The car stopped at the signal. She looked for him. He was standing there, wet, in his underpants. She smiled. He smiled. As he moved his hands up and down, his ribs flexed to define the leanness of his body. She opened her lips to let the warmth of her breath be smoked out. As the air passed through, her lips reddened. She almost licked off the water from his body. She let her eyes follow all his moves and then zoomed them out to focus on a particular part of his body. But then she realized she was missing on what's happening at other parts. She immediately zoomed her eyes in, in a frustration of missing on those forms that occurred in those missed moments. She found him looking at her. She felt being undressed. The honks around them didn't matter to her. They appeared far off.
The signal had turned yellow. She tried to look within his towel while he was changing. The lights turned green and the car moved. Her body didn't move. Neither did her face. Only two black balls moved from one corner to another in her eyes.
As the car turned right, she looked at her husband in the driver's seat. He looked at her and smiled. She smiled back and leaned to rest her head on his left hand. He kissed on her head. Some people indulge in a foreplay before making out. She did just the opposite. While she was cuddling in her husband's arms, she was still kissing the man she had left at the last signal. Every evening while returning from work, she would look for him. And he would be found there, mostly, cleaning himself, at an open pipeline, the only source of water for him, after a day's hard work. His nudity was a luxury for her, but a compulsion for him. The craving for a human body is probably the only one, where we dont engage in the discussions of the class. Its class is only defined in its quality, not from where is it produced or which brand is it of. Her want was the purest, devoid of any social subjugations, exactly as he existed. Every evening as she would walk out of her office, the only thing she would pray for would be this one minute at the signal. It had almost become the fuel of her life.
That day was a blessing. Her husband was out of town. She had to drive herself back home. She left office early, reached the signal almost ten minutes before her usual time and parked her car near the broken pineline. The evening supply was on and water was fountaining out. Some kids were playing in there. Two women were washing cloths. An old man was cleaning his cycle. She realized, probably they all were there, every evening. How come she never noticed them? She looked closely at their faces. The kids were playful. Women were chattering. The old man's face was devoid of any human expression. If something it contained, it was only an expression of the time which had passed by. She looked into the direction these people were coming from and going to. After few minutes, he arrived from the midst of the dirt, he would have called home. A torn jeans. Slipper-less, rugged feet. Bare chest. Strong, full arms. Hairs, curled up till the nape of his neck. White clean eyes, cupped in a dusty brown face. She gasped for some breath. “Oh! I so want him!!” she told herself.
The women asked those kids to pack up and move towards the dust this man was coming from. The sun had almost set, leaving behind the redness in the sky as its only trace. She looked at him as she would have done if they were alone in a space where no one else could enter. For the first time she had looked at him so closely. She moved her eyes from his feet to his face. For the first time she had looked into his eyes. Those clean, white ones. But they were not looking at her. She followed his gaze. She turned in the direction they were pointed at. She stopped at her car. She looked back at him and back in the direction he was looking. She again stopped at the car. Something crashed within her. She turned back, walked towards the car and started the engine.
Some wishes are better kept within than being given a form in this world. Inside, they remain authentic. Once exposed out, they get colored with the textures of who we are and how we are socially placed. The car zoomed into oblivion. He watched it till he could, then splashed some water on his face from the broken pipeline.