Tuesday, February 9, 2016

A Pixie from the Eastern Woods




A pixie, a shower of rain and the smell of the earth

 




She must have been ten or twelve, and from the local village. She was watching me as I scurried up along the hilly path.
Suddenly I tripped over a stone and she burst out giggling.

“Always in a hurry aren’t you? Scared of the black clouds in the sky, are you”?


Yes, the sky was threatening. It is going to rain any moment, the air was getting sultry.
I didn’t reply and kept climbing the hill. I must reach the town at the top before it begins to pour.
Like a mountain goat jumping from one mound to mound she followed me..

“It will be the first rain of the year, won’t you like to get wet in it? You are already wet with your sweat”.
Yes, I know that, I have been sweating the whole day, and I am smelling and I don’t like it.
 
“Slow down, Wait and watch how the clouds play hide and seek over the mountain”..
I have no time for that and  must reach the top. I increased my pace, but she would not stop following me.
Suddenly it began to rain and I ran to shelter myself under the canopy of a big tree.
She jumped over a large stone, looking up the sky she extended her arms as if to catch a whole load of rain drops. The rain hitting her face trickled down like beads of pearls.  Her thin frock, wet and transparent and clinging to her nascent young body spoke of a promise yet to fulfil. For the first time I really looked at her, she looked very pretty.

The rain let up the way it came.
She came running towards me and said.

“Now the leaves on the trees will look greener, flowers will be brighter! Don’t run, look at all the flower along the road and smile, they will smile back at you”.

She shook a large Arum leaf, drops of rain water rolled like a ball and broke into thousand little gems. She giggled again.
Jumping to go she shouted back-
“Smell the air now it smells so good”!

- and like a pixie she vanished in the woods.








Friday, August 22, 2014

The First Kiss

                                              
                                   Kiss Me Till I Melt



Sisi was just like one of those princess from my Russian Story book where Ivan jumps high with his magic horse, reaches the window of the tall castle and plants a kiss on Princess Irina’s lips.

The colorful pictures of all the lovely princesses in their pink dresses took me on a wild flight to a fantasy world of syrupy romances. I was in love with those little princesses, especially the ones with black hair. The golden heads reminded me of my old Granny with her thick and completely white lock of hair.
But black or golden hair, they all looked very beautiful with the funny round patches of reds on their cheeks. They were just like Sisi's!

We had a very large lawn by the side of our house. It was always covered with the softest grass, and shaded with rows of Lychee trees all around it. This was meeting ground for us kids and we played kabbadi whenever Pinchu couldn't borrow the worn out football from his brother.

Sisi was always in the opposite team, though not by her choice.  It was my design that we two were always on different sides. Whenever she would play her turn, I would grab and pin her down just as she would be near the crossing line. She desperately tried to get herself free but soon would run out of breath.  Her cheeks would turn red and she will give up. Walking out of the kabbadi court she will look at me questioningly with eyes about to break into tears . The 'Why do you do that to me' look often though disturbed me, but the pleasure of seeing those red round patches on her cheeks was always greater.
She was my Irina, my Myra, and my Nastasya.

Sisi was staying with us for some days as her parents were away on a month long deputation. Having Sisi around in the house was like getting a gift from heaven. Well it was not exactly a gift from heaven but one from her father. It was a large box of chocolates and taffies in various shapes wrapped in shiny colored foils, which she shared with me. She would let me have as many of them as I wanted but for those round chocolates with shiny stars on the wrappers.
Those were her favorite and she would not let anyone have more than just one piece ever.
Sisi kept this box in the fridge.
I am not sure if in those days we really needed a refrigerator, but we had one. We were instructed not to drink cold water directly from  the fridge, I often did so. It was not because I was adapted to cold water but the fridge in the house then was a novelty. And of course it had the box of chocolates inside which made me reach the fridge in close frequencies. With every drink of water, one of Sisi’s favorite chocolate would surreptitiously make its way to my mouth.

Sisi and I were very close  friends and we felt very tenderly toward one another.
Today, more than forty years later, sitting down to write about her I wonder what was between us.
I never understood why I felt that way for her.

What was in her soft moist palm that made my mind go dreamy every time she touched me? 
What was in the strange softness of her body that I never wanted loosen my grip around her and go free in those kabbadi games? 
Why the smell of her silky straight hair brushing against my face made it so difficult for me to breathe and yet I wanted to smell her so much? 

But that was not our age to be troubled with these questions. It was a time to just grow up caring for nothing else! Maybe that is why I so sadistically enjoyed seeing a puzzled look on Sisi’s face as she stood by the fridge, counting and wondering how and where her chocolates were disappearing.

Finally she decided to hide the box in her room.
It was a warm afternoon next day when I sneaked into Sisi’s room. She was  on the bed sleeping with a half opened  book hanging from her hand. The chocolate box was peeping out from the back of the books on her table. Slowly I opened the box. The chocolates were loose and sticky with the afternoon heat.
Putting one in my mouth I looked at Sisi.
Her hair spreading over the pillow looked like a sheet of soft chiffon simmering like stars against a dark sky. Sisi's face was in a translucent pinkish glow with a ray of sunlight through the window falling on her cheek. 

I had never seen her so beautiful before.
Kneeling down by the bed side I gently touched her. Sisi opened opened her eyes, smiled and asked me
"What are you looking at"?
"At a princess from my story books". I replied.

Sisi stopped smiling and froze for a moment. Suddenly putting her arm around my head she pulled my face towards her and put her lips on mine. An electric sensation ran all over my body. I too pulled and pressed her against me putting my hand around her. Her lips went all over mine, licking, nibbling and gently biting with frantic hunger. My breathing became heavier and everything around us dissolved into an infinite nothingness. The silence of the room broke into a symphony of the sweetest score I had never heard before. Notes of the unknown music kept rising to a crescendo.

Then suddenly, without any warning the clash of cymbals shattered everything.
“You idiot, you had been eating my chocolates"!
I stood up.

"Thief"!

Sisi shouted  throwing the book at me.
Trying to dodge I sneered and said-

“Next time I will eat onions and garlics before you kiss me again"!
Sisi was going all red with her face. Maybe she was again looking just like Irina and Myra from my book. But I had no time to look. Sisi was picking up the wooden flower vase this time.
I had to run!

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Desperately Seeking Courtney, The Ultimate Girl.

Beauty with Breasts, Brain!

 

Part 1. Guru

 

Guru was not willing to come with me. After a long cajoling he eventually relented and sat pillion on my motorcycle. 

Guruprasad, in short Guru was the college playboy and our in-house Love Guru.
Any one with problems in his love life comes to him asking for advice. Guru keeps a dedicated notebook in his college bag where names of all his girlfriends in alphabetical order and commitments of dates were entered. An extra pair of neatly pressed shirt and a good supply of expensive perfume were also kept ready in that bag.
“Never know when you might need them” he would say.

Guru had a completely different method of charming a girl, which trying to copy many realized a suicide mission would have been far more pleasurable.
Guru was not a chivalrous gentleman, but quite the opposite. He was always direct in his approach, never flattered any one and was rather crude. Guru was not a miser; but did not believe spending money on gifts and birthday cards. Every restaurant bill on a date was split to the last decimal. 

Yet he was a charmer par excellence!

Guru, if not out on a date, loved to hang out with me at the tea stall near the shopping arcade. He would often sermon me as we watched the college girls pass by.

 “It is very important to know the right girl for your date”.
And then he would let me have a glimpse of the vast knowledge he had on the subject.
“There are mainly three types of girls. But there are some avoidable ones.”

He looked around for an example and finding one he almost shouted pointing at the girl in the nearby shop.
“Aah, Look at that one in that shop!” 

The girl in the shop was leaning over the sales counter with her elbows on the table and giving a boobnosis to the sales boy. Her voluptuous breasts were plunked on the table. The low buttoned shirt made almost nothing invisible and the huge breasts were competing with one another to get out of their suffocating enclosure. The way she stood with one leg wrapped around the other made her two buns almost rip the seams off her pant. The sales boy across the table was having a tough time. His bulging eyes wanted to plunge deep into her cleavage, his body moved and turned but his head remained locked in one angle. The sexy siren very much aware of this was enjoying it. It was for sure she had no intention of buying that box of tissues at all. She was just toying with it.

“That’s the one which belongs to the attention seekers tribe. She will tease you with her pushed up boobs and her jerky bums. But you go one step closer and she will howl for respect”!
Guru sneered and said
“Do you know what I will tell her? Baby, shove your boobs in, tuck your buttocks and straighten your duck face. May be I will respect you then.”

 
He made a face of disgust, lit a cigarette and continued.

“If you want to spend your time with any girl then go for one belonging to the fun types. They just want to have fun and what else do you want? You are not looking for a soul mate for life here. Just have a fun filled night and in the morning she will squeeze your balls, get out of your room and say-
“Hey whatever your name was, you were good””.


Gurus paused for a moment, took a long puff, blew a ring in his usual contemplative style and continued again.
 “But you are not looking for fun girl. You want the intelligent type. I do not quite agree with your choice. I may not be studious type like you, but I am intelligicated.  In spite of that intelligent girls don’t excite me. Most of them are fake intellectuals. They go to the library to read 'Mills and Boon' but will carry a book of quotes with them. Instead of giving a straight answer to a question they spew quotes after quotes. The real ones may be are fun given a long shot.  She may even be a geek, but brainlicious types are a boring lot for me and I just ignore them. You want to meet a girl like that, it’s fine by me. But do you recognize them, No. That is where you fail. You need my trained eyes for that. 
He looked away from me, shrugged and said-

“But do you ever listen to me.?”

Part 2. Me the Sapiosexual


Guru would of course laugh at me and say-
“Why don’t you go and date the old librarian, she the perfect match for you”!
Old Mrs. Joseph was an intelligent person. But I doubt even in her younger version she would have been my kind of girl.
And then again I had no entry to the Library. 
My dossier was written in the library and that too in the history section. 
Those huge halls with intoxicating smell of books were my regular afternoon paradise. Though all my dreams were made there, the tall racks of books were not my prime interest.
I was in my lookout for Cleopatra in there, who one day would come desperately trying to reach the book on the top most shelves. I would march forward, easily take the book out and give it to her, and our lifelong romance would begin!

My dream did come true one day, and my romance really began; but unfortunately not with Cleopatra but Marilyn Monroe.




Bert Stern’s The Last Sitting" was not a book all could comfortably leaf thru in public, so it was
tucked in the unreachable top shelf.
I never thought intelligence was the Sex Goddess's strong point. She had a nice pair of boobs
and that was her strong point. She often made her strong points quite visible and allowed
producers in their study room to soften them up a bit while making the scripts juicier.
I too was a boob lover and this book had plenty of them all over.
This book of booties rather than collecting dust in a forlorn corner of the library should be to
my collection where it will be more appreciated.
Thus one by one all pages were slowly and neatly cut, removed and replaced by a center-spread of “Debonair” magazine or a blank paper whenever the magazine was not yet out in
the local book stores.

Almost all pages were skillfully smuggled out.
But just when the Marilyn was about to let the silky chiffon slide off her breasts completely, my
artistic endeavor  was discovered and my smuggling carrier came  to an end.
A photo of mine was enlarged, photocopied and placed all on the notice boards with instruction to stop me from entering the sacred premise.
In spite of not having the last photo, the book was reassembled, the spine glued and bound. The spare Debonair center-spread did make a reasonable cover. The newborn book was made to circulate in most of the rooms of my hostel. It was in great demand and some had to stand in queue for their turn.
                            

Part 3. Miss India.

Though the library door was closed for me, my quest for the eternal beauty with brain was not yet over. Kaki’s tea stall opposite the library became my new watch tower. I of course had to drink up a good amount tea in Kaki’s ‘half a cup’ size. 
And one day I saw her. 
She came in the most gracious way and entered the lane leading to the library. She was the ultimate balance of beauty and intelligence. There was a sheer radiance in her face; she was one who seeks knowledge. The thick horn rimmed glasses said it all! She was the one I was waiting for all of my life! She was the one who make you believe in love, specially the one that happens in the first sight, one sided of course; she wasn’t even looking towards me. 
Sitting at Kaki’s tea stall I observed her for days. At exactly four past ten she is at the library lane, never late. I have to meet her, talk to her. I was sure I will win her heart and she will be mine!

This is where Guru comes in. I wanted his support; he was of course not very enthusiastic about it.

Just as we reached Kaki’s make shift stall, she appeared on the other side of the road, punctual to the last second. She was wearing a white Salwar, a green Churidar with an orange Dupatta.
Guru had one look and before I could stop him he commented-
“Aha, There she is, I did not know you were looking for Mother India”.

“Hey Guru please, don’t be disrespectful. She is looking nice in that dress”.

“Alright, all right, I would rather call her Miss India instead”.
I gave up with Guru.
We crossed the road and I stopped my motorcycle right by her just when she was turning towards the lane. I wanted to say something to her but couldn’t think of anything. In my mind I had rehearsed thousand times but at this moment everything came to a blank.

“Hello, do you happen to be Vicky’s sister”?
What the heck was that?


She turned toward me and with the sweetest smile asked-
“Who is Vicky”?

Uh so who is Vicky really!
 “..That tall muscular chap who goes to the Gym across the road”.

“Well I know almost all the muscular guys in that gym, but there is no one called Vicky”.

Shit! Couldn’t there be at least one by that name? I had to change my strategy.
“Well I know there is no Vicky. I find you very attractive and just wanted to talk to you”!
That was direct and even Guru pressed my shoulder giving it a nod of approval.

“Ah that’s a better pick up line. You should’ve used it in the first place”. She said.

With much daring coming to me I went ahead with the conversation.
“I see you every day going to the library. You must be preparing for some important test. Are you planning to sit for the ICS examination, or may be IAS?

“ICS?  IAS? Huh! And who the hell wants to bury into those stuffy smelly books”? She replied with a sneer.

“It is those football and hockey players who come to exercise in that open ground behind the library. I am trying to sell them raffle tickets. You two can also buy a few. I will do even better than that, I will give you four books to sell, we will split the profit fifty fifty”!

My motor cycle was shaking; Guru was trying to control his laughter.
Alright Guru stops laughing. I made a mistake, wrong temple, and wrong goddess! I will find the right one day!

On our way back, Guru brought his face near to my ears and said-
“Do you think Goddess Saraswati too could’ve been a raffle player”?

Oh, Just shut up  and let me ride the motorcycle.