Note: This story contains some adult (A) content. Please read further only if you are eligible. Thank you.
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She held his hands out just before he was about to move it inside her panties. She knew where he was leading to… she had known it from all the previous encounters, not with him but many men she had been with. And to all those men she did exactly the same. When they were ready… almost ready to get in, she would hold them on. Just there. And would run out of bed, at times apologizing and other times just lost; leaving all those men either amused or angry and bewildered. Tonight she did that again. She had just ran out of Rajesh’ bed and was dressing herself up when he asked, “What’s this? And why?”
“No reasons. I need to go home. Urgently…”
“But why? You said you will be staying here tonight!”
“Yes... I know I said that. But I also know that I need to go from here... right now.”
“But its 11:30 in night and it’s pretty late for you to leave... and I’m not letting you go anywhere. If you are scared...”
She cut him down, “I am not scared, for god’s sake! I just want to go home.”
“This is crazy! If you want me not to touch you, that fine. You can sleep in the other room. I won’t do anything… I really...”
“I am ready,” she just had buttoned her shirt, “you mind opening the door for me?”
“But it’s too late! It’s so damn late!!! You won’t get any transport!!”
“I can hear rickshaws outside… I guess that won’t be a problem,” she looked at him, “please.”
“But why? What happened? I don’t understand this.”
“You don’t have to understand anything, Rajesh. Just let me go, please.”
She ran out of his room, towards the main door. He came running after her, “please!! It’s pretty late. It’s not safe!”
“If you keep me engaged in further conversation, it’s gonna be further late,” she looked stone-faced at him, “open the door, please.”
“I am not letting you go anywhere, at this hour. You sleep in the other room. And you can go in the morning at whatever time you want.”
“That’s not happening Rajesh. I have to go now. I NEED to go now…,” she paused, “I WILL go now, Rajesh. Please open the door.”
“All right!” he gave up, went back to his room, put his pants on and got the keys. Down the stairs, he started his bike.
“You don’t have to drop me anywhere, Rajesh. I will get a rickshaw.”
He had already started the engine. “Sit on.”
She quietly sat on the back seat. When he moved the vehicle on she said, “I am sorry if it hurts you... In fact I know it does hurt you. And I am really sorry.” He didn’t respond. He drove her to her home. When she got off the bike, she only said, “Thank you. And sorry.” Before he could respond, she had already moved into her building.
When he reached home, he texted her, “tis’ crazy. If thr ws smthng wrong, u cd have told me. Bt tis is damn crazy!”
She clicked on the reply button, then waited for a moment to pass, and typed in, “Sry. U’r a sweet guy. Gn.”
“What is it?” she thought, “Why do I do it - with all those men lying next to me in their bed; naked and high on their testosterones… and most of them pretty sweet to me? What is it?”
Next morning Nalini was sitting a psychologist’s clinic. The nameplate read – Dr. Mitali Thakkar.
“I need answers. Answers to my own behavior. Because I don’t do it to them by choice. I mean though I do it by choice in that moment, I really don’t know if I want it that way in the entirety of the situation,” she paused and looked up at the doctor, “I am not sure if you are capable of providing me with it. But I want you to try. I want to try.”
“All right. Go on.”
Then she narrated some of her experiences, some in their exactness, some roughly because she would not remember them in precision.
“What do you think when you take that decision?”
“Decision of what?”
“Of running out of someone’s bed.”
“I don’t think of anything. It just happens.”
“Okay. Tell me something about your past.”
“What about my past?”
“Something… anything… like where have you lived… who all you had in your family… what were your relationships like…”
“I don’t find it relevant.”
“Leave it for me to decide, please?”
Nalini suddenly got up, “I don’t think it will help. How much and where am I suppose to pay?”
“You need help Nalini. And we can solve it together for you.”
“Where should I pay?”
Mitali looked up and sighed, “You may please meet the receptionist.”
“Thank you.”
In the train back home, Nalini tried to recall the child’s face from that night. But she couldn’t. She could only visualize the dark room and a girl, all of nine, sitting on her bed, sobbing badly but silently, in an effortful manner. She could just imagine how her face would have looked. Our memories contain mostly the actions we take in response to the situations we are thrown up in. Our own expressions are just felt and not seen as we don’t live in front of mirrors all the time.
When she reached home, she unlocked the door, went straight to her bed, covered her face in the pillow and wept. It was almost midnight when she woke up. While she was walking to the washroom, that night flashed up again.
She had just woken up in midnight to go to washroom. She had heard a moan from her sister’s room. She softly walked to her room and from the keyhole she saw her, caught under her brother-in-law, naked and in pain. When he forced himself inside her she exhaled loudly. To Nalini it appeared as a painful cry. She had run back to her room, petrified and indecisive. She had spent that night sitting stiffly in her room. Next morning she was told that Shalini had killed herself. But she knew it wasn’t a suicide but a murder.
Next day she was sitting in the Dr. Mitali’s clinic again.
“Are you scared Nalini?” asked Mitali once she was narrated with the account of Nalini’s childhood experience.
“Scared of what?”
“Of being fucked?”
“I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t kill, Nalini. It didn’t kill your sister for sure. If that’s what is bothering you, you need to know what exactly killed her. Find out what killed her. But don’t kill your existence with your assumptions… your assumed experience. We need corrections in our experiences, all the time, Nalini. Our past should never decide who we are going to be in future. It’s our present that should play this role. Correct it now.”
Sometimes we are so badly trapped in our past that we don’t realize it’s not our behavior but just a response to an event from the past that we are living with. Many times such a response or a series of responses gives an impression of our personality. However we actually don’t be that person. This leads to a dichotomous life. And to move out from this dichotomy, we need to go back to the same past... to break free from that moment … in order to live a life as our real personality would define and not the responses from the past.
While leaving from the clinic, Nalini remembered only one thing from the discussion, “Find out what killed her.”
It’s one thing to know what is right. And quite another to do the right thing, more so in its exactness. What if he actually killed her? What if he killed her and still lies to me? And what if he really didn’t kill her?
How does one suddenly negate something that was believed to be true for so many years? How does one forget and forgive so easily when all these years were filled with extreme hatred? If we realize it’s our mistake, at times, it’s still easy to forgive the second person, but not so easy to forgive ourselves for the grudge we hold falsely against that person. Sometimes we are not so much concerned about letting go our ego or shredding off our beliefs as we are about the way we would behave when done in presence of someone else. And it’s a huge decision to make when you have to choose between the past on which you base your existence and the future you wish to have for yourself. But at the end of the day we always realize that hatred for whatever reason is not as much a punishment for the offender as it is for the imposer.
When she rang the doorbell, a lady in her forties opened the door, “Does Mr. Sandeep Goel lives here?”
“Yes, he does. May I know who are you please?”
“I am Nalini. Nalini Mehrotra,” she hesitated in elaborating her introduction but then looking at the lady’s puzzled face, she said, “I am Shalini’s… Mr. Goel’s ex wife’s… sister.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the lady, “please come in.” She went inside the bedroom. After sometime, Sandeep came out. When they looked at each other, there wasn’t a sense of recognition. It was like they were meeting as strangers.
Post lunch Sandeep suggested to go for a walk. He asked Nalini to come along. Once on the road, she asked, “Why? And how?”
“I know you always believed that I killed her. But that’s not true,” he paused, “not entirely… and not technically, for sure.”
“What had happened that night?”
“Your sister was always very possessive about me... about everything. And this behavior of hers had started straining our relationship. But since I knew she was madly in love with me and so was I with her, we would always make up. However our fights kept on increasing. And to avoid them I started spending more time in office where I met Nisha. She would listen to my problems and slowly we grew into friends. That night when we were making love my phone beeped for a message. I ignored. But Shalini couldn’t. This I learnt later when Nisha informed me the next day that she had received a message from my cell saying, ‘Bitch. So that’s you. You wanna have him? Have him forever.’ The next morning we found Shalini dead in the bathroom. She didn’t give me even a chance to explain. I was…”
Nalini was lost. She didn’t care to listen beyond this. For her the story was over. She got up and started walking. Sandeep walked fast to catch up with her. Once close enough, he said, “I loved her too, Nalini.”
Nalini turned back, looked at him for a moment and said, “I am sure you did.” She will-ed out a smile for him, a smile that said, “I don’t hate you… not anymore. I forgive you… to forgive myself,” and turned back. She walked few steps forward, turned again and said, “I am sorry.” When she walked on, she felt clean.
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She held his hands out just before he was about to move it inside her panties. She knew where he was leading to… she had known it from all the previous encounters, not with him but many men she had been with. And to all those men she did exactly the same. When they were ready… almost ready to get in, she would hold them on. Just there. And would run out of bed, at times apologizing and other times just lost; leaving all those men either amused or angry and bewildered. Tonight she did that again. She had just ran out of Rajesh’ bed and was dressing herself up when he asked, “What’s this? And why?”
“No reasons. I need to go home. Urgently…”
“But why? You said you will be staying here tonight!”
“Yes... I know I said that. But I also know that I need to go from here... right now.”
“But its 11:30 in night and it’s pretty late for you to leave... and I’m not letting you go anywhere. If you are scared...”
She cut him down, “I am not scared, for god’s sake! I just want to go home.”
“This is crazy! If you want me not to touch you, that fine. You can sleep in the other room. I won’t do anything… I really...”
“I am ready,” she just had buttoned her shirt, “you mind opening the door for me?”
“But it’s too late! It’s so damn late!!! You won’t get any transport!!”
“I can hear rickshaws outside… I guess that won’t be a problem,” she looked at him, “please.”
“But why? What happened? I don’t understand this.”
“You don’t have to understand anything, Rajesh. Just let me go, please.”
She ran out of his room, towards the main door. He came running after her, “please!! It’s pretty late. It’s not safe!”
“If you keep me engaged in further conversation, it’s gonna be further late,” she looked stone-faced at him, “open the door, please.”
“I am not letting you go anywhere, at this hour. You sleep in the other room. And you can go in the morning at whatever time you want.”
“That’s not happening Rajesh. I have to go now. I NEED to go now…,” she paused, “I WILL go now, Rajesh. Please open the door.”
“All right!” he gave up, went back to his room, put his pants on and got the keys. Down the stairs, he started his bike.
“You don’t have to drop me anywhere, Rajesh. I will get a rickshaw.”
He had already started the engine. “Sit on.”
She quietly sat on the back seat. When he moved the vehicle on she said, “I am sorry if it hurts you... In fact I know it does hurt you. And I am really sorry.” He didn’t respond. He drove her to her home. When she got off the bike, she only said, “Thank you. And sorry.” Before he could respond, she had already moved into her building.
When he reached home, he texted her, “tis’ crazy. If thr ws smthng wrong, u cd have told me. Bt tis is damn crazy!”
She clicked on the reply button, then waited for a moment to pass, and typed in, “Sry. U’r a sweet guy. Gn.”
“What is it?” she thought, “Why do I do it - with all those men lying next to me in their bed; naked and high on their testosterones… and most of them pretty sweet to me? What is it?”
***
Next morning Nalini was sitting a psychologist’s clinic. The nameplate read – Dr. Mitali Thakkar.
“I need answers. Answers to my own behavior. Because I don’t do it to them by choice. I mean though I do it by choice in that moment, I really don’t know if I want it that way in the entirety of the situation,” she paused and looked up at the doctor, “I am not sure if you are capable of providing me with it. But I want you to try. I want to try.”
“All right. Go on.”
Then she narrated some of her experiences, some in their exactness, some roughly because she would not remember them in precision.
“What do you think when you take that decision?”
“Decision of what?”
“Of running out of someone’s bed.”
“I don’t think of anything. It just happens.”
“Okay. Tell me something about your past.”
“What about my past?”
“Something… anything… like where have you lived… who all you had in your family… what were your relationships like…”
“I don’t find it relevant.”
“Leave it for me to decide, please?”
Nalini suddenly got up, “I don’t think it will help. How much and where am I suppose to pay?”
“You need help Nalini. And we can solve it together for you.”
“Where should I pay?”
Mitali looked up and sighed, “You may please meet the receptionist.”
“Thank you.”
In the train back home, Nalini tried to recall the child’s face from that night. But she couldn’t. She could only visualize the dark room and a girl, all of nine, sitting on her bed, sobbing badly but silently, in an effortful manner. She could just imagine how her face would have looked. Our memories contain mostly the actions we take in response to the situations we are thrown up in. Our own expressions are just felt and not seen as we don’t live in front of mirrors all the time.
When she reached home, she unlocked the door, went straight to her bed, covered her face in the pillow and wept. It was almost midnight when she woke up. While she was walking to the washroom, that night flashed up again.
She had just woken up in midnight to go to washroom. She had heard a moan from her sister’s room. She softly walked to her room and from the keyhole she saw her, caught under her brother-in-law, naked and in pain. When he forced himself inside her she exhaled loudly. To Nalini it appeared as a painful cry. She had run back to her room, petrified and indecisive. She had spent that night sitting stiffly in her room. Next morning she was told that Shalini had killed herself. But she knew it wasn’t a suicide but a murder.
***
Next day she was sitting in the Dr. Mitali’s clinic again.
“Are you scared Nalini?” asked Mitali once she was narrated with the account of Nalini’s childhood experience.
“Scared of what?”
“Of being fucked?”
“I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t kill, Nalini. It didn’t kill your sister for sure. If that’s what is bothering you, you need to know what exactly killed her. Find out what killed her. But don’t kill your existence with your assumptions… your assumed experience. We need corrections in our experiences, all the time, Nalini. Our past should never decide who we are going to be in future. It’s our present that should play this role. Correct it now.”
Sometimes we are so badly trapped in our past that we don’t realize it’s not our behavior but just a response to an event from the past that we are living with. Many times such a response or a series of responses gives an impression of our personality. However we actually don’t be that person. This leads to a dichotomous life. And to move out from this dichotomy, we need to go back to the same past... to break free from that moment … in order to live a life as our real personality would define and not the responses from the past.
While leaving from the clinic, Nalini remembered only one thing from the discussion, “Find out what killed her.”
It’s one thing to know what is right. And quite another to do the right thing, more so in its exactness. What if he actually killed her? What if he killed her and still lies to me? And what if he really didn’t kill her?
How does one suddenly negate something that was believed to be true for so many years? How does one forget and forgive so easily when all these years were filled with extreme hatred? If we realize it’s our mistake, at times, it’s still easy to forgive the second person, but not so easy to forgive ourselves for the grudge we hold falsely against that person. Sometimes we are not so much concerned about letting go our ego or shredding off our beliefs as we are about the way we would behave when done in presence of someone else. And it’s a huge decision to make when you have to choose between the past on which you base your existence and the future you wish to have for yourself. But at the end of the day we always realize that hatred for whatever reason is not as much a punishment for the offender as it is for the imposer.
***
When she rang the doorbell, a lady in her forties opened the door, “Does Mr. Sandeep Goel lives here?”
“Yes, he does. May I know who are you please?”
“I am Nalini. Nalini Mehrotra,” she hesitated in elaborating her introduction but then looking at the lady’s puzzled face, she said, “I am Shalini’s… Mr. Goel’s ex wife’s… sister.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the lady, “please come in.” She went inside the bedroom. After sometime, Sandeep came out. When they looked at each other, there wasn’t a sense of recognition. It was like they were meeting as strangers.
Post lunch Sandeep suggested to go for a walk. He asked Nalini to come along. Once on the road, she asked, “Why? And how?”
“I know you always believed that I killed her. But that’s not true,” he paused, “not entirely… and not technically, for sure.”
“What had happened that night?”
“Your sister was always very possessive about me... about everything. And this behavior of hers had started straining our relationship. But since I knew she was madly in love with me and so was I with her, we would always make up. However our fights kept on increasing. And to avoid them I started spending more time in office where I met Nisha. She would listen to my problems and slowly we grew into friends. That night when we were making love my phone beeped for a message. I ignored. But Shalini couldn’t. This I learnt later when Nisha informed me the next day that she had received a message from my cell saying, ‘Bitch. So that’s you. You wanna have him? Have him forever.’ The next morning we found Shalini dead in the bathroom. She didn’t give me even a chance to explain. I was…”
Nalini was lost. She didn’t care to listen beyond this. For her the story was over. She got up and started walking. Sandeep walked fast to catch up with her. Once close enough, he said, “I loved her too, Nalini.”
Nalini turned back, looked at him for a moment and said, “I am sure you did.” She will-ed out a smile for him, a smile that said, “I don’t hate you… not anymore. I forgive you… to forgive myself,” and turned back. She walked few steps forward, turned again and said, “I am sorry.” When she walked on, she felt clean.
