That day I bumped on a lady, just when I was pondering who she was, that I have seen her somewhere, she closed in on me, meowed…hi handsome…how are you?
I was delighted, I returned her compliments saying the handsome was fine and he was very happy to meet a sexy body like her.
“Meeting? How about mating,” she asked innocently. No doubt, I was on the seventh heaven. But wondered, and finally asked, her nationality.
Indian!!! I came to know first hand. Now that was surprising. I have never come across an Indian lady openly bragging about those mating and shitting stuff. But, bastard that I am, I did not try to spoil the fun by going deep here in the street, in front of everybody.
She pointed towards North, I started walking behind her. then she pointed East, before knowing where I was heading towards, I was on a taxi. Strangely, she didn’t say anything to the taxi, as if the taxi driver knew her address. What is the relationship between the driver and this bong-shell? I was anxious, jealous too. Just to console myself I fancifully derived out they must be siblings.
After getting down at a place, she started walking. Needless to say, I followed her. The driver caught hold of me, “hey you scoundrel, going for costly fun without paying my due, who will pay the fare, you fuckface.” I was hurt. The way he described me…it was hurting. Truth always hurts.
It was all a dream walk. Following the girl of my dream. When I gained consciousness, I found myself in a corridor, full of bold girls, in cheap make-ups. I pinched myself to know whether I was alive. Girl…girl and girls everywhere, where am I, I wandered. I didn’t remember doing anything worthwhile that God should reward me like this.
I was led to a dingy, smelly room. A 40 watt bulb’s illumination was making the already dark room darker. The bedsheet was dirty with prominent stains in it. She began to undress. I have never seen such a careful deceit of an undernourished body. She was undressing as if I was just a mirror where she was weighing her beauty. My reactions were her reflections. It was not at all encouraging.
She stopped halfway, “bastard why are you not undressing too?”
I realized I am in a hell, “why should I?”
--why you don’t want to fuck me? am I that bad? Say honestly, it’s a matter of bread and butter.
--you definitely are gorgeous, but in this present state, I won’t like to have sex with you.
--why, your cock doesn’t crows or what?
--how come somebody have sex without love in it?
--why not, for the past five years I am satisfying people without loving them. and I guess I didn’t love my customers and they didn’t love me either.
--so you are a prostitute.
--I am, sir. Can we now finish the affair soon. I have other customers to fetch, unless you have good money to book me for the night.
--surely I can book you. But I cannot have sex with somebody without having a hint f love init.
--love is only an illusion dear, sometimes an instrument for what men always want. Tell me, when you came with me was your intentions noble enough. Wasn’t you allured by the sex prospects?
--yes, it was but I never thought this would turn like this. Besides, I thought I have see you somewhere.
--indeed you have seen me. Long time back…
--but I never came here, I have never had sex with you?
--do you think people like me only have sex life, we don’t or didn’t have a decent life, you think?
--I didn’t say that, but how possibly can we meet if I never came to this place? And I don’t remember having a talk with you earlier.
--you indeed were a very talkative guy, if my memory is not that bad.
--who are you and where did we meet?
--why, you want to know that, you have come here to fuck me right. Do your job and get lost.
“I didn’t come here to have sex with you. My adventurous nature always lures me to misadventures,” I protested.
--you didn’t change much darling, she said.
--who are you?
She gazed at me for a long time, finally said in a shaken voice, “you remember Mousumi, Ponchu?”
It was such a sudden revelation that I couldn’t help myself. I shoot out almost a shrill sound to shake off my choking voice. Can’t be. We studied together upto class six. I had to leave the school because my father got a transfer. I don’t remember why the kids used to call me Ponchu that time.
--you, here...how you ended up in this shitty place?
--want to know the original story or the usual one?
--that you will never know. All kinds of stories are ready for all kinds of men. And we will make sure you belief it.
--can’t you escape this?
--I can, but no use. Don’t want to actually.
--what I will do running from here? Don’t have a decent education, here at least I can feed my son. He is studying in an English medium, class one. Isn’t it exciting? A slut’s son mingling with gentlemen’s children?
--you live here with him?
--oh, no no. I have a family 20 kilometers from here. I come here for a BPO job, people think.
--and your family.
--my mother knows, can’t help. And my hired husband.
--he is not that old to understand.
--when he realizes?
--can’t say, may be I will gather enough money to push him off from me.
--how can you live then?
--how I am living now? I never kissed my son, never took him in my lap. Always shooed him from me. he must be the most unlucky child with a witch-mother.
--why you don’t kiss him?
--if he gets any disease...
--comeon, you don’t get any disease, STD I mean, only by touching.
--that they say…but why should a mother take chance.
We talked the whole night. I had booked her from her agent for the whole night. I left that place only after day-break.
Don’t know what happened to her or her son. It’s five year now. I guess, sometimes, you should leave people at their plight. We all are fighting for our survival. Fighting tactics are different. So are the outlook. Some fighters deserve respect. Fighters like Mousumi. You cannot extend your support to people like her. I guess, I am not that powerful.