Temptation…

I had never been plagued by guilt this strong; I had always believed I was made of sterner stuff, that I was not the kind of guy to give in to temptation no matter how blatantly it stared me in the face. Yet here I was, drawn against my will by the way she looked - it was lust at first sight, and I knew I had to have her. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer or listen to my conscience which tried to pull me back – the little voice reminded me that I was a married man and that my wife would be furious if she found out, yet I rudely shoved it aside.

I couldn’t take my eyes away as she beckoned to me with her sexy body; she was dark, not the type I usually go for, but then again, there was something special about her. I edged closer, and tentatively reached out to touch her – she felt silky smooth beneath my fingers. I ached to see what she looked like with nothing on, and hesitantly began to take it all off. She didn’t stop me, and when I held her for the first time, I knew I had made the right decision.

How could something that felt this right be so wrong? She was not just eye candy – Oh, how she could perform! She responded with gay abandon to my touch, and as my fingers danced on her lightly, I could feel her begging me to do more. They say first dates are slow and steady, but I went all out that day – there was no smooth seduction or hesitant moves, I literally tried her out in every possible way. It was the only way I could justify her to my conscience.

Once I was thoroughly satisfied, I walked out with her. There was no other way to break this to my wife other than to show her why I had broken my promise. And unless she saw her beauty, unless she saw for herself how I felt when I looked at her and held her, she would never understand what drove me to this conclusion. I know it will be hard on her to share me with someone else, but maybe if I promise to spend just the minimum amount of time with my new passion, my wife might just let me keep my shiny new BlackBerry!

And the Walls of Doubt Came Tumbling Down…

He looked into the rearview mirror and checked his face for telltale signs before brushing off his clothes to remove any stray hairs. He put on his assertive attitude, the one he adopted during business meetings to get a head start over the competition even before the wheeling and dealing had begun; in his book, going on the offensive was the only way to avoid being pushed to the defensive. As he walked in the door, he tried not to tiptoe – his late arrival from the office coupled with his deferential behavior and a few rumors on the local grapevine had incited his wife’s wrath a few days ago, and he did not want a repeat of the scene she had created.

Even as he had categorically denied an affair with his secretary, his mind could not help but remember her lush curves, come-hither eyes and silky smooth skin, all of which he had thoroughly enjoyed hardly an hour earlier. When his wife had refused to calm down in spite of his denials and pleas, he decided to change tack to regain control over the situation. His voice had radiated confidence as he firmly stated that he was not having an affair, and that if she chose to believe otherwise, she was welcome to leave him. He was particularly proud of his voice breaking a little towards the end when he switched to the role of the victim and sank to the sofa with his head in his hands, as if to bemoan his wretched life with a wife who did not trust him. He didn’t know whether she bought it, but at least it bought him some peace and quiet for the rest of the night.

He looked around the living room and waited for the explosion he knew was coming; he was much later coming home today and he doubted his wife would buy the story of a business meeting that ran to 1 am. His brain had warned him that he was asking for trouble, but other parts of his body took control and he lost track of the time yet again.

A light in the dining room made him gravitate to the dinner table, and the sight of his wife asleep with her head on the table gave him a jolt. She awoke at the sound of his footsteps, and her face broke into a huge smile. He instinctively shrank back as she came over to give him a hug (was she trying to smell her on him?). She broke into mundane chatter about her day as she went around getting his dinner warmed up and setting out a plate and cutlery for him. His mind began to race even as it completely forgot the speech he had prepared to justify his late homecoming - Why is she not yelling at me? Why is she being so nice to me?

A new emotion overtook him and raced through his blood; there was only one explanation for her strange behavior – she was up to something behind his back and all this was a way of covering up her indiscretion. The bitch!!! She was trying to throw him off track! Well, not for long, he thought. And as soon as she went to bed, he was rifling through her phone and computer for any stray text messages or emails that would offer proof of her philandering ways!

And in the room next door, she smiled as she thought to herself - the best way to bring down the walls of doubt was to raise a few of your own - before she fell into a deep and peaceful slumber for the first time in months!

It’s all Relative!

It’s been quite a while since I left school and my science textbooks behind, so I don’t really remember if I studied Einstein’s Theory of Relativity in any great detail. I think I’m with the general majority who know on some level that E=mc2 is one of the most happening equations in the world of Physics, but not too sure what the fuss is all about.

Now I’m no genius like Einstein was, but I’ve come up with my own explanation for E=mc2 (my sincere apologies to poor old Albert who must be turning in his grave at this blasphemy), one that is based on Chemistry and Biology - the chemistry each of us shares (or wished desperately we didn’t share) with biological relatives, the ones who are relatively far in terms of blood, but who consider themselves relatively close when it comes to poking their noses into your private affairs.

E = number of inquisitive Enquiries you get at family functions and random meetings

m = the number of years you escape the Matrimony noose from the time you hit puberty or from the time your older siblings get married

c = the number of Childless years once you get married or the number of years after your younger siblings become parents

Do the Math, and if your calculations are right, you’ll soon figure out how match-making ideas and creative tips for procreation increase in direct proportion to the number of years you remain single or childless! The catalyst in this reaction changes according to the nature of the meeting - so weddings and baby-related events add fuel to the fire while chance meetings are relatively tamer in comparison. However, questions in a crowd are easier to deflect than those that are shot at you when you’re caught solo and unawares.

As the years go by, one or both of two things happen – the relative intensity of the enquiries decreases, and/or you develop buffalo skin along the lines of the Survival of the Thickest theory (again, my apologies to Darwin for paraphrasing his postulation) and become an expert in deflecting the most embarrassing questions and insinuations without batting an eyelid.

More time moves on, and one fine day, you start to realize that you're relatively outside the firing range because younger and more eligible relatives have become sitting ducks and ripe targets. You heart does a little jig! Oh, the joy of freedom, of being able to move around without having to skulk in the shadows and duck out of sight every time you see a question-loaded gun trained on you!

But wait…what’s that fleeting thought you had when you saw a PYT walk in through the door, dressed in her finest and looking as radiant as the sun? Did your mind just pair her up with your first cousin twice removed and suggest that they would make a great couple in a flash of a second? And did you not smile to yourself at the slight bulge you thought you saw in your sister’s husband’s sister’s daughter’s midriff, the one who got married barely a year ago?

Damn! Is this what they call the Circle of Life?

The Perfect Love Letter

Dear M,

There’s no other way to say this, so I’ll go right ahead and speak what’s on my mind.

I love you. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve met and had the pleasure to befriend. My heart and soul belong to you and I can think of nothing and no one else.

I have thought about it long and hard, and I know now that I cannot live without you. I know you don’t know much about me; I promise to come clean about every aspect of my past so you’ll know that there are no skeletons in my closet.

You should know that I am a man of my word. I swear I will provide you with the best that life has to offer. I will be a good husband, if only you give me the opportunity to prove myself.

All my love,

D

Dear D,

Yes, there is another way to say it, a way that is more practical and less passionate, for in a marriage, there soon comes a time when passion disappears, and if you’re not practical, the relationship falls to pieces.

So don't say you love me, say you’ll always understand me, even when I seem irrational and immature.

Don’t praise the beauty that you see on the outside, accept the ugliness that lies inside, because I’m not perfect.

Don’t give me your heart and soul, give me your support when I need a shoulder to lean on and your forgiveness when I make a mistake.

Don’t think only of me, think instead of us, of how we can make the marriage work, because relationships are two-way streets where you have to give way if you want to move ahead.

Don't say you cannot live without me, say you can live with me through thick and thin.

Don’t come clean about your past, assure me you will maintain cleanliness in the future and pick up after yourself; I’m not interested in the skeletons in your closet, just the tidiness of the paraphernalia in it.

Don't promise me the best in life, promise to try and make the best of all that comes our way, good or bad.

Don't be a man of your word, be a man who is not afraid to eat his words when he is wrong and tender an apology.

Don’t pledge to be a good husband, swear that you will be a good friend for life, someone who knows me through and through and loves me just the same.

BTW, if you’ve given all your love to me, does that mean you have nothing left over for the children we’re going to have? :-)

M

Strength

She’s the strongest person I know, and no, she’s not a wrestler or a bodybuilder or even a heavyweight.

Yet she’s strong enough to hold her tongue in the face of arguments and fights and prevent it from speaking harsh and hurtful words, even though they deserve to be said.

She’s strong enough to rein in temptation even when it tugs at her and begs her to go astray.

She’s strong enough to push down her anger, jealousy and envy even as they bubble up righteously.

She’s strong enough to control her thoughts when they cross the grey lines between good and bad.

She’s strong enough to love unconditionally without expecting anything in return.

She’s strong enough hold back tears even though they long to be released, because to spill them would mean to cause hurt to those who love her.

She’s strong enough to let go, when all she wants is to hold on for dear life.

She weighs nothing, yet she’s the heaviest burden I bear; for I carry her around all the time, everywhere, as a figment of my imagination.

She’s the kind of person I hope to be, yet know will never become!

Closure

Ten years is not a long time, not when you see them flash by you in a fraction of a second through the eyes of a lost love. Another day, another train journey, a whole other era – the compartment morphed into one that was less comfortable, but infinitely more cozy. We were not alone, yet it was like we were the only ones there. He was slumming it for my sake, travelling in the sleeper class because I could not afford an AC ticket, and because he was so much in love with me. We had berths, but we chose to sit up all night, holding hands, whispering, and even cuddling and kissing when we felt bold enough or when the urge was too much to resist.

It took every ounce of self control I possessed to jerk myself back to reality, to life as it was today. It seemed like nothing had changed – there he was, sitting across me, looking at me like a deer caught unawares in bright headlights, forgetting that there were other people around. However, the bright band of gold on his ring finger gave me enough of a jolt to show that everything had changed.

We were no longer the inseparable couple we were all through college and a few years after too; we were practically strangers now, erstwhile lovers whose paths had crossed again through some strange quirk of fate. I had no idea what he was doing on a train; with the freaking rich (and anal) dad he had, it was a wonder he was being “allowed” to travel with the masses, even if it was in a 1AC compartment.

I put aside the past and focused on putting my bags under the seat; should I sit beside him or on the seat opposite? There was one other person in the compartment, an older man who had his head buried in a magazine. Vanity reared its ugly head and I chose to flaunt my still young and still slim body by sitting across from him, as if to make him regret what he had given up when he chose his father’s money over me. I could feel the bitterness rushing back into me, but before it could get too acrid, my conscience took over. What choice did he have? Would you have done anything different in his place? Would you have given up every comfort in life just to feel your lover’s arms around you? Yes I would, the tiny voice screamed back. And hate and love mingled together again to cause an agonizing emotion that is hard to shake off.

I forced these negative thoughts out of my mind and dragged myself back to the present; what was he doing here in India? The last I heard, he was in the US of A at some fancy college pursuing a degree that his dad had “purchased” for him. I was both the beauty and the brains of our relationship, no wonder most people thought I was a gold digger for hooking up with him; they couldn’t see why else I fell in love with him. Little do they know that in typical filmy style, I was offered an obscene amount of money to get my claws off him; it’s not like I’m completely ethical, but I chose not to take the money and run. And I had no regrets even after he threw me over for the same cold, hard cash.

I had made it on my own; with just my education and tenacity, I was a successful professional today with an overweight bank balance. I was still single, and for some reason, the thought of marriage left a sour taste in my mouth.

The train had left the station – a quick look at my watch showed me it had been well over 15 minutes since I boarded, yet we had not exchanged a single word. I had been lost in my thoughts while he had apparently sought refuge from his guilt-ridden past in his laptop. Night crept upon us, and the elderly gentleman asked if he could go to bed. Sleep hadn’t beckoned me yet, and I doubted if it would today, yet I climbed up to my berth, closed my eyes, and tried futilely to close out my memories.

I had worked hard to forget him and move on; tears and depression had eventually given way to resolve and determination. Work was my salvation as I threw myself into my climb to the top. Eventually, the memories had stopped tormenting me, until now. Why did I have to see him today? More importantly, why does my stomach feel full of butterflies? Why does my heart long to reach out to him and….Oh, stop it, I can’t go there anymore, no one climbs back into a gutter after they’ve clawed their way out.

I saw him climb up to the berth alongside mine and lie down. A smile came unbidden to my lips as I saw that his legs stretched out of the berth – he had always been too tall for standard Indian sizes. He turned towards me, it was dark, yet I saw the light in his eyes as he looked right at me. I could not turn the other way now, and what was even more terrifying was that I did not want to. I shut my eyes tightly, yet a single teardrop squeezed through. The next time I opened them, a thin sliver of light came in through the space between the curtain and the window.

I looked at my watch, it was 5.30 am. I looked down, and my heart stopped beating – the old man and his luggage were nowhere to be seen, and Ram was staring right at me from his seat below. “Suki…..,” his lips moved and I thought I heard my name, yet I was unsure. I wanted to curl up and cling to the safety of that berth until we reached our destination, but the maturity I had gained over the years made me climb down. Oh God, I must look a mess! I walked out of the compartment with my handbag, freshened up, and came back. I knew we were going to talk, I did not know about what.

Surprisingly enough, it was easy to hold a normal conversation with him – you would think it would be hard to reconnect on a casual basis with someone you gave your soul to and who you last saw through a film of tears and desperation! But the pleasantries flowed, even as our past was relegated to water under a bridge – he was married (to a rich socialite of course), no children yet (I’m sure the bitch does not want to give up her anorexic figure for bratty kids), he had joined his father’s company (no surprises there), and was now on his way to a business meeting in Delhi.

Then again, once the gaps in information over the past few years had been filled, the yawning chasm that our unresolved relationship had created opened up again. Maybe he saw accusation in my eyes, or maybe he saw the yearning still hidden there – in a trice he was beside me and I was in his arms. As he kissed me and held on tightly to me, my mind turned blank and I gave myself up to sensations I had long forgotten.

The sounds outside our compartment shook us to reality and we broke apart. The train had pulled into Delhi. He asked for my mobile number, I reached into his pocket for his phone, went into the contacts section, and saved – Sukanya: 9840983445. I looked longingly into his eyes, yet not another word was exchanged as we picked up our bags and made our way out. I hung behind when I saw the liveried chauffeur waiting deferentially outside the compartment to carry his luggage to the car (obviously fancy) that was parked outside.

And as I made my way to the taxi stand, I was whistling. Men are such suckers - when they think they can have a woman with no strings attached, it’s so damn easy to string them along. I smiled thinking of my real mobile number - 9840954438; and no, he does not know where I work or even what I do for a living because he had been too much of a pompous ass and spoken only about his life – the miserable existence he was supposedly leading because he had a rich father and a snooty wife. He had no curiosity at all about the woman whose heart he broke all those years ago, only the wicked desire to tap the residual desire he saw in her eyes and read in her body language.

I was taught as a child to ask God to give me what I wanted; yet today, it was a deal that I made with the devil that helped me find what I needed – CLOSURE. It was by no means revenge on any scale, but it felt sweet all the same!!!!

Boy Oh Boy! Marriage!

He knew exactly how he felt at that moment, and it was not a pretty thought or feeling; he was the egg that was ripe for fertilization – the sex was over, the pleasure of the orgasm had died down a while ago, and now all that was left was this – the dread of the morning after and the consequences that come with them. A million sperm were hurtling towards him, and all he wanted to do was run and hide so they couldn’t catch him. But he knew better - this was the natural order of things and he was resigned to his fate.

Hardly a week had passed since he had returned from the UK, but even that was too long for his mom to wait – she was already planning his wedding. Who was he kidding – she had been planning it from the moment he had been born and she knew it was a boy. After all, in her world and the one he was having trouble understanding, the male child is a status symbol, one you can auction off for the best price once you’ve dressed him up with a fancy education, even if it is a degree from a tiny college in a god-forsaken town in rural England for which you had to pay through your nose.

And so here he was – his carefree bachelor days were drawing to a close and he was supposed to “choose” a bride, someone he had never met before, marry her, and live happily ever after? If his mom had her way, the girl would be rich enough to have loads of money yet not too rich that she could flaunt her wealth and use it as a weapon, educated enough to boast about to relatives but not so much that she outshone her son, pretty enough so that her son was the envy of the neighborhood yet not so much that the beauty went to her head, capable enough to run the household yet not so much that she would dethrone the reigning queen (his mom of course), and most important of all, fertile enough to bear her two grandsons – as she had told him once too often, she “understood” today’s girls and so would not be greedy and ask for more. He wished he could tell her that it was the male factor that determined the sex of the baby and that the woman had nothing to do with producing a boy or a girl, but he saved his energy as he knew it would fall on ears that pretended to be deaf to things they didn’t want to acknowledge.

He was not averse to the idea of marriage per se; what he protested against was being used as the bait to catch the biggest fish in the pond. His mom thought he was both the cream and the cake, yet only he knew that he felt more like a lump of meat on a butcher’s auction block, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. No, he didn’t have a girlfriend who he wanted to marry, and although he had had his share of women (how many exactly is one’s share by the way?), they were all in his past, the remnants of his happy-go-lucky youth. And since he had never been in love, he was open to the idea of an arranged marriage.

He thought of the woman who would soon become his partner for life – she need not be beautiful but I should like the way she looks, education does not matter as long as she is intelligent (he was wise enough to know that the two were entirely different entities), she should be a good friend more than a wife, and yeah, it wouldn’t hurt if she enjoyed sex instead of looking at it as something that needed to be hurriedly done in the dark or as just the act of procreation. If he had told his mom all this when she asked for his preference, she would have cut off his tongue – if she hadn’t fainted in shock before that.

The next few months were a blur – he remembered just wanting the damn thing to be over and done with; he had reached a point where he didn’t care who he married just as long as his mom stopped obsessing over every tiny detail. But fate was kind to him – he married someone who was not perfect, but made the perfect foil for him. His mom was happy with her daughter-in-law, mostly because the latter was resourceful in buttering her up in every possible way so that the relationship was smooth. And he was content with life and thankful he never had to go through the rigmarole of choosing a bride ever again.

Two years down the line, he knew he had thanked fate too soon – the gleaming glint in his mom’s still-youthful eyes spoke volumes when the doctor emerged from the labor room with the “good” news that his newborn was a boy, and he sank to the nearest chair wondering if God would have been inclined to listen to him if he had prayed harder for a girl!!!

Why Pillayar Chose to Remain a Bachelor

She woke with a start, and even before her eyes were fully open, her hands were groping for her phone – no missed calls, no new text messages. Despair led to desperation as her nimble fingers went into the menu options to see if she had somehow pressed a button that sent unread messages into a different folder and if she had missed any new calls. Nothing; she felt anger bubbling up inside her as she heard her mother call to her from downstairs. All through her bath and as she dressed, she worked herself into a frenzy as she cursed him for not calling or even texting her.

They had been apart for less than 24 hours – when college closed for the winter break, they said farewell for the first time since they had found each other. Yes, they had agreed to be careful around their parents and not arouse suspicion by being constantly on the phone or running up huge bills, but even so, does he not know that I miss him? How can he forget me like this?

An idea struck; her mother was setting the table as she ran down the stairs and into the study. She switched on the computer and waited with bated breath for the Internet connection to get up to speed – maybe he has emailed me at that special id we created just for each other. Maybe he has written a romantic poem or a sweet letter that shows how much he misses me. After all, he is a guy and guys are not openly romantic. Her eyes misted in anticipation as she conjured up images of the words he would have written – she knew he was a romantic at heart because of the first letter he had written professing his love for her. Her castles in the air came crashing to the ground with a bang in the next instant as she saw “No new email messages” prominently displayed on the screen. Her regular email too was full of junk mail and nothing else.

She ate the dosai her mom put her plate without even looking at it – and even as she called him every name she could think of, a tiny corner of her mind spoke up – you could call, you could text him, you could email, why don’t you do so? She pushed this voice out of her head – why should I do all those things? Why can’t he show me that he needs me too? Let him call, I will wait. Besides, I don’t want his snoopy sister getting her hands on my messages.

The hours dragged on, and she checked her phone every few seconds. Her frustration reached new levels as she switched off the damn thing and locked it away in her cupboard. Let him call and not get through; let his texts remain undelivered; let him panic and get worried about me. But a few minutes later, she rushed to open the door and switch on the phone – did he call just now? If he could not get through, why did he not leave even a message? Idiot, idiot, idiot!

Maybe he was still upset over the fight they had the day before they left for home, maybe he was still sulking over it. But we did make up immediately. The voice in her head piped up once again – What making up? It was more of making out; all guys think of is sex. Maybe he made up with you just to get you to kiss him; now that he got what he wanted and you are out of sight, you’re out of mind. Stop it, she yelled to her head – why are you arguing both for and against me? Are you nuts or trying to drive me nuts?

Her sister broke her reverie and asked her to go shopping, so she went along if only to get him (and that pesky voice) out of her mind. As the car moved along in the haphazard Chennai traffic, the corner of her eyes saw a bus almost run over a bike. At once her thoughts flew in different directions – OMG, what if he has had an accident? What if he is in some hospital, thinking of me but unable to get through to me? Pillayarappa, let him be ok, I will break a hundred coconuts for you. The nagging voice whispered naughtily in her mind again – and who was it who made fun of their mother for “wasting” money on coconuts when you passed your 12th standard with flying colours? She brushed it aside with annoyance – I will keep my promise Pillayare, just let him be fine. It’s ok even if he does not call or get in touch with me, I just hope he’s in good health, that is all I want.

Nalli was bursting at the seams with avid shoppers eager to complete their Christmas/Pongal purchases. As the two girls battled the horde and reached the pattu saree section, the crowd thinned out. As her sister headed straight for the display, she was still bargaining with Pillayar, her eyes were full as she offered him treat after treat. Her phone jangled and shook her to reality - the special ringtone made her grab it greedily and gravitate to a corner of the store.

Hello, hello, can you hear me? How are you? Are you ok now? Tears were pouring down her face in relief and happiness – And at the other end of the line – Hey baby, how’re you doing? It’s so good to hear your voice. Why should I be ok now? What happened to me? She replied - Why didn’t you call or message for so long? I thought you had an accident or were ill. – No, no, nothing like that sweetie, I had to go away with my dad to take care of a business deal as soon as I got back. I forgot my charger, so my phone gave out. I’m so sorry, honey…..

You idiot, you moron, how dare you do this to me? – She cut him short. People were starting to look around to see where the loud voice was coming from, but she didn’t care. She was on her own trip, calling him every name in the book and then some, berating him for ditching her – You men are all like this, you think only about yourselves – on the other side, his friend wondered at the bewildered expression on his face – Didn’t the dude say he was going to call his girlfriend? Why does he look like his brains are addled?

And Pillayarappa in his infinite wisdom thought to himself – there go the 100 coconuts; they will be broken no doubt, not at the doorstep of my temple, but on that poor guy’s head! Any wonder why I chose to remain a bachelor!!!