‘I believe the moment two people meet, their story starts heading towards an ending. I don’t want the beginning of that end to start,’ she said.
Interesting, thought Kiyan. He made a mental note to use the quote in his next book and then said, ‘That way nothing will ever begin.’
‘I know. It’s paradoxical, but it is a problem nevertheless. I want to live out this phase as long as possible, because trust me, this is the best part of a relationship—when it has not begun, but in your mind it already has.’
‘Relationship?’
‘Relationship.’
‘Hmm. But then what’s the solution? My last book event is next week in Goa.’
‘What are you hinting at, mister bestselling author?’
‘Nothing. I’m only asking.’
‘Do you really know me enough to ask me what you asked?’
‘I want to.’
‘Maybe you already know me.’
‘Are you this cryptic with everyone, or is it just me?’
‘I don’t jerk off everyone in steam rooms, mister bestselling author.’
‘So, it’s only me.’
‘Only you.’
‘Why? You said you aren’t even a fan.’
‘Why, is it necessary to be a fan to be interested in you?’
‘My gut says not to believe you on this.’
‘What else does your gut say?’
‘I want to meet you.’
‘Are you seeking a story in me, mister bestselling author?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ Kiyan smirked. It was his chance to be cryptic.
‘It’s a trap, isn’t it?’
‘Why don’t you discover it yourself?’
‘By meeting you?’
‘Hmm.’
There was silence. Kiyan was hoping she would say yes while Kashti only breathed gently into the phone.
‘We’ll meet in Goa,’ she said.
‘Not in a steam room, I hope.’
There was a hint of a giggle.
‘By the beach,’ she specified.
‘I’ll wait.’
‘Kiyan . . . I have a gift for you.’
This was the first time she had said his name. And it sounded acutely sexy.
‘What is it?’
‘There are some things that can only burn, but not dissolve into ashes. My passion for you is one such thing.’
Was that line a gift? Before Kiyan could say anything, she hung up. And by now he knew it was futile to get in touch with her. Not till he was in Goa the next weekend.
* * *
A Girl’s Diary
13 March 2016
Sunday, 10 a.m.
I remember the day clearly. Why wouldn’t I? It was a day when our relationship took a major turn. An unexpected turn. I had a sudden client call in office because of which I was late. Kiyan and I had moved in together by then. My family didn’t know about it. I had not given them the correct address to avoid any surprise visits. Kiyan’s parents too didn’t know about our live-in arrangement. We both knew what our parents were like. More than understanding what Kiyan and I wanted they would have invariably focussed on what society desired of us. We would have been asked to either get engaged first or perhaps married before staying together. I didn’t mind a marriage but didn’t want to force it on Kiyan either. Living with him, I came to understand that a relationship is inherently private, and before one presents it to society in the garb of marriage, it’s better know each other inside out and be certain if it’s worthwile to hold on to the dream of togetherness. Living with Kiyan, I knew we had enough reasons to dream that dream. But he shook me up a little bit when one night I came home and saw him awake, looking perturbed. On other days he used to be asleep by the time I came home, as I was working a night shift while he had a day shift. I inquired if there was a problem. He showed me an email on his laptop. It was his resignation letter. And he had already sent it. My first thought was to ask him what on earth had made him resign all of a sudden when he was heading for a promotion in three months. Then I wondered, whatever may be the reason, why hadn’t he discussed it with me? And if he hadn’t discussed it with me before sending it, then why was he showing me the email now? I said nothing as all these thoughts were going through my mind.
‘I’ve resigned,’ he stated with finality.
‘I can see that. Care to explain?’ I asked, standing beside him. He shut his laptop and sat on the chair next to it.
‘I don’t want to work.’
I went blank for a few seconds.
‘What do you mean you don’t want to work?’
‘I mean I don’t want to do a regular job any more.’
My inquiring glance egged him on to speak.
‘I want to be an author.’
A new, strange kind of silence fell between us. It’s hard to describe it. At that moment, the first thing I thought was that our chance of being together was slipping away, or rather, getting postponed. I had made up my mind to inform my parents in a couple of months about us since I was from a typical Baniya family. And I know for a fact that my parents had already started looking for ‘prospects’ within our community. Girls tend to get married early in our community, and those with jobs even earlier because conservative parents think that working girls become ‘bigda hua’, after which they can’t be married off. The arranged marriage market in our part of the planet is full of deeply insecure people with screwed-up ideas. My thoughts were forced back to the present as Kiyan asked me to respond.
‘That’s . . . that’s nice,’ I mumbled. Then I added, ‘But you never told me you liked writing. In fact, I used to write as a hobby, but I never knew you too . . .’ It was the truth. I used to write a blog. Nothing serious. Just some short stories under a pseudonym.
‘I know. But it has been brewing in me for a year now.’
For a year . . . I didn’t know whether to give priority to the feeling of hurt that I felt at being kept in the dark or to urge him to continue speaking.
‘I thought of telling you many times, but each time I thought if I talked about it, my resolve to follow my heart would weaken.’
We stared at each other for some time, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. Not knowing what to do with myself, I went to take a shower. I realized he stood where he was. I hoped he understood why I didn’t say anything. Whether he wanted to be something or not was secondary. The fact that he hadn’t made me a part of that plan was what hurt. I intentionally took a long shower. I didn’t want to face him perhaps. After almost an hour, I came out. I was sure he must be waiting for me, but I found him asleep with a Post-it note on my pillow that read ‘Thanks’. So he had interpreted my silence as support. Most men suffer from the bad habit of taking their women for granted. I didn’t sleep well that night. Kiyan’s interpretation was challenging what I had always thought about us—that we complemented each other, that we knew each other the way a blind person understands Braille. I didn’t really sleep the entire night. When Kiyan woke up in the morning, I kissed him on the cheek and told him he could pursue whatever he wanted to and that I would be there for him, with him, always and in all ways. I loved him. That was important. And love, in whichever form, comes with certain duties. And supporting him in his decision was my duty.
Kiyan’s decision disrupted our life. But I made sure our standard of living remained the same. Earlier, we were very clear about the expenses we incurred—the rent was his, bills were mine. Grocery was mine, weekend food and booze were his. Movies were mine, shopping was his. With Kiyan resigning from the job, we had to take another look at our expenses. The problem was neither of us had worked for long enough to have significant savings. Whatever we earned, we spent. With what he had we could have survived 3–4 months on the existing expense plan, but I asked him to not think about it. I was ready to take care of all expenses. It made us compromise on our weekend plans, but since he had decided to work towards his dream, it was a small sacrifice for the larger goal.
Hence, I never complained if I got bored at home during the weekends. I gave up going to movies with friends and shopping sprees.
Whenever I saw Kiyan sitting in a corner of the bedroom beside the window and typing away his debut fiction on his laptop, I felt proud of him. It took guts to give up a settled job and assured prospects, and settle for something uncertain. I did ask him if he had any connection in the publishing world but all he told me was he would think about all that only when he had finished his novel.
My pride held strong for the first three months, after which it was substituted by restlessness. We began to talk less. We made out less. We looked at each other less. Most of the time, he was busy working on his novel or out for research for it. At that point, I didn’t know what he was writing about, as Kiyan had requested me not to ask him about it till he finished the story. I could tell he was going through mood swings. Sometimes without any intimation, he would make love to me with such intensity for hours that I thought his deciding to become an author was the best thing that had happened to us. And then there were times when I hugged him, kissed him and all I received were such cold vibes that I wondered if he ever loved me. Our relationship had become dichotomous, and there was no clarity.
When my father said he wanted me to come to Lucknow one weekend because a boy’s family from Benaras was coming to ‘see’ me, I couldn’t make any more excuses and was forced to tell him that I was in love with someone. He didn’t take it well (as expected), but I guess Ma must have pacified him, since the next time he called (after a week), he said he wanted to meet Kiyan. But the problem was, what could I tell my father? I love this guy who is an ex-engineer who now wants to be an author? Anyone who knows Indian fathers, especially a typical Indian father like mine, would instantly know it’s the worst introduction possible. But what option did I have?
7
Goa
20 March 2016
Sunday, 4 a.m.
Some things can only burn, not turn into ashes. My passion for you is one such thing.
The words came rushing to him much like the waves from the calm sea in front of him. Kiyan was standing on the shore in shorts. The light breeze met strong resistance in his muscular body and nearly six-foot frame. The clock had just signalled half past the devil’s hour. Except the sea and sand, there was nothing for miles. Right in front of him, though, at some distance, she stood in the sea, water up to her thighs. She had told him they would meet, for the first time, at the dead of the night by the sea. And that’s what happened. He had not yet seen her face. And yet he was committed to the image of her in his mind. Looking at her hourglass silhouette in the dark now, he was sure about one thing—Kashti was everything she had made him imagine she was in the last month and a half.
The book launch in Goa had been a different experience altogether since the event had been arranged on a boat and had lasted the duration of a short cruise. It was smooth sailing for the two hours that Kiyan spent with his fans. By now, he was no longer the shy author who felt nervous in front of readers. After six book events on the trot, Kiyan confidently posed with the readers, chit-chatted, signed the books for them and answered all their queries. He thought Kashti would either be at the event or call him right after as he went clubbing alone, but that didn’t happen. With Kashti on his mind, he wasn’t interested in the looks that a few Russian and Indian women had thrown at him in the club. Kiyan had called it a night and headed back to his hotel. It was only during the wee hours that his phone started ringing, with Kashti’s name lighting up on the screen. It was the same number that he had saved in Indore.
‘Did I ever tell you,’ she asked softly on the phone, pressing the speaker close to her mouth so that her breathing was audible, ‘the first thing that came to my mind when I saw you at the Delhi book event?’
‘You didn’t,’ he replied, moistening his dry lips. He could imagine the way the words would manoeuvre her tongue before escaping her mouth.
Kashti then narrated her vivid fantasy of being taken by him on a secluded railway track. By the time she had ended her narration, he felt breathless.
‘I’m waiting for you at the beach. Wear just your shorts,’ Kashti had said and cut the line.
Kiyan’s hotel was a beachside one, and his room had a fantastic view of the sea. Kiyan had drawn his curtains but it had been too dark outside to see anything. He had washed his face and rushed out, not wanting to miss the chance to meet the girl who had slowly become an obsession over the last month.
The darkness around the beach didn’t allow Kiyan to conclude if she was wearing anything or not. He was about to wave at her when he noticed her amble towards him. As the waves hit her from behind, he couldn’t help but feel the blood between his legs. He wasn’t wearing any underwear inside the shorts, as demanded by her, and all he had on his mind as he saw her approach him was where this demand would take them.
‘Hi,’ she whispered in his ears as her sea-water-drenched body hugged his dry body tight. Wet sand grains clung to him.
‘I was waiting for this moment the way a bud waits for spring,’ she whispered as she pressed her breasts against his chest, tightening the embrace. He too put his arms around her, realizing she was topless like him. He could feel her hard nipples. As she half broke the embrace, she looked up at him and said, ‘Take my name.’
He did.
‘I want to taste those lips that had my name on them.’
She slowly sucked his lower lip. He opened his mouth, and she pushed her tongue inside, nudging his. As they smooched, they knelt down together on the wet sand. It took a giant wave to break their smooch, drenching them entirely. She slowly pushed him on the sand, looking deep into his eyes. For the first time, he could see her face—up close and clear. And he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Every bit of her was a man’s fantasy. She took his hands and pinned them above him as she started kissing his chest. She paused to encircle his nipples with the tip of her tongue and lifted her head up to meet his eyes.
‘I know how sensitive you are there,’ she said with a naughty smile and sucked his nipples hard. He put his hands on her hair and held them tight as she slipped her mouth further down to his taut abs, tracing along them with her tongue. She grabbed his erect penis over his shorts and started rubbing it.
‘That’s your instinct or intention?’ she asked, holding his erection over his shorts. ‘If it’s your instinct,’ she said, ‘then it can happen to anyone. But if it’s . . .’
‘It’s my intention,’ he cut her short.
With a sly smile she tugged the shorts down and took them off him. As she placed them on the beach, a small wave came and took them away.
‘A wave is like true love. It returns what it takes away with it. The point is whether you are ready to wait for it.’
It was thoughts like these that drew him to her to begin with. He lifted his head slightly and saw her take his penis inside her mouth. All of it. With one hand on her hair, he kept his other hand on the sand and dug his fingers deep in it. As he kept his head back on the sand, involuntarily parting his lips, the pleasure choreographed his expressions. Images of how it had all started flashed in front of him as Kiyan closed his eyes, feeling the cold sand below and the warmth of her mouth between his legs . . . the book event . . . the hotel . . . the photographs . . . the hide and seek . . . the story . . . all of it seemed like a spell to Kiyan. There was something innately fiery in the closeness of their bodies. Every move of hers was arousing him further. He knew nothing about her and yet every second he felt close to something personal within her. The flashes paused as she stopped blowing him. She came up to his face and smooched him. Kashti lifted her back. Kiyan pulled at the knot of her drenched g-string. He threw it away as he felt her vaginal lips on his erection. He was reminded of the fantasy she had told him over the phone. She was now riding him in reality. Except, instead of the railway track, it was the vast sea that was witness to their union. Every time a wave washed the shore, she rode him hard. After so
me time, when she collapsed against his chest, Kiyan turned her around, holding her tight, and got on top. His urgency seemed more than hers now. Being on top, he drove towards the climax. His strong thrusts made her moan out loud for the first time. He went on till she felt her voice go hoarse. And then as they locked eyes, he spilled his seed after pulling out.
After they had finished, both lay there, with him on top of her till the first light of dawn broke. Kiyan moved and lay sideways. She caught his hand and stood up. He too stood up. She started ambling towards a series of beach shacks. He was finding it weird to walk naked. To his relief, there was still nobody else on the beach. After taking a few steps, he noticed his drenched shorts on the sand at some distance. The sea had thrown them back. He freed his hand from Kashti’s grip and retrieved his briefs. He quickly wore them. By now, the visibility was slightly better. He turned and noticed Kashti was wearing a fresh bikini, which she must have kept earlier by a small stand. He walked towards her, realizing there was a DSLR camera on a tripod next to her.
‘This is what brought you to me,’ she said, with a twinkle in her eyes as she held the DSLR.
‘I remember,’ he said, touching the camera. Kashti removed the tripod, slung the camera on her shoulder, and holding Kiyan’s hand, led him to one of the shacks on the shore. It was a residential shack.
‘I am putting up here,’ she said and proceeded to unlock the door of a small house. She pulled Kiyan inside and kicked the door shut behind them. It locked itself.
‘Remember I told you I have a gift for you?’ she said with a naughty smile and pushed Kiyan onto the single bed in the room.
As Kiyan watched her quietly rummaging through one of her bags, he kept wondering only one thing. Finally, he said it out loud, ‘Who are you, Kashti?’
Kashti took out something gift-wrapped from her bag and gave it to Kiyan with a smile.
Black Suits You Page 7