How About a Sin Tonight?

by Novoneel Chakraborty

  ‘Have you ever kissed anyone, Balloo?’ There was a strange eeriness in her eyes which made Kaash hear his own heart beat aloud.

  ‘Only mom.’

  Nishani placed Sonnet on the floor. She didn’t budge an inch. She stood up and ambled up to Kaash and sat right beside him.

  ‘Open your mouth.’

  ‘Mouth? Mom kisses me on the cheeks.’

  ‘I’m not your mom, Balloo.’

  He obeyed and opened his mouth wide.

  ‘I’m not going to enter through that hippo mouth of yours. Do it like this.’ Nishani said and demonstrated. Kaash aped her. She came closer. Her breath was on him now.

  ‘I shall put my upper lips on your lower lip and you purse my upper then.’

  Kaash nodded. And they kissed. Kaash noticed Nishani had her eyes closed. Presuming it to be protocol for kissing, he too closed his eyes but kept opening them to know if it’s over or not. But it never got over. Two minutes, three minutes, four… Nishani kept sucking his lips while Kaash sat stiff like a painter’s muse not allowed to move. Finally, he pulled himself out of it with a shriek when Nishani bit his lips hard.

  ‘Damn, what are you doing?’

  ‘That’s what people do when they fall in hate.’

  Kaash went to the full-length mirror by Nishani’s study table and checked his wound.

  ‘What would I say if mom asks me about it?’

  ‘Oh, you are too innocent Balloo. I love that.’

  Kaash kept looking at her.

  ‘I shall nurse you. By the way, do all lips taste the same?’ asked Nisha.

  She wondered how Shahraan would have reacted if she bit him hard and deep. If she dropped molten wax on him after she had bitten his naked self red all over. She suddenly felt as satiated as a sixty-year-old impotent man would feel waking up to a raging hard on.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Kaash.

  Nishani preferred English for her Graduation. She also joined a small advertising firm as a junior copy editor which she went to after college. She had the least qualification but the best knowledge which impressed Ravi Kumar of Kumar Advertising.

  With a job in hand to take care of her pocket money, Nishani was further disconnected from her mother. They seldom talked. After being discharged from the hospital, Gaurav informed Ashlesha he wouldn’t ever accept Nishani. Ashlesha didn’t blame him for she knew her daughter was a natural calamity; hard to predict and impossible to tame. The choice in front of her was simple: either change Nishani according to her cognition or live her own life before she attains menopause. Ashlesha made the smart choice.

  ‘Did you ask your grandpa to gift you a Royal Enfield?’ Ashlesha was working on her computer in the drawing room.

  ‘So?’ Nishani was helping STS with its dinner patting and squeezing its back from time to time. Sonnet died a year ago. This was her kid: STS; Sonnet, the second.

  ‘Guys ride that!’ Ashlesha’s fingers stopped tapering the keyboard.

  ‘Bikes are not gender specific. If you can control it, you can ride it.’

  ‘And what do you need a bike for?’

  ‘College and everything else.’

  Ashlesha suddenly realized her rebellious little daughter had actually grown up and she should start keeping an eye on her before she brings a problem with the complexion of shame.

  ‘Everything else?’

  ‘I work now.’

  ‘Oh! What work are you doing?’

  ‘I’m a junior copy editor in an ad firm.’

  Before Ashlesha could knit her next question, Nishani went to her room with STS.

  ‘I thought we were having a conversation, Nishani.’

  ‘We were having a Q and A round. And you know I don’t like those.’

  Sitting in her room, Nishani wondered about the real reason for getting the bike: she was being stalked.

  It started one day when she took a train from Andheri to Santa Cruz for her college. She had seen the man in an auto rickshaw at a traffic signal and then again at the station. And when he ended up in the same first-class bogie as her, Nishani knew something was wrong. Right through the journey, they stood separated by a young guy. He was constantly looking at her. He was of average height, a thick moustache, deep eyes, thick eyebrows, stout build, and dark complexion. He looked middle aged. The relief came when he didn’t get down at Santa Cruz like her.

  Three days later, she saw him standing opposite her college gate, smoking. Then he sat right behind her in the BEST bus that she took to reach her office. It was then she knew she better own a private vehicle.

  A week later, as Nishani was preparing to leave the office on her shining new Enfield, she saw the man yet again. He was standing leaning onto an electric pole at the opposite end, looking arrow straight at her. She quickly sped away on her Enfield.

  A little ahead in the road, her rear-view mirror showed an autorickshaw following her. Was this man head over heels for her as they show in the movies—an obsessive lover of sorts? The thought turned her on. Could someone she didn’t know become obsessed with her? Did he fantasize about her too? It made her feel significant, filthy, important, trivial, supreme, and ordinary; all at once. She wondered how people like her father, Shahraan, and other stars of the magical world were definitely stalked, hounded, sought after morning, noon, and night. How interesting and special a life that would be! Her turn on became an indomitable emotional arousal now. Before she knew, it she was driving at a speed which could be easily followed by the autorickshaw. In that pleasurable home-bound bike ride, Nishani decided what she wanted to become in life: a professional attention seeker, a dream instigator, an obsession initiator, a fantasy propagator, a mass inspirer…

  A movie star!

  If Shahraan Ali Bakshi was an adolescent excrescence for Nishani, he turned into a compulsive disorder by the time she drove into the one-way lane of adulthood. He was a means to an end. But what the end was, Nishani never knew. She visited Neela Makan twice just to witness the man she hated was indeed capable of loving someone as selflessly as the media said he did. Since Shahraan was preparing for his home production on Genghis Khan, for some time now, he was going numb on publicity. Though occasional tidbits in print media was duly read and recorded by Nishani in a scrap book, nothing substantial came out apart from some rumours of him falling for the recently tagged youth icon—Reva Gupta.

  Opening one of the fashion magazines to the page where Reva’s recent blistering hot photo shoot in a white negligee was published, Nishani held it near her mirror and altered her glances between the photograph and the mirror’s reflection.

  Loads to catch up, she concluded.

  Next she took out a fat yellow pages book, flipped to the beauty parlour category, and called the one named Madame Rizvi’s. A lady answered.

  ‘Good morning, Madame Rizvi’s here. How may I help you?’

  ‘I need a makeover.’

  ‘For what purpose? Marriage?’

  Nishani was silent for few seconds and then said, ‘Yes, marriage.’

  With Shahraan…he’ll have a bride who would kill him on the first night…The thought gave her an evil kick.

  A day after her makeover, one of her colleagues at Kumar Advertising, Rakesh Parekh, surprised her by asking, ‘Are you free for coffee in the evening?’

  Till that moment in life, she considered herself to be an invisible entity who at all times wanted to know what Shahraan was doing, forgetting the fact that there are other people too who could be seeing her; a well formed, nineteen-year-old girl. But someone asking me out for a coffee… Was it the makeover effect or was he interested in the person she thought I am?

  ‘Why suddenly?’ she asked. Looking at her eyes, Rakesh fumbled for words, ‘I… I…’. Nishani only stared back at him the way a gun stares at someone as if saying, ‘You know I’m going to shoot you and yet you are scared. Funny!’

  ‘I always wanted to ask you.’

  ‘Umm, alright. I don’t mind coffee.’

>   At three the same night, she pondered about her rendezvous with Rakesh in the cafe. He seemed to be a nice guy whom every normal girl would want to see by her side forever. And Nishani knew if she played on the way she was during their coffee session, he would in no time propose to her. But did she really want that? What do people usually think about when considering getting into a relationship? Do they think at all? she pondered. Her mobile phone beside beeped with a message from Rakesh: Hey, sorry for it’s very late. Our conversation today felt more refreshing than the coffee. What say?

  She was about to type a reply when she paused. Let him assume I’m asleep, she thought. As she closed her eyes, different thoughts played together to form a symphony of questions.

  Another message from Rakesh arrived: Seems you are asleep. Do let me know if we can go out for a movie tomorrow. It’s Saturday after all!

  Before she had time to respond, the mobile phone beeped again with a message from a college friend.

  Sweets, we all are meeting at Farhad’s uncle’s place at Worli for his birthday bash at eight.

  At least her reason for not going out with Rakesh would be a genuine one now.

  The party at Farhad’s uncle’s place was a usual one: peppy music, cake-smeared faces, beer, dancing, and a performance by Farhad’s best friend, Rehan, who was the lead singer and guitarist of a rock band called Cloud 9. During his performance, he noticed Nishani eyeing him. While the other’s eyes read enjoyment, appreciation and cheer, her’s read like a lifeinsurance advertisement: you shall need me even if you don’t know it now. Once done, he went straight to her.

  ‘Hey!’ Rehan pulled a stool to sit beside her.

  ‘Hey!’ Nishani almost echoed back.

  ‘A beer after your life’s worst performance feels just right,’ Rehan smiled. To sound dejected in order to make it to the girl’s he-needs-sympathy-so-must-be-harmless list was his favourite ploy. And with his experience, Rehan knew once a guy is in a girl’s he-is-harmless list, then he can harm her however he wanted to and she would not even complain.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m yet to give my worst.’ Nishani stated.

  Rehan paused while sipping his beer. Nishani intentionally avoided looking at him. Rehan’s next sip was a slow one. As she looked at him suddenly, he smiled as a reflex.

  ‘So, you are Farhad’s friend? Why haven’t I seen you before?’

  ‘We are meeting for the second time.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah! If you can imagine me with a thin moustache and a little more facial hair, you may hit the right memory cell.’

  Rehan stared at her. She was right. She was the girl with a thin moustache.

  ‘Never knew behind those facial hair, hid such a sexy diva.’

  ‘And hence this conversation, is it?’

  ‘Why don’t you punish me by saying you are single?’

  For a trice, Rakesh’s innocent smile flashed in front of her.

  ‘What if I am?’ Nishani’s voice had intent.

  ‘No hard work for me and all play for us,’ Rehan winked looking amused. Nishani maintained her poise.

  ‘What if I am not?’

  ‘Well,’ Rehan finished his beer. ‘I’ll have to work harder and make you wish you were.’ He thought he had cracked a wise one. Nishani only stared at him.

  ‘So, what are you?’

  ‘I’m, let’s say, accommodating.’

  This one is actually easier, Rehan thought.

  ‘What am I doing here?’ she said throwing a questioning glance at Rakesh.

  She chose to keep her voice down. Nishani was sitting in the drawing room of a one-bedroom rented flat in Malad. It wasn’t small but due to the lack of proper ventilation, the walls seemed to close in like pesky neighbours. Apart from the usual furniture, she noticed, the walls sported several pictures of Hindu Gods and Goddesses.

  ‘Meeting my mother, of course.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I told her about our coffee thing. Then she wanted to meet you.’

  ‘Coffee thing? What’s that?’

  ‘I mean I told my mother I wanted to settle in life with someone like you.’

  There’s the subtle proposal along with a distinct destination: settling in life!

  Nishani was about to open her mouth when his mother came in with a glass of water. Nishani pushed down the water and immediately spit it out; a bit on the table and a lot on her dress.

  ‘It’s hot.’

  As Rakesh went to bring a towel for her, his mother came out of the kitchen and spoke, ‘Rakesh always drinks warm water. It’s good for the system.’

  ‘Well, I don’t. And this is hot, not warm.’

  ‘You will get used to it.’

  Nishani threw a surprised look at his mother. She had only gone out for coffee with her son twice and the woman wanted her to get used to her son’s ways? God bless her!

  Her mobile phone rang flashing Rehan’s name.

  ‘Hi. Yes. Okay, I’ll be there.’ She slipped the phone back in her jeans. Rakesh came with a towel.

  ‘I need to go now, Rakesh. I’ll see you later.’ As she got up and left, Rakesh ran after her and into the small corridor out the main door.

  ‘I am sorry, Nishani, if mom did anything wrong.’

  ‘I need to go home, that’s all,’ she was already midway down the stairs.

  An hour later, she was sitting beside Rehan in Bandstand when Rakesh called.

  ‘I was wondering if you have reached home safely.’

  ‘No, I’m still on my way. I’ll call later.’

  As she cut the line, she noticed Rehan ogling at a couple smooching right next to them. She nudged him.

  ‘The guy is getting his tongue wrong,’ Rehan remarked.

  ‘Let the girl decide that.’

  It was the third time they were meeting. And each time, Nishani felt he was making a move of sorts. Every time he opened his mouth, it was either to impress her subtly or directly or to tell her how saintly he was and that whatever sins happened in his life happened because of his ex-girlfriend’s high horny quotient.

  Rehan suddenly looked amused as if remembering something funny and said, ‘You know one of my friends recently went for a dirty weekend with his girl in Matheran.’

  ‘Dirty weekend?’

  ‘Just the two of them and lots of uninhibited sex.’

  ‘Why dirty? Why not a sex weekend?’

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘Dirty weekend sounds like they have already considered sex as a derogatory concept,’ Nishani clarified.

  ‘Wow!’ Rehan shrugged in surprise. ‘Seems like you worship sex, is it?’

  ‘I don’t worship sex. It’s not important for me. But why frame something as taboo when everyone does it sometime or the other? I guess something that everyone does remains under cover in a society. It’s the things that nobody does that are preached and taught. Like abstaining from sex because you love someone. Few do that.’

  ‘You are so philosophically sexy! I never dated a girl like that.’

  ‘What kind of girls have you had?’

  ‘The whining kinds. They are yours till you are cute. Anytime you are not, they will complain. Or the reverse—blame kinds. They are yours till you, initiate everything. They may want something more than you, but you’ve got to take the first step. What kind of boys have you had?’

  ‘From when do boys have types? They are all the same, aren’t they?’

  Rehan responded by slowly placing his hand around her waist. She glanced at him momentarily and then surrendered her head on his shoulder. He planted a soft kiss on her forehead. For a passer-by they looked like a couple in love, deeply committed, but for Nishani her heart, in that moment, resembled a graveyard where the ghosts of ambivalence had just started to party.

  While driving back home alone, Nishani’s bike broke down. She somehow managed to park it by the road side and called Rehan. After three full rings, the call still wasn’t picked up. Sh
e called Rakesh. It was picked up on the second ring.

  ‘Rakesh, my bike broke down at Ville Parle. Could you please come here and help me out a bit.’

  ‘It’s almost ten thirty, Nishani.’

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘Let me ask my mother.’

  ‘Never mind.’

  As Nishani cut the line, wondering why she even called these two people, an autorickshaw slowed down in front of her. The driver told her about the man who sent him and informed her he would even arrange to deliver the bike at her place.

  Nishani looked in the direction the auto driver pointed out. A silhouette of a man was visible at a distance. It was her stalker, her secret admirer. She hadn’t seen him for the last few weeks, but she felt good to know that he was still following her. She got inside the autorickshaw. When someone is interested in the other, every act of the other is read as a signal by the one interested. How will he interpret this particular signal of hers?

  She reached home safely. While moving into her room she picked up the newspaper from the centre table. In her free time, Nishani dutifully cut out news items featuring Shahraan.

  Flipping through the newspaper’s entertainment supplement, she saw a picture of Shahraan and Reva together. The headline read: Time to move on from being just good friends.

  Nishani skidded to the kitchen, dumped the whole supplement inside the mixer jar, and switched it on. It relaxed her.

  Love was like darkness. The more she got used to certain portions of it, there was a whole lot left to adapt to.

  Three months had gone by since Rakesh proposed to her. It happened one day during their lunch break. As a response, she only smiled at him. Rakesh didn’t know a woman’s smile is a catalogue for the rarest of colours which can never be accurately labelled. Rakesh mistakenly labelled the colour in her smile as love. He opened his bank account to her that very night over phone.

  ‘Listen, baby,’ he began.

  ‘Baby?’ Nishani intercept.

  ‘People in love call each other silly names. If you are not comfortable, I can call you Nish as well.’