craved for and they reached the elixir with sheer brutal force and power. She was dominant like lightning travelling faster that wind gust. The slow caress became like wild boars in the jungle craving and satiating hunger. Both of them were deprived souls in quest of their animate spirit and predators hunting for their target in the lone forest.

Ajay couldn’t recognize this woman. He wondered, ‘Is she the same woman who I once ever loved, gentle, sex shy and pushed me away as I desired more from her?.’ He was confused and helpless. After all, the past 48 hours has given him a jolt that he wouldn’t be surprised if she took the form of a ghost or revealed an evil side that exterminated him. He would die happily at her hands. Deep inside, he was scared after the whole chase and emerging with scathed and scars from the jaws of death. Both of them moaned and their bodies interlocked together, she scratched him while he pushed his whole body inside her. He took her name in agony, ‘Anita’.

She chided him with a smile, ‘Anita and Ajay are dead to the world. I am Rohini and you are my mysterious lover that the world doesn’t know but heard of. Baby! Do I need to remind you every time? ’ He smiled but at the same time, was amazed at her transformation. She knew what he was thinking, “Don’t ponder so much. We gotta fly tomorrow to a new place where nobody will ever recognise or chase us. It’s a new birth and new world. But, we saved our city, our Mumbai. The Unsung heroes are us for no one will ever get wind of the calamity that could have hit and killed people. It’s time to leave everything behind and no regrets, please’

At times, Ajay really wondered whether she is Rohini in real for her every move, cunningness and scheming mind came into play be it life or sex, remind him of his ex-wife. How she transformed into her overnight! The more he thought about it, the more he lost his head that spun like a tail and dragged him into an entangled web that both couldn’t give a definite answer.

It was six in the morning when both of them wearing identical white shirt and black trousers on grey blazer looking like corporate honchos stepped into the plane. They were welcomed by the sensually beautiful hair hostess whose jet fair fell on her shoulder and was sensual as the night stars in her red blouse and blue short skirt.  Ajay fixed his gaze on her curvy body and breasts and winked at her. She was floored by his move and softly spoke, “Have a safe flight sir.”

Both Ajay and Anita, who became Rohini, fastened their seat belts. She teased him as the airhostess flitted her way past them, “Nice boobs…hmm how can you miss her curvy and athletics legs?” He planted a peck on her lip. The plane zoomed with speed to disappear in the cloud and sky to an unknown destination as Ajay and Anita took new names on their passport.s A new beginning.

The end

Post script: Finally it’s done. It was in December 2011 when I wrote the first outing one of the rare times when the title struck before I worked on the story. At that time, I had a vague idea of what fiction looked like and dabbled in an amateurish manner. There were few people who found it engaging. Read it here. As it has always been the norm with me, I write something and forget it despite writing down that the story would be continued. It took me more than five and a half years to revive the story. Never in my wildest imagination that I thought to continue the story. But, I did in 2016. Read the second part here. Though the title is Sex with an ex, I turned into a thriller with conspiracy, treachery, shades of grey to make my characters human. Though sex is set against the backdrop, there are many chapters that may suggest there is no sex but chase to save a city. I earlier thought to make the characters Rohini and Anita genuine friends but injected grey elements in them to make the story go forward. It turned into a suspense and actions towards the climax like in our good commercial Hindi movies. I have always believed in the entertainment and masala quotient in my stories. Logic is not for me in stories. Of course, in the last few chapters I went to the Hindi cinema route revisiting the earlier chapters and inject rewind and fast forward. It’s only in this last chapter that I visited sex and erotic scenes to stay true with the theme, Sex with an ex. Hope justice has been done after I revived the story and took more than four years to write and edit this novel. Happy reading. You can read the rest of the chapters here. Thanks you everyone who read Sex with an ex. It’s dark. I still can’t believe that I’ve done it and more so taking so many years.

Sex with an ex: Chapter 3 

Sex with an ex: Chapter 4

Sex with an ex: Chapter 5

Sex with an ex: Chapter 6

Sex with an ex: Chapter 7

Sex with an ex: Chapter 8

Sex with an ex: Chapter 9

With love