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Message-ID: <31380asstr$994900202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sharmila Sanyal" <anu_g42@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} My Story (Part 20) by Sharmila Sanyal
Date: Wed, 11 Jul 2001 21:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Mystor20.txt" begin>

After a very long hiatus, I have managed to
prepare the Part 20 for posting. As some of the
readers know, I have been away on a vacation and
my time away was simply wonderful. I am thankful
to those very patient readers. While I will not
promise quick future instalments, I will
definitely try not to delay them as much. For me,
it is that time of the year that is the busiest,
so I should apologize in advance.
There may be a more-than-usual number of lapses
in this part. I venture to lay blame on my
present diurnal rhythm that is yet to match steps
here. As always, I will rely on my readers (PJ,
take note) for the final proofing . . . well,
perhaps a little too heavily this time.


Please visit my ftp site at ASSTR. Please write at
<anu_g42@hotmail.com> with comments and corrections.


WARNING:  Do not proceed beyond this "warning"  if you
are not a mature person and/or are  offended by explicit
written descriptions of sexual encounters.




My Story (Part 20) by Sharmila Sanyal.

Drizzles of the autumn afternoons gave way to
cool northerly breeze. Almost imperceptibly --
rather apologetic -- feeble winter dragged
himself into the metropolis. Calcutta never
slowed down, yet the evening smog of the winter
months catered an illusion of lethargy around
her. Au contraire, she came alive with book fairs
and exopsitions, with film festivals and music
conferences.

One could get really lonely in a wintery Calcutta -
- if one chose to.

	Christmas came and went and my 'Apollo' did
not show up. Ajit and Debi were getting married
the following summer, in June, to be precise, and
he had to be present at the wedding. He had
decided that he couldn't get away twice within
such short a period. I was disappointed and sad,
a sure sign that I was in love. I was in my
second year of college by then and the work load
was the saving grace. However,  that was one of
the longest winters.  As always, Debi and Ajit
helped comfort me. Sex have always helped in
cheering me up and, naturally, Debi took it upon
herself to keep my mind off Dipankar. I knew Ajit
would have liked to help too, but I kept a very
careful distance, for nothing had changed yet.

	There were nights alone in my bed when I
wished Sanju were there. I knew I would be
mindful of the ultimate barrier, but I wanted the
thrill all the same. I wished his naked body
against mine and I wished his hardness in my
grip. Imagining his erection between my thighs, I
would feel my clitoris swell up and become taut.
I would press down on it flexing my thighs . . .
and I would come in a subdued heat, my orgasm
gently blanketing me in a restful slumber.


***

	They wanted me to tag along for the
"honeymoon". I respectfully declined. I was in no
mood.

	He couldn't make it even for their wedding.
Debi thought that if I went on a short vacation
with them it would cheer me up! That was the
quintessential Debi . . . ever the tender-heart.
Not that she would have invited anybody but me,
but it was a ridiculous suggestion nonetheless.
Ajit was not that enthusiastic, what with him
already having had to wait so long to really be
alone with Debi.

	I would not have, anyway. I knew how much
Debi was looking forward to the short honeymoon
in Orissa. Ajit had secured a nice position with
a new company in another state. He was hired to
oversee their semiconductor department. It was a
job too good to pass up for somebody from
Calcutta University (which has been in shambles
for a very long time).  Debi did well too, and
she opted to continue with her studies. She
wanted to get into a teaching position after
obtaining a doctoral.

	They had decided to live apart for a while
till Ajit found a decent place to live and Debi
could transfer to the local reputed institute for
her post-graduate work. So, I allowed them their
time with each other. Indeed, strange as it may
sound, even this honeymoon was delayed till Ajit
could be back with a couple of weeks of unpaid
vacation during November. Ajit had left for his
job within a week following their wedding.

	It was a miserable time for me.  I don't
remember ever feeling so alone. I was also very
upset with Dipankar. He had called me up before
the wedding and I had slammed the phone down in
what my mother had later described as a 'rage'.

	It took me a week to get over that feeling
of dejection and despair. I reasoned with myself
that the only time I really talked to him in
person was more than eighteen months back. So, I
decided, it was not worth getting all twisted up
inside for such a long-distance relationship.
Then, out of the blue, I found myself drawn to
Bidyut.

***

	That day the whole country was in the grip
of panic. Our colleges shut down early for the
day and we scrambled out into the streets hoping
to catch whatever transportation we could find
back home. Debi and Ajit had left just a few days
earlier for their trip. There was an eerie
silence on the streets, save the occassional
privately owned bus, its horn blaring, speeding
off empty at an obscene speed, trying to get back
to its depot before the 'riot' broke. Almost
everybody had a confused and lost look about
her/him. The Sikh taxi drivers were almost flying
through the streets with their meters wrapped
away and out of sight.

"Fifty," said the rickshaw-puller, "you will not
find anything cheaper now, Didimoni." He
announced with a 'take-it-or-leave-it' attitude.

"He is right . . . we could split the fare." I
heard a voice behind me. I turned my head and
looked at him. It was Bidyut. He was then a
couple of years my senior, in his fifth, to be
precise. "I heard you ask him," he added with a
gentle smile, "I didn't know you lived there. I
live in that area too."

"Really, where?" I asked. It was strange that I
had never seen him around there, but from what he
told me he lived a street over from our's. "Sure,
Bidyut-da, I don't mind."

	And that was it! He had an aura of
gentleness about him that I found very comforting
.. especially during that crazy morning's
confusion.  I had talked with him before and also
had an occasisional cup of tea in his company --
albeit not in any exclusivity. I never really
noticed him beyond the usual exchanges of
niceties.

	As we talked, sitting in the rickshaw
uncomfortably small even for the closest of
friends, a warm, if not romantic, feeling swept
across me. I don't remember what we -- make it
'he' -- talked about during that twentyfive-
minute ride, all I now remember is that I had
suddenly found myself rather interested in the
man sitting beside me. I remember having looked
at his face and feeling the warmth. It was that
morning that I actually noticed his features for
the  first time. Before that, I could have had
easily passed him on the street and not recognize
him as "Bidyut-da" with whom I had occasisionally
shared a bench at the tea stall.

	With voice a very romantic baritone, he had
a strikingly typical Bengali face -- a very
Bengali mix of Mongolian and Caucasian features
in just the right proportions. He had large eyes
with a straight nose set between a pair of
rounded cheek bones. His wide forehead, above the
almost perfect set of eyebrows, looked even wider
with his hair brushed back. His clean shaven face
was just too flawless to be remembered.

	With my mind suddenly racing towards a very
unknown expanse, the trip home had ended with him
getting off at his house and paying off the full
fare. I had objected and then had dreamily given
up with a very sheepish promise of returning the
favor in kind at some undetermined future date.

***

	They returned from their honeymoon,
perfectly radiant, with extremely satisfied
looks. When I looked at her eyes, winked and
asked the obvious question, she said, with a hint
of bashfulness, "Oh . . . marvelous . . . just
wonderful . . .." or some such nondescript
phrases. I thought I saw a familiar sign of her
arousal just as she mentally recollected her
conjugal bliss. It was obvious that the recent
turmoil that the country was facing did little to
dampen her excitement.

	The Prime Minister assassinated, and the
entire country in the throes of intense communal
passion, our college remained closed for the
next several days. Despite the political odium
he egendered among the followers of the Prime
Minister,  the Chief Minister of our province
drew admiration from all politcal parties for
having averted a communal massacre the like of
which had gripped New Delhi. It was a strange
time indeed. Prior to that day, the political
fallout from the very insolent action on the
Sikh holy shrine was confined to that part of
the country. Now, every Indian was feeling the
pinch. The late Prime Minister had never been
the darling of every Indian, but she had an
enigma about her that kept friends and foes
equally in awe. The entire body politic was at a
loss. I had never been too political, but
something in the air had permeated my apathy.
Maybe it was the fact that it was the first
assassination and the first communal unrest in
India during my existence.  We were not reading
about these things in the history books, we were
living through it.  For several days, my libido
seemed to have taken a well deserved vacation.


"Did you guys go out and see things?" I asked.

"We did . . . went on a trip to Konark," she said
with a wink and a naughty glitter in her eyes,
"and after that you can imagine . . . "

"Sure I can," I said, "knowing you and Ajit, you
guys probably never left your hotel rooms after
that." I wasn't really too much interested in
learning the details. It surprised even me.

"Why don't you come to our place?" Debi
suggested, "and I will tell you all about IT!"
There definitely was a pregnant stress on that
last word. I would have died to know all about
"IT". I had asked her over to our place. I wanted
to talk to her about Bidyut-da. Then I decided
ajgainst it. I wasn't sure myself about what was
happening,  so I thought I  would keep this
newest twist to myself . . . at least for a
while.

	I did go to 'her' place and I think I did
listen to the very detailed description of
intimacy between her and Ajit.

	After the wedding, they were allocated a
separate room in the house. The room was on the
third floor, which was essentially the roof
except for this one room that Ajit and his
younger brother used to share. It was of a modest
size and very airy.  Ajit's brother, about six
years his younger, ended up having to sleep in
the drawing room since the second room belonged
to their sister.

	Debi locked the doors to their room and
proceeded to give me a 'blow-by-blow' account of
their honeymoon in Orissa. Not much about Orissa.
She described to me in details the numerous
erotic sculptures that adorn the many temples,
and promised me to show the pictures they took of
them. I recollected, even as I listened to her,
the very physical effect I had experienced
several years earlier when we went to Puri and
then, from there, to see the Sun temple of
Konark. That, in all probability, would have been
my first experience of arousal. I had little
knowledge of much more then. (I don't remember
the exact year, but I could not have been more
than twelve and I had absolutely no idea what a
sexual excitment should feel like.)

	As I listened to her describing how they
tried to emulate the very difficult positions
depicted on the temples, and how, she banged her
head on the floor while trying to accomodate a
standing Ajit with a modified head-stand, I found
my mind drifting. My disinterested state didn't
go undetected for too long and Debi was all over
me trying to see if I wasn't coming down with
something.

"You should, maybe, stay here tonight, Sharmi,"
Debi said with concern in her voice, "I will make
you a bed on the floor."

	If I were in my usual elements, my
response,  to that proposal, would have been
predictable. When I failed to respond with the
usual racy suggestions, Debi looked at me
intently and said, "I know something is wrong,
what is it?"

"Nothing, Debi, I am just preoccupied with the
things going on in the country, I guess," I said
as I stood up from the bed and looked at her. It
might not have been the whole truth but it did
comprise a part of it.

"I see," she was not convinced, "but I have never
known  you to be very political."

"You don't have to be political, Debi," I snapped
back before I could control myself, "you think
everything is about you?"

"Sharmi!"

"I'm sorry, Debi, I am really not in the mood," I
kissed her and tried to make up for the damage.
"I want to listen to your honeymoon stories,
maybe when Ajit is not here I can come and spend
the night?" I knew even as I was saying it that
Debi was not buying it.

"I'm sorry too, Sharmi," she said, "I know how
you feel. Dipu should have come in June . . .
even if for a week."

"Never mind him," I thought I should tell her
that she was way off-base on that one, but I
couldn't. I didn't want to give her another
reason to worry and perhaps also I wasn't totally
sure about her being "way off-base" either.
However, both politics and Bidyut were to be
blamed that evening.

	For the first time I kept something from
Debi. The urge to protect my newfound romantic
interest from others was inexplicably dominant.
Another year would pass before I could tell her
about him.

***

	We met regularly in the hospital and,
before long, started going out to have dinner at
the local restaurants. Things were made simple by
the fact that Dipankar failed to show up the
following year too, and our regular
correspondence had slowed to a trickle. Events
during that period are somewhat fuzzy and there
are temporal overlaps in my mind, but I believe,
by the year-end, Bidyut was a general
practitioner, assisting his father in his already
established clinic.  He had wanted to go into
surgery, but his father's failing health forced
him to pick up the practice. Although he didn't
seem to mind, I had felt sorry for him.

++++

	When I finally broached Bidyut to her, she
had expressed uneasiness. "But, aren't you
corresponding with Dipu, too?" Debi had said.

"I am . . . but don't you think it would be
rather selfish of him to expect that I will keep
my life on hold for a person I had basically
talked to once about thirty months ago?" I became
aware of the acerbity in my delivery.

"I suppose," and she had looked at me
quizzically. "You sure you have absolutely no
feeling for Dipu, then?" she had always been very
direct and this one actually caught me off-guard.

"I . . . I . . . don't know," I had said, "but
Bidyut is here and now!" I had always known that
there was something about Dipankar that was hard
for me to ignore; but let me stick to the
timeline for now. Other things warrant
documentation meanwhile.


***

	After Ajit had left for his job again, Debi
was feeling very alone. Especially so since she
was in  different surroundings. Although she was
no stranger to that household, it was, after all,
not hers . . . not yet, anyway. Not where she
grew up and not the room she was used to falling
asleep at night. The two weeks following their
wedding that she and Ajit were together, had
passed in a blink. She had had little time to
brood. There is an age old Bengali aphorism --
"ghharete parabaashi" -- that could aptly
describe her state of mind. She was a stranger in
her 'own' house.

	As for myself, I was feeling relieved that
Ajit had left the week before. Now that he was
Debi's husband, I felt uneasy being my old self
in his presence.

	Ajit's parents were wonderful and they made
every effort to make their 'daughter-in-law'
comfortable, but it wasn't something they could
fix. Debi was missing Ajit like she had never
imagined. It was probably compounded by the short
week of honeymoon.

	It was not the same as before their
marriage. She described to me how the physical
union had felt like the ultimate melding of their
two souls. It was something I could not
comprehend then. I wondered how she could be so
miserable all of a sudden when she knew all along
that they were to live apart for a while. Indeed,
not accompanying him was her decision all along.
After my initial sympathy wore off, I felt
irritated at her whining about it everytime we
met.Part of my vex (I am sure now)  was due to
the sudden cognizance of Ajit's eminence in her
life.

Strangely I had half expected that, but never saw
it coming.


	Debi somehow sensed my dejection and came
to the rescue. "Sharmi," she tenderly said that
afternoon as we lay side by side in their bed,
"you are upset, aren't you?"

"No!" I was looking at the ceiling, "why?"

"I know you," she sounded contemplative, "I think
you are jealous." After a short pause, she
whispered out loud, "My God, Sharmi . . . you ARE
jealous . . . of Ajit . . . aren't you!" she sat
up straight beside me. I looked at her and
marveled  at her beauty. She looked so damn
beautiful, the vermilion along the thin parting
of her dense black hair showing like a line of
fire! I wanted to hug her, and kiss her, and
become her as Ajit obviously had. But for my
bruised ego, I would have pulled her down on top
of me and be naughty. Instead, all I did was turn
over on my stomach and break out in a bawl,
thankfully muffled by the pillow.

"Great!" Debi jumped out of the bed and quickly
closed the door. "What on earth . . . ! Why . . .
why are you crying like that? If anybody should
cry it should be I ! Sharmi . . .?"

"See . . . you don't even think about me anymore,
Debi," the words escaped muffled.

"What?" Debi stood beside the bed and turned me
over, "what are you talking about? You are being
childish, Sharmi. You know better than to say
that."

"You have not stopped talking about Ajit since I
came," I was being childish.

"Now! Upon my word, Sharmi! I thought you wanted
to know about Ajit and me!" she said, "and whom
should I talk to about these things but you,
anyway? Oh, Sharmi . . . you know I love you both
. . . equally" she added, "well almost . . ." and
broke out in a giggle.

	In the deep recesses of my head somewhere
there still was a sane voice that poked me and
alerted me to my juvenile behavior.  I just
wanted to hear it from Debi. I was certainly
mature enough to know the meaning of "almost" in
that context. I also knew rather well that I was
really not jealous of Ajit (indeed, I was, at
that moment, feeling a keenship with him). I
could not myself fathom my own emotions and felt
stupid.

"Damn . . . I know . . . I feel stupid, Debi," I
murmured.

"Never mind now," she said, "I have not had any
release for over a week now, are you in a mood to
. . .?"

"God, yessss," I said with a naughty hiss,
grabbed her hand and pulled. She lost her balance
and fell on the bed.  The next moment she was all
over me. "Do you think you'll like me after doing
Ajit?" I said, trying to sound despondent.

"We'll see . . ." Debi answered as she unbuttoned
my blouse, "if not, we'll surgically fit you with
something." We both giggled at that very crassy
quip.

"I should get out of my clothes, Debi," I said
and stood up from the bed, "I will have to go
back home, you know."

"OK . . . hurry up," Debi was evidently starving.
She was looking at me with a fiery lust in her
eyes. I took my time as I undressed. I watched
her breathing getting irregular and her eyes
glazing over as I teased.

"Sharmi!" she hissed as I gently gathered my sari
up and started pleating it for properly putting
it away.

"You don't want me to go home in a crumpled up
sari, do you?" I said with a nonchalant smile and
that drove her mad.

"I have a million saris you could wear, you imp!"
she got up and from the bed and grabbed the half-
done thing from me.  She had already divested
herself of her own and was in her blouse and
petticoat. I could see the outlines of her
nipples from above the fine material of her
sleeveless blouse. She seemed to have added some
to those beautiful orbs since I last saw her in a
state of undress.

"Wow . . . Debi . . . Ajit certainly has applied
his touch there, hasn't he!" I said as I felt the
contour of one of her breasts with my hand, "Ahem
. . . I wonder if he will be willing to oblige me
too . . ."

"Sure . . ." She said while unbuttoning her
blouse, "but I don't think you really need any in
that department, you look just fine."

	We were most certainly in our comfortably
racy frame of mind. The allusion to 'Ajit's
touch' is traceable to the widely held contention
among Indians that the lover's massage serves to
augment female breasts (a concept that surely
would save a lot of money for a lot of
misdirected souls, and, of course, push back the
retirement age of a certain group of
professionals by about twenty years).

	I stared at her full, proud breasts with
envy and affection. As she bared them, I lunged
forward and stooped to plant a kiss on one. A
strange scent greeted me.  Debi even smelled
different! It was in no way a turn off, but, in a
flash, I became aware of her mutation from being
just 'Debi' to being somebody's wife,  somebody's
daughter-in-law and somebody's sister-in-law.

I might have froze in that posture, for I heard
Debi's low voice, "Sharmi?"

"You smell different," I looked up at her eyes
and declared, "maybe it's the house."

"Bad?" she asked naively. There was a slight hint
of embarrrassment in her voice.

"You never smell bad," I said, and licked at one
of her already swollen nipples still under the
thin fabric of her bouse, "just a little
different."

Debi moaned and took her blouse off.

'C'mon . . . Sharmi . . ." she said as she pulled
me towards her and we both crashed on the bed.

	It was a big bed and it felt different not
to have to maneuver our bodies within the
confines of a narrow cot that we were used to. I
still had my blouse and my petticoat on, but I
think I forgot about them. I was hungry for her
and for sex. I had not even masturbated for a few
weeks. The pent up tension -- and my frustration
at not being able to connect with Debi and Ajit
following their union -- made me frantic. I
wanted to make love to Debi like the very first
night we explored each other.

"Mmmmmm . . ." I burried my face between her
breasts and let myself go on her body. She held
me tightly with her arms across my back and
rocked.

"Ohhhhh . . . sweet . . . my sweet Sharmi . . ."
she moaned and she rocked as if cradling a baby,
"yessss . . . suck . . . suck on my tits . . .
ohhhh . . . nnnnngghhhh . . . missed you . . ."

	I soon forgot my anguish and had the most
exhilarating afternoon in months. Debi let me
relax on my back while she feasted. She
definitely appeared more hungry than I was. I
wasn't complaining, however.

"You look more beautiful now," I said as she
unbuttoned my blouse.

"Really?" she looked at my eyes "why?"  Even as
she said that I could tell she knew already. Her
eyes betrayed her. There was a knowing
contentment in those beautiful eyes that was hard
to miss.

"You tell me . . .." I reached with my hands and
caressed her breasts, "could it be Ajit?"

"I don't see how," she was in a very playful
mood, "except that I eat . . . ate . . . a little
different," she added and threw me a naughty
grin. She reached around my back to unhook my bra
and I let her fumble for a few seconds before
pointing out that I was wearing one with a clasp
in the front.  "I should get one of these," she
said, "he should have less of a trouble then."

"You shouldn't make everything that easy for him,
Debi . . . or else you'll spoil him," I said,
very serioulsy, as I lazily played with her
nipples.

"OK . . . boss . . ." she said with a mock salute
and a smile. She bent down on me, taking my
already sensitive nipples between her teeth --
one by one.  Arching my back,  I bit down hard on
my lower lip trying to stifle a moan.

	We savored each other . . . witjout
bothering to get rid of all our clothes. She
still had her petticoat on . . . and I my blouse,
my bra and the rest. Soaking my panties through,
I let Debi rub her closely trimmed cunt on my
upper thigh, while, hunched over my torso, she
licked me and kissed me and caressed me, her
fingertips tracing abstract patterns on my skin.

	Considering the extent of our want, we
behaved with utmost civility, I must say. Whether
that was a subconscious decision on our part --
given that it was Debi's 'Shashurbaari' -- or it
just happened that way, I couldn't tell, but we
enjoyed what we did that afternoon.

	We played with each other, despite the
urgency, and spent the entire afternoon slowly
satisfying our bodies. I don't remember having
ever done it that way till that day. We had had
taken our time before -- ascending to feverish
heights of passion and then letting go with
volcanic raptures -- but that afternoon was very
different.  Time waited in deference to our
mutual homage at the alter of Pleasure.  It was
an extended autumn that year in early october and
its indolence  -- in that room -- had us in its
grip. We licked each other in a sixtynine and the
heady aroma between her thighs made me tipsy. I
don 't have any other word to describe my state.

	When we knew that we were close, we faced
each other and we held ourselves in a soft
embrace, our thighs entwined and the petals of
our womanhood softly but surely against the
other's thigh, grinding in a deliberate rythm.
Our toungues mingled, our eyes locked, and we
moaned and we groaned into each other's mouths as
we started a slow ascention to the peak . . . the
peak I had not visited in the longest time . . .
the peak from where I would let myself go . . .
the peak where Debi pushed me up to, in a gentle,
sustained fervor. I dug into the smooth skin of
her thigh with my wetness and my senses reeled,
my lightness soaking up every sensation that
permeated from between my legs. Our resolution
washed over our perspiring bodies like tiny, yet
unbroken,  waves that break at a  lake's shore in
a calm afternoon.

	We could have easily drifted off to an
afternoon siesta, only that it was not quite
afternoon anymore. The late autumn's Sun had
already undertaken his hasty retreat. We looked
into each other's eyes and smiled. I thought I
detected a shyness in her eyes. I put my lips on
hers.

"Ki bhaabchhish?" I whispered my  question, my
lips barely moving on hers.

"Kichhunaa . . ." she replied with her eyes
closed.

"You ARE thinking something, Debi," I moved my
face away and asked with some emphasis. Her eyes
were still closed.

"Well . . ." she looked at my eyes and said, "I
was wondering if this could be considered
adultery!"

"Because you are married now?" I found myself
wondering at the same time. Never did I consider
that possibility.

"Yeah!" she said out loud and sat up. She looked
ravishing in her dishevelled hair and her state
of undress.

"Good question," still mulling the idea, I
responded unmindfully. I had no idea either.  The
scenario never played itself out in my
imagination.

"Maybe I should actually ask Ajit," Debi chuckled
and ran one of her hand across my breasts,
lightly touching the taut nipples with her
fingertips, "if he doesn't think it is . . ."

"And if he does?" I put my hand on hers over my
chest and asked. I knew that Debi wasn't going to
ask him anything and our occassional afternoons
or nights together would remain the presumed
play, as it were, between us. But, again, just
that thought of Ajit's confidence amused me.

"Well, I guess I'll have to make sure he doesn't,
won't I," she replied with the same naughty smile
and a feigned sigh.


	We lazily dressed and made ourselves civil
before joining the family downstairs. Debi's in-
laws were sitting in front of the TV in their
small drawing room. They looked up at us and
smiled approvingly.

"Byash ghum dili tora!" Ajit's Mom said with an
affectionate nod and in an accent reminiscent of
her ancestral home. I was glad for her inference.

"Not really . . . I was just dozing," I laughed,
"I usually don't sleep in the afternoons."

"I did . . ." Debi said in a very low voice. I
detected a hint of guilt in her voice. She never
could lie very well.

"Stay for dinner, Sharmi," Ajit's mom insisted,
her sense of hospitality a reflection of her
unmistakable roots in the erstwhile 'East
Bengal'.

"No, no, it'll be too late then," I said. "I will
come back and maybe stay the night one of these
days," I added with a fleeting glance at Debi.
She was looking straight ahead through the
window.


	I felt a nip in the air as I stepped
outside. Debi was going to see me off at the bus
stop. I gathered the thin shawl around me and
looked at her. "Toke jete hobe na . . ." I said
tentatively. I wanted her company as long as I
could, but I said that anyway!

"No, I want to . . ." Debi started walking. "It
feels good to be out," she added, "can't go out
on a whim anymore."

"Why do you say that?" I was a little puzzled.

"Oh Sharmi . . ." she made a gesture of
exasperation with her shoulders, "it's not the
same when you are married! You'll see . . ."

"I still don't get it," I said, "they are so nice
. . . you are lucky!" I was refering to her in-
laws. They were indeed nice.

"Sharmi, Sharmi . . ." she said, "they are nice,
but no matter what, I am now a 'married woman'
and 'married women' don't go out for evening
strolls."

	Not that I was not familiar with what Debi
was saying, it was just that I could not picture
her as a 'married woman' in the way she submitted
herself to be one.

	I wanted to give a hug, but I knew that the
way I would hug her would attract curious looks.
Not that it would esentially result in any
inference at large, but I had become more aware
of our relationship that went beyond the social
prescription. I had learnt to control my
spontaneity in public.

Anyway , I was feeling much better knowing that
marriage had not didminished her affection.



***


	It was getting a little too much for Debi.
The commute to the university, for her post-
graduate classes was not that difficult and she
was used to it. However, what she was not used to
was being a 'daughter-in-law' and a graduate
student at the same time. In an extended family -
- no matter how moderately extended it is --
there are certain things that are expected of the
new inductee. A 'hyphenated daughter'	 is
supposed to help in the general upkeep of the
house, which a 'daughter' often may be excused
from. That is not to say that, Jayeeta, her
sister-in-law, didn't do her share. Being the
youngest of the three siblings, and by virtue of
the fact that she was only fifteen at the time,
she was the darling of the household. Debi was
very fond of her. Nonetheless, she increasingly
found herself unable to cope with her dual role.

	When she talked to Ajit's mother about
withdrawing from the University, she Mother was
very upset. She suggested that Debi better set
her priorities and forget about the household for
the time being. After another month or so, she
wrote to her son to come to Calcutta and find a
place for themselves closer to the University.
That was simply a way to have her out of the
house so that she would not feel obligated to do
things that are usually expected of the daughter-
in-law. Even after being told not to bother with
the household, Debi was carrying on with her
chores as usual.

	That worked out just fine. I 'agreed' to
live with Debi, and Ajit found a very decent
place on CIT Road. It was closer to the Sealdah
train station than it was to Park Circus, and
indeed was close to both our schools.  My parents
agreed that, since I would be staying with Debi,
it would be convenient for me too.

	So, by the next May, Debi and I were
sharing this wonderful flat on the ground floor
of a three-storied house. It had two bedrooms, a
drawing room, a kitchen and an extended dining
space. The neighborhood was good too. My father
wanted to pay half the rent, but Ajit declined.

"You must be joking, Meshomashai," he had said,
"I am relieved that Debi doesn't have to live all
by herself."  As a gesture, then, my father
bought some furnitures for the drawing room.

	Ajit had only a week's leave from his job,
and so we finalized the rental deal and moved in
within that short time. He had arranged for the
flat through a friend soon after his mother had
contacted him. So, it was ready when he arrived.
Needless to say, I allowed Debi and Ajit their
privacy for the couple of nights they got to
spend together in their "own home" -- albeit
rented -- and stayed home.



"Now . . . Sharmi . . . behave yourself while I
am away," Ajit whispered in my ears at the train
station.

"Did you tell that to your wife too?" I responded
sharply -- in an undertone.

"what are you two whispering about?" Debi asked.

"Tell her, Ajit . . ." I smiled.

"Tell me what?"

"He wants us to behave,"

"Yeah?" Debi looked at Ajit and then at me with a
very coquettish grin, "what did you say?"

"I said to tell you," I hugged her from the side
and said.

"I see that you are not going to," Ajit winked at
us, and then added "At least I don't have to
worry about anybody else getting into my bed."

"You are being rather presumptuous, aren't you
Ajit?" I said with some defiance in my voice.

"Who do you have in mind?" he asked, "Sanju" and
then followed it up by a quick "Oooops . . .
sorry".

"Debi!" I was genuinely shocked, "You . . . you
told him?"

"Ajit!" Debi was embarrased, "you are useless,
Ajit!"

"Don't worry, it is safe with me," Ajit grinned
devilishly.

	I was not sure how to react. I was a little
embarrased but that was about the whole extent of
it. I was shocked that Debi told him, but I
wasn't mad. Within a few moments it made every
logical sense that Debi would share this with
Ajit. Fleetingly, I could visualize them in a
passionate embrace on their bed . . . he inside
her and she murmuring the torrid details about me
and Sanju, while he slid in and out in a slow
rhythm . . . listening to her. I must say, the
scene, as I imagined it, made me humid.

"Who said I was worrying . . .." I found myself
saying as I tightened my embrace of Debi, "but
you never know . . . really . . . Ajit." I felt
some satisfaction in giving some of his own
medicine back.

Well . . . neither did I!

+++++

End Part 20 (To be Contd. . . . I think . . .)








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