Forbidden Desires

by Banerjee, Madhuri

  It was two weeks after the party. After she had broken the news to Adi that they couldn’t go on their vacation he had thrown a huge tantrum and stormed off, giving her the silent treatment because she was the one who broke the news to him. Adi was fine with his father, as usual. He didn’t blame his father, who had lost the money. He blamed his mother because she hadn’t saved enough and was not working! Ayesha had felt like she had been slapped in the face that day. She wanted to tell him that she had sacrificed her life for him. So that he could grow up with at least one parent around who would always go to his soccer and cricket games and school plays. A parent who was proud of her son and knew every detail about his life. And he was taking his father’s side? Ayesha had no words. That’s when she had borrowed money from her father and told Adi that they would go because she had managed it.

  So she had delayed the packing.

  She had gone to meet Tarini as she promised and had a wonderful lunch at Habitat, her favourite place for hearty Italian food that felt more from Chandigarh than Rome. Tarini had just bought a new Dior bag for four and a half lakh rupees. Ayesha would never spend so much on a bag. She was a practical woman. She had studied and passed in the first class in her Master’s program in sociology. She was planning to study more before she was married off. She had a keen interest in physics as well and often wanted to speak to someone about the topics that interested her and not just about the house and Adi. But with Tarini, Ayesha was the listener and Tarini the talker. As much as she and Tarini were friends, she was never into fashion and brands. Her elegant saris and statement jewellery were all that she needed to make a mark in any social outing. And now she had to pack it all up for another move.

  She sat in front of her cupboard and sighed. How many times had she done this? Four, maybe five since Varun had shifted houses within Lucknow and Delhi a few times as well. She was tired. She wanted a stable house with a walk-in closet where she could just hang her winter clothes and not worry about the whole, tedious process of airing each and every one and putting them away in trunks. But being the wife of an IAS officer meant that one would constantly be travelling, shifting houses and putting away woolens in trunks, suitcases and box beds every spring.

  ‘Savitri,’ Ayesha called out to Savitri, her trusted maid who had been with her for over ten years. ‘Shall we put moth balls with the clothes?’

  Moth balls. The world had progressed in many ways but no one had solved the problem of keeping warm clothes away without silverfish insects eating into them. Ayesha sighed. She knew she didn’t have enough trunks for the new winter wear they had bought this year. Adi had grown so tall that none of his old sweaters fit and she had had to buy a whole new wardrobe for him. But she didn’t have the heart to throw away his old clothes. They were reminders of a simpler time. Clothes sometimes become memories more than photo albums ever do.

  Savitri walked into the room, surveyed the mess and asked, ‘What about your kanjeevaram saris? Do you want to keep them out in case there are any more parties?’

  Ayesha sighed. She was done with parties. Her grand Diwali party had left her mentally and physically exhausted. She hadn’t even gone for her yoga class since then.

  Adi would finish his semester in DPS R. K. Puram this term and then they would move. Since all their friends were travelling during the winter holidays, she knew there were no more parties happening in the next few days. And in Lucknow they would need to settle in before they could re-connect with their old friends there, people she had never got along with but socialized with for Varun’s sake. They were all superficial and shallow. Something she believed she could never be.

  ‘Let’s pack up as much as we can. Later on we can see if I need anything.’

  ‘Do you want to keep your western clothes out?’ Savitri asked, picking up a pair of jeans from the stack.

  ‘Just a few. I’ll wear it with a coat if I need to step out casually.’ Ayesha had very few jeans and blouses but she mixed and matched them so wonderfully that she never needed to buy anything new to add to her western collection. She rarely wore jeans anyway, always preferring salwar kameezes or saris even if it was to go out with friends or to shop.

  Ayesha loved Delhi, its cultural vibrancy. From plays and book launches, to gallery openings and cocktail parties, the conversations, the art, the music, the academic richness— there was always something happening in Delhi. And even though she was from a small community in Allahabad she was at heart a big-city girl and hated the close-mindedness of small town India and the vacuousness of its intellectualism. She was sent to north campus Delhi after completing her schooling in Allahabad. She stayed in hostel and had an aunt who she visited on the weekends who was her local guardian. She watched plays in Kamani and ate at Pandara Road. She shopped at Khan market and G. K. and even went to Chandni Chowk one Sunday with Tarini to get the experience of old Delhi. She loved every bit of it. The shops were beautiful. The people were warm and friendly. There was rich culture all around her. History emanated from every corner. Tarini had lent her a camera for a month and Ayesha spent all her free time wandering around monuments and taking photographs: Purana Quila, Jantar Mantar, Delhi gate, Ajmeri Gate, Red Fort, Lal Darwaza, Sunheri Masjid, Safdarjung’s tomb. By the time she had to give back the camera, she had hundreds of photographs, a suitcase of memories and a passion for Delhi that she had never felt for any other city before. She was heartbroken when her college days ended and her parents called her back to Allahabad. They wouldn’t let their only child stay alone in the big bad city, after all.

  So when her father found an IAS officer who was based in Delhi, she jumped at the chance to get married.

  Varun was tall and handsome and had studied economics to enter the IAS. Intellectual enough, she had thought initially. And pleasing to the eye. They used to have conversations in the beginning but Ayesha soon realized that Varun only knew economics. He had no other interests, never wanted to discuss anything new. Adi was born in their second year of marriage and suddenly all her plans of becoming a sociologist were put on hold after a difficult pregnancy and birth. Her family became her world. Her photography was left behind. Before she knew it, they had to shift away from Delhi.

  She turned to walk out of the room before she remembered, ‘Oh Savitri, Adi’s summer clothes have become small. So we’ll give some of them to the Blind Shelter. But all of Sahib’s and my clothes I want packed in the large trunks. Bahadur will help move the suitcases. We might as well put away as much as we can in one go, na? No point in working again later.’

  Savitri nodded and went about her job. She was accustomed to her mistress’ needs. She had come with her from Allahabad and looked after Ayesha and Adi as her own family. In the last ten years, the family had shifted five times. From a small D-1 quarter to a C-2 apartment (the types that government servants were given according to their rank and entry into the system), a bungalow in Lucknow to a flat in Moti Bagh, Delhi, and finally to a lovely, posh three-bedroom large corner plot in Vasant Vihar with a garden, where they had their last two Diwali parties. Savitri had helped Ayesha pack, shift and set up home repeatedly. She could see her mistress didn’t want to move but such was the life of an IAS officer. She was just glad that Ayesha relied on her far more than she did on anyone else.

  Ayesha went into the kitchen to supervise Hari Prasad, their long-time cook, for the evening meal. She tasted the soup.

  ‘A little more salt. Oh and Sahib likes his casserole with cheese and since I’m just having soup, put it into the oven just before he comes so it’ll be nice and crisp.’

  Ayesha had a large staff, something that most IAS officers were entitled to. These were the few perks they had. No money of course, because the stipend was meagre. Working for your country should be an honour. Being a bureaucrat meant that you were admired, revered and respected in circles that went beyond Delhi. It meant that you would have a driver, a cook, a gardener and a few maids to clean and manage your children if you needed them but you would
hardly have money to buy an expensive car, fancy clothes or luxurious jewellery.

  Ayesha touched her solitaire earrings, her favourites. Ten years she had worn the one-carat diamond earrings that her father had given her on her wedding day. As a gesture of gratitude. Her husband’s side had given her two gold sets. One for the sangeet and one for the reception. They were kept away in a locker. She only wore these earrings. And her wedding ring. She would have loved for her husband to gift her something special on their tenth anniversary but he had just given her cash to buy whatever she wanted. How thoughtful, Ayesha thought, with a bitter taste in her mouth.

  It wasn’t as if she wasn’t grateful. She was happy that she had a loving husband and a happy home. It was just that sometimes she wished there was more to her life than being a housewife.

  9

  There are three things a Delhi woman loves to do: Go to the parlour, shopping, and meeting friends.

  The top of the list was always the parlour. Delhi women go to the parlour for every reason they can find: a manicure, pedicure, hair spa, a blow dry, a facial treatment. And every Delhi woman had a favourite parlour. Ayesha’s was Pinky’s Parlour. It was her favourite place to relax in her neighbourhood. Pinky pampered her and always gave her lovely adrak wali chai. Pinky had a staff of a few women and two men who gave the most delicious pedicures and hair spas. They knew just the places on a woman’s feet to press to give immense pleasure. At any given time women were getting pedicures or head massages at Pinky’s parlour.

  For Ayesha it wasn’t the massage but the constant gossip and chat with Pinky that made her day interesting.

  ‘Ayesha! Kaisi hai?’ Pinky asked as soon as Ayesha entered the door.

  ‘I’m fine! How are you? Have you lost weight? You’re looking so thin!’

  Pinky, who was five feet two inches tall, weighing some eighty-two kilos, blushed. ‘Haan yaar. I have lost two kilos. I have been starving myself for the last one week.’

  ‘Starving? Why? How?’ Ayesha sat down on the soft, bright red sofa next to Pinky.

  ‘All the Diwali mithai I ate. Made me put on three kilos. So for the last week I only ate fruits and dahi. Have you heard of this GM diet? By God maine do din kiya aur mein mar gayi. Then I ate all the calories I lost and from then I went to a new dietician and started a new diet. It’s been three days and I’ve lost two kilos.’

  ‘So you mean you actually put on one kilo.’ Ayesha reasoned.

  ‘No no. This is a cleanse diet. You must try it. Only juices and fruits. It’s quite healthy. In any case. Tu toh iti slim hai. You don’t need to diet. I hate you!’

  Ayesha laughed out loud. That was Pinky’s way of saying she was jealous but she said it with love and a smile. ‘It’s just genes. My mother is thin.’

  Pinky scrutinized Ayesha from top to bottom. ‘True. That’s why you don’t have breasts only. Small little nimbus you have.’

  Ayesha blushed. But Pinky quickly said, ‘What difference does it make? Men still love any breasts. Stupid creatures. Women have made whole careers of flaunting their breasts. No brains, nothing. So you should always be proud of yours!’

  Ayesha thought Pinky was too abrasive since she spoke about taboo topics but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Chal are you getting a pedicure done? Anything else? Chalo change kar hi lo. Pata nahin baad mein aur kya karwaogi.’

  Ayesha nodded and Pinky shouted to the room where some clients were already sitting and a few men in Pinky’s Parlour uniform were standing around, ‘Manoj! Pedicure le leh Madam ki. Sunita, gown de de.’

  Ayesha changed into a thin, strappy gown, put a towel over her shoulders and sat down on a warm, cushy leather chair. She then dipped her feet in hot, bubbly water.

  ‘Paani theek hai?’ Manoj asked as his fingers caressed her toes lightly under the bubbles.

  Over the next 45 minutes or so, Manoj cleaned, buffed, scraped, pulled, tugged and pressed her legs, knees and ankles and slapped all the fat of her calves back into shape. It was his way of giving her a strong pedicure and Ayesha loved it. He dropped cream on to her legs in small drops all the way from her ankle to her thighs. The cold drops hit her skin and made it tingle. Then he began to slowly make circular movements around each drop, moving his hands up her legs to gently caress her thighs. Ayesha rolled her head back and closed her eyes. It felt warm and fuzzy. She could feel herself getting moist as her legs were being massaged by a complete stranger. Then he wrapped a hot towel around her legs and slowly moved his thumbs from the base of her feet, up towards her calves and thighs. Ayesha gulped. A simple pedicure could feel so good.

  ‘Hair spa, hair oil nahin karengi, Madam?’ Manoj asked as he lay his full palms on her legs and thighs. Ayesha rolled her head back and said, ‘Karwa hi lo!’

  Then Manoj called for some hot oil and started rubbing it on Ayesha’s head and slowly moved down to her shoulders and back. He moved his hands over the towel down her back, slowly kneading his fingers into her spine. Then he moved in front and caressed her collar bone, moving gently over the top part of her breasts over her gown, never going lower.

  ‘Pressure theek hai?’

  That was the signal if you wanted him to do more. And Ayesha, whose only kink in her otherwise staid life was this weekly hair oil massage, replied, ‘Thoda aur pressure chahiye.’

  He moved his hands magically over her clothes, down her back and her sides till all her erogenous zones were aroused and she could feel a moistness between her thighs. She gave him an extra tip when he finished.

  She looked amazing with soft hair that was neatly blow dried and nails that sparkled for an evening on the town.

  Pinky asked, ‘Service kaisa tha?’

  Ayesha smiled. ‘As usual, amazing.’ She handed Pinky her payment.

  Pinky smiled a knowing look, ‘But why all this sajna dhajna?’

  ‘The new HRD minister, Harshvardhan Singhania, has called us to his place for dinner. I must look my best.’

  ‘Of course,’ Pinky smiled. ‘And you’re looking lovely. I’m sure he’ll be impressed!’

  ‘Oh I don’t know about that. I don’t even know if I’ll get to meet him.’

  ‘Well, all the best.’ They said their goodbyes.

  Ayesha was looking forward to the last dinner of the season. She would make a dazzling impression at this politician’s place. Even if she was a housewife, she would be the only housewife anyone ever noticed in that party!

  10

  Ayesha dressed carefully for the evening. A gorgeous black chikan sari with mukaish work all over it that made her sparkle like a diamond. She accessorized with a chunky red stone Amrapalli necklace and stuck to her small diamond earrings. With bright red nail polish on her fingers and toes and her gorgeous hair blow-dried to perfection around her face, she looked the epitome of the perfect bureaucrat’s wife. A trophy wife, if one could say so.

  As they walked into a large bungalow, Ayesha felt a little nervous. She had never been to a politician’s house. And what if she said something wrong, would it affect her husband’s career?

  They entered straight into the lawns of the politician’s bungalow from the side entrance. It was lit up with twinkling lights hanging from trees and several round tables with crisp, white table cloths that had a bowl of flowers on each. There were waiters in uniforms who were serving people drinks and snacks. A buffet counter was placed at one end. The host, Harshvardhan Singhania, was greeting people casually, sitting with everyone and chatting with the bodyguards around him.

  ‘Arrey Mika aane waalla hai.’

  She heard snippets of a conversation that some ladies were having while sitting at a table.

  ‘Arrey nahin Sunny Leone aa rahi hai.’

  ‘Sach?!’ one woman gasped, catching her neck as if the thought had choked her.

  ‘Yeah. Apparently she will perform also.’

  ‘My husband will toh die only!’ another woman said as she giggled. ‘He loves that song Pink Lips!’

  ‘Nahin
nahin Baby Doll hai woh gaana.’

  Ayesha smiled as she kept walking. She knew she wouldn’t get along well with these women and she wanted to have a drink. She moved towards the bar when Varun brought over a colleague of his, ‘Ayesha, I want you to meet Sanjay. He has just come to town with his wife.’ Varun added a few more sentences to Sanjay’s introduction and said, ‘He needs my help with a new project. Hopefully hum saath mein kaam karenge ab.’

  Sanjay smiled. ‘Inshallah! Namaste, Ayeshaji.’

  Ayesha folded her hands. ‘Namaste. Kabhi aayie humarey yahan.’

  Varun felt proud of his wife. ‘Yeh bohat achcha biryani banati hain.’

  ‘Achcha? That’s remarkable. Ab toh aana hi padega.’

  Ayesha excused herself, saying she needed to find a restroom. She was instantly bored and the night had not even started yet. Varun introduced her to the same type of people with the same dialogue. And all Varun could convey about her was her cooking. She had more skills than that! She was an intelligent and talented human being. And here she was, being demoted to a cook whose only task was to make sure her family was well-fed. As a housewife she should have been happy with just that, she presumed, but she wasn’t. She felt restless and upset.

  Maybe it was the cold air that was giving her a headache or the dullness of the conversations but she started walking towards the house to get away from the party and the cold air.

  She entered the house from a side entrance and started looking for a restroom. But curiosity got the better of her and she decided to have a look around this politician’s house. She always liked seeing how people decorated their homes and she especially wondered how a bachelor politician like Harshvardhan would do it up. He had only been in his position for a month but he was already being groomed to be the possible next Prime Minister in the next elections. She knew one could tell a lot about a man by the way he kept his house.