Riya

Riya

Do not read if you haven't read Part 1

Part II

6

Roshni had no inclination of hanging back. She knew that the following events will be the back-in-custody patient being escorted back to the hospital. Call it a happy ending, if you want. She stood up, summoning all her will-power to compensate for the lack of physical one and walked back to the main road. Her gait was slow; her eyes had gravel-fixation and her mind abuzz with thoughts. She wanted to shut it out- all the relentless crazyass thoughts of the equally crazyass evening. Solution- she decided to hail a taxi and go home straightaway.

Standing on the pavement was now a task, shouting out “Taxi” was a pain and telling the address was almost a torture. But the driver obviously had not set his priorities on his passenger’s comfort.

“Bandra? That’ll be a hundred and fifty, ma’am,” he said, as Roshni opened the door to sit in.

You wanna tell the same to the RTO? would have been Roshni’s reply if it was any other day. It would have also been graced with the company of a lecture on vulgar greed provoked by the other’s desperation. But tonight was different. It was defined with every synonym of tired- from weary to mind-fucked. She grunted an affirmative and started homewards in the cab of a smugly smiling cabbie.

The window didn’t roll down fully. It never did. And that was one of the points that never ceased to irritate Roshni. Mumbai is an incredibly sweaty place and keeping such obstructions made it even more suffocating, again, literally and figuratively. She rolled down the window as far as possible and stuck her forehead out. Her long hair flew in the wind, prompting the driver to readjust the rear view mirror to suit a visual delight.

Roshni ignored the voyeur. First things first, she decided. “You know of any medicine shop open at this time,” she asked the cabbie, withdrawing her head back in.

“Y-Yes, there is one at…” the driver, surprised at the unexpected question, spoke up.

“Take me there,” Roshni dismissed and went back to her fly-the-hair mode. The taxi took a turn from the Tilak square and halted a few meters from a chemist shop. Roshni got down and went up to the not-so-young man behind the counter who was chatting with his friend standing on the other side of the counter, who looked slightly older. The two of them appeared to be engrossed in an animated discussion.

“I swear man,” the friend was saying excitedly, a huge grin pasted on his face. “Her juicy pussy…”

“Shh,” the counter boy hushed his friend who hadn’t heard Roshni approaching. It didn’t work- he was too loud. Roshni chose to feign ignorance at hearing the unfortunate snippet and asked for a small strip of Saridon and a urine pregnancy kit.

As the counter boy went inside to get the kit, the friend, who was standing some distance from Roshni checked out the new arrival. He discreetly went near her and extended his hand, grabbing a jar of chewing gums. Of course the main intention was touching Roshni, at which he was successful- his hand having brushed with hers. Roshni got that a lot, and chose to ignore this just-another-time. He took out a strip of gum.

“Want one?” the man asked.

Roshni pretended the guy didn’t exist. The counter boy returned with the kit. “Would you want a bill,” he asked.

“No,” Roshni said flatly and paid and started to leave. Half way to her cab she heard the same touchy guy’s voice.

“Man,” he was saying, his voice dripping of lustful excitement. “Did you check out the ass on that bitch?”

Roshni turned back. The counter boy saw this and seeing him go pale his friend turned too.

SLAP!

That’s how hard a slap was deposited on his face. Roshni turned to the counter boy. “Man,” she said. “Did you check out the slap on this sonofabitch?”

When she returned to the cab, the driver was readjusting the rear view mirror inside the car. “Shall I start, madam,” he asked in a suitably humble voice.

The journey back home was uneventful. After almost twenty minutes, Roshni unlocked the door to her 1 BHK sea-facing apartment. She took out her cell phone and wondered if she should call someone. A doubtful moment later, she dismissed it and throwing it on the rug spread on the floor beside the pregnancy kit she had kept a few moments ago, she hurled herself on the sofa, digging her face into one of the cushions and curled up to a night the promised an addition of ‘mares’ to it. The previous events of the night unfolded before her eyes, till they finally shut and Roshni went to sleep.

6

The tall, dark and burly watchman opened the door to her office building. Anita at the reception was busy on the phone, talking in her professional inaudible voice, her specks perched a little low on her nose, her hand scribbling furiously. Roshni went ahead to take the elevator, which was some way from the waiting room. The doors to the elevator opened and the lift-man gave her a smile of recognition. Roshni tried to reciprocate it above her thudding heart. She felt a familiar insecurity, like something was crushing her in the confines of the elevator. All is well, Roshni tried reassuring herself. This happened to her many-a-time when she was placed in an edgy situation. Claustrophobia that haunted her in the childhood returned, silence created an unnerving din and the surroundings seemed to slow down.

She pursed her eyes tight and began chanting ‘Hare Ram, hare Krishna,’ in an undertone till the relief of the small ‘ting’ of the elevator door opening swept inside, easing her up. She took a left from the lobby and opened the glass door to her office, her head bent down and marched straight to her cubicle. She didn’t want to meet the inquisitive, curious or an opportunistic sadistic glance by her colleagues. As she settled down her chair, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Hari, the office peon was smiling at her. She couldn’t decipher if that was a pleasant or mocking smile. “Madam is calling you,” he said.

Roshni mumbled a curse and rose but couldn’t avoid the glare shot at her by Tina in her fellow cubicle, who pushed her chair back too. “Follow me Roshni,” she said.

The office of Editor Rao was a spacious zone and was draped in purple furnishings. Whether it was the curtains, the walls or the seat covers, purple reigned. Though not a color of mystery, it lent a perfectly enigmatic feel which befitted the editor’s aura. Nobody knew a thing about Rao’s personal life. Fuck personal life, nobody even knew her first name. Even her nameplate on her office door said Mrs. Rao, editor-in-chief Page 3 section. There were whispers that it started from K though. Rao had hailed from being the editor of a notable international magazine only to jump straight to be an editor in The Connoisseur. Having lived in US since last fifteen years (no confirmation again), she had a curious on-the-fence accent. Her impeccable dressing sense, hard and extremely professional demeanor and a penchant for keeping the conversations short, pointy and always work-related made lent her much more than a hierarchal intimidation. Today she was wearing an indigo cashmere jacket and surfing through the photos of the party held the previous night when Tina knocked.

“Come in,” Rao said in her mannish voice.

Tina entered followed by the damsel in distress. “Ma’am,” Tina spoke up in a polite voice she reserved only for her seniors and clients. “You asked for Roshni…”

“Why, yes,” Rao said. She looked at her. Roshni winced and reflexively wished for bodily condensation. “I believe you were assigned for the CM’s party last night, is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Roshni said, her voice low.

“And somehow, I get the coverage only from your colleague and not from you,” Rao continued, her pitch rising. “Not only that, I hear you took off without intimating anyone moments after you arrived. This is highly unprofessional. May I seek an explanation?”

Roshni hung her head in shame. “I wasn’t feeling very well, ma’am,” she somehow managed.

“What do you think this is- kindergarten? And do you have any idea how harried your colleagues were. Tina here out of desperation filed a police complaint, for God’s sakes.”

Roshni felt more and more puddle-y by the moment. “I am sorry ma’am but…” she ventured.

“Roshni Kaur, the magazine’s market status being as dismal as it is, we can’t afford to compromise and give our employees a longer leash so that they can take off without intimating, costing us our business. I am suspending you for a week,” Rao announced living up to her tyranny. “Think about the mess you created in that time.”

Argument was futile, Roshni knew it very well. “Yes ma’am,” she mumbled and waited to be directed to the door.

“And oh, of course, get well soon.”

Roshni turned around and sped out of the office.

7

She didn’t want to take the taxi. In high stress situations, she felt claustrophobia even in taxis. Last night was a choice-less ride but today she could help it. Today she would take a train.

Though it was around 11 am, still an off-to-the-workplace time, in the direction opposite to Churchgate there wouldn’t be much human clogging, even lesser in 1^st class ladies compartment. Roshni went to the ticket counter, swiped her smart card and waded through the stream of people pouring in and out of the tunnel shaped corridors of the station. Once upon a time awe-inspiring, the station’s architecture was no more attention commanding for Roshni. She was habituated to the excellence now.

Next few minutes saw Roshni on the third platform waiting for her 11.21 fast local for Borivali. Roshni felt her forehead. The headache had begun again. But of course her head would throb- she had just been suspended for a week. Her career now bore a permanent blot. She leaned against the pole color-marked with red and white streaks and observed a wheeler carrying books ranging from Sudoku to comics, political magazines and cheap reads. Roshni went forward and picked up Sansanikhez Kahaniya, a magazine, as the name suggested, with sensational stories what some might describe as spicy and racy read about the dark side of the India and others, mostly the so-called sophisticated class, might call it as Roshni judged it before- cheap reads. The cover page had an outstretched bloody hand over a kid cowering in the corner. “Daughter-the flesh mart” read the caption.

Riya, her mind reflexed.

Riya? Roshni counter-questioned herself. It did look similar though.

“Remembered me?”

Roshni heard a small voice some distance away to her right. She immediately looked and saw the familiar face. It was her, crouched in the corner, leaning against a food stall beside a dustbin. She was smiling her innocently beautiful smile.

Roshni felt goose bumps clouding over herself. How the hell did she get away again? She looked away, trying to ignore Riya, trying desperately to submerge last night’s disturbia into the sea of lost memories.

“Can’t do it, can you?” Riya called out from her sitting place.

“Just leave me alone,” Roshni shouted out. The people around started throwing curious gazes at the sudden outcry. Roshni decided to avoid a commotion and started walking away.

“There she goes, leaving me all alone, praying so dearly, to let bygone be bygone,” Riya shouted back in a peculiar lilting tune. The words almost felt poem-like but Roshni didn’t stop. She heard the whistle of the oncoming engine but didn’t bother to wait up and get into the compartment. She just wanted to get to the end of the platform and… and… she hadn’t decided and what. Somehow, she just wanted to get to the end, be as far away from Riya as possible.

There was a granite slab acting as a bench there, mercifully empty. Even the platform end seemed unusually deserted, with just a couple of bums sleeping and a wandering malnourished dog. Roshni settled down on the bench and buried her face in her palms.

“I see you aren’t very happy. Are you always like this?”

Roshni looked up startled. It was Riya sitting on the ground, directly in front of her. Her chin rested in her right palm, the elbow placed on the right folded leg.

“What do you want?” Roshni demanded.

“Or should I say, were you always like this,” Riya asked.

“Just leave me alone you creepy bitch,” Roshni exclaimed. “Here,” she dug into her purse frantically, “take this. And this. And this,” she said tossing out all the coins she had. A couple of rupee, a two and a five lay on the platform now, in front of Riya. “Now go. Go away.”

Riya looked at the coins unperturbed. “You didn’t let me complete yesterday,” she said innocently.

Roshni hated the all-is-hunky-dory tone of her voice. “What the fuck is your problem?” she cried out. A few people standing some distance away were looking at her, none coming forward to inquire what the matter was, only interested as spectators. No wonder democracy never works in India.

“I wanted to tell you the story. It’s not complete. I’ll complete then I’ll go away. Deal?”

“But I fucking don’t want to!” Roshni was on her feet now.

“Oh yes, you do.”

Riya was right. Somehow, the resistance put on by Roshni was more a put-on. Roshni didn’t know why but she was extremely curious where the tale would go. It might be something you read, if at all your standards are so downtrodden, in the pulp fiction but alluring nevertheless. ‘Infatuation’ isn’t the right word but that’s the first word that comes to the mind. Besides, Roshni sighed, there didn’t seem any way to this pestering kid would not live up to her adjective. The headache was at its peak now and she didn’t feel like shouting anymore or catching the train to avoid her. She just wanted to settle down for some time and relax till it went away. She opened her purse and took out an aspirin tablet and gulped it down with some water. “Okay,” she said resignedly. “Go on.”

“Sweet,” Riya said and immediately perked up. “I’ll tell you what happened the day after.”

Riya’s Story

And that’s how went my first sexperience. It was fun but a strange thing happened- I bled. It was, how do I put it, excruciating-pleasure-over-pain thing, if you know what I mean. I thought it was the intensity of my uncle which caused it and didn’t mind. There was a strange joy in seeing the red liquid trickling down my woo-woo. My uncle though was ecstatic- he licked it and seemed to relish it and pushed even harder. That of course aroused my curiosity. When uncle left next morning, I was left alone and then I decided to discover myself some more.

I closed the door and windows and switched on the yellow bulb which lent the room last night’s erotic feel. I remembered the time, the moments when my breath was rapid, my body stiff and everything bleak except the luscious sensation down under, the sensation that nullified the fact that it was my own uncle riding me and that I was enjoying the incest-rape. I put my hand down my salwar and touched myself. My woo-woo seemed reminiscing too because it still pained a bit. I removed my hand.

The bed-sheet and the mattress had soaked up the blood. I felt angry at not being able to procure my own production. I ran my hands over it. Nope, not even a drop clung to my skin. So what, I decided, I will make some more. I removed my top, torn from shoulder, and the salwar. For a brief moment I looked up and saw my own reflection in the full body mirror. And I gawked.

My uncle was right. I was desirable. I got up from the mattress and went near the mirror, seeing myself from top to bottom. My hair was loose from the night before and fell in a seductively messy way down my shoulders, covering half of my left breast. My skin was wheatish and soft. There wasn’t a spot or scar on my whole body, except the minor one near my knee when mother had pushed me over the coal embers. I removed my lowers and went on closer to admire. My my, I was hoot worthy. Just standing there, looking myself, admiring my perfect features… I could do it all day. I gently removed the lock of hair covering my left breast and tucked it behind my ear. Those little nipples, oh wow. I ran my finger over them, ran them all over my body, my belly, my torso, my butt, before resting it finally on my vagina. Believe every word when I say this- it was beautiful. And just imagining how it had been caressed last night added to the beauty.

Last night.

Ah, last night.

I remembered last night and licked my arms from shoulder to the elbow. I tasted fucking good. I sat down and licked myself again. I bent, twisted, turned and licked every part possible. I looked in the mirror while I was doing it and admired me. I kissed myself. A deep, lusty kiss on the surface of the mirror with my eyes open. Damn, I couldn’t get enough of me. Where my tongue couldn’t reach, my fingers worshipped. I was so good, I was so beautiful. I was divine.

But something was still amiss. And I knew what it was- the liquid drug- my blood. I got up and searched in a chest of drawers kept in the corner of the room. My breath was excited now, always a symptom of something good about to happen. I surfed through a few medicines, some papers, random household materials, a nail cutter…

I stopped my search. A nail cutter will do. I opened up the two side-tools it has, whatever they are called. I pierced my thigh with it. It was blunt and it hurt but there’s an intoxicating pleasure in enduring pain. And I didn’t want to lose out that pleasure. I wanted to enjoy the process. I increased the thrust and it sunk in. Blood oozed out. The beautiful liquid, a, I repeat, liquid drug. I helped my index finger with some and licked it. The warm, salty taste pleasured me. I took more and let my vagina enjoy some, fingering myself in the process.

Boy, did I feel good!

Somehow, Roshni knew that a call was being placed to the reception of a certain hospital. She had to be somewhere- the lady placing the call. She had to be nearing them- Riya and Roshni- ready to swoop in, ready to accuse Roshni of manhandling, even as she again bore the unwilling brunt of another cheap-thrill tale. Premonition, was it? Roshni didn’t know. All she wanted to do was to wean herself away from the scenario but found that she couldn’t and she went on listening to the ramblings until…

“Hey you, stop.”

Roshni looked up hearing the not so alien voice and saw the not so unexpected plump and old lady jogging towards her. “Don’t do that to her,” she was saying and moving ahead.

“You know what, I don’t just eat leaves.” This was Riya. Again.

Roshni looked at her, bewildered. “You know what, I don’t just eat leaves” she repeated. Roshni didn’t prod. This was a sense of an impeccable déjà vu.

Not that Riya was waiting for an answer. “I eat twigs too. Actually, I more sort of nibble them, y’know. Like a little mouse would do.” She bared her teeth and did a nibbling imitation. “Mouse. Don’t you find a mouse cute?”

Roshni blinked.

“I am a nice person, ain’t I,” Riya asked. She grinned her innocent grin, only this time it turned out malicious.

Roshni stared on, confounded. The old, plump lady had reached by then.

“You, what’s your name?” she demanded sternly of Roshni.

Roshni looked up, staring blankly. She had already told her the name. The lady was Savita, nurse from Wallace hospital. They had met just the previous night.

“I am talking to you,” Savita forced. “Who are you and what are you doing here to my patient?”

“What is this, some kind of sick perverted joke?” Roshni demanded, the ‘demand’ tilting more towards being prefixed by ‘hysterical’.

“Yes,” Savita said. Roshni was startled. This is a joke?

Savita bent down to pick up Riya, who rose without a word and hugged Savita, burying her face in Savita’s breasts, just like last night. “She’s a patient in my hospital. She ran away just today. What do you know of her?”

‘Yes’ to the prank question and then irrelevant talks about the patient? Wait a second, Roshni felt an eerie sensation all over her. She was talking the exact same things as she had said the last night. Was this supernatural in origin? Who were these people- ghosts? Was she going insane? Roshni realized her aching forehead now sported beads of sweat and her heart rate was jacked. She got up in a jiffy and holding her purse tightly to her chest, started walking away.

“Wait,” Savita called out. “What were you talking to her about? And why were you manhandling her?”

Roshni quickened her pace.

“Hey, I am not done with you…” Savita continued, but stayed rooted to her spot, though turning and looking at Roshni walking away. Roshni was almost sprinting now. The spectators had increased by then and they looked on puzzled at her running away all of a sudden. Roshni didn’t care two hoots as she stumbled on some while trying to dodge her way past the gawking, sniggering and amused crowd and elbowed her way roughly through the ever jam-packed exit. She panted as she reached the foot-over-bridge and was almost breathless as she ran out of the station and summoned a taxi. But all the while she had a dialogue going on in the back of her head, as if it was a tape playing. She heard Savita Khare as she introduced herself, told about Riya running away and gave her the visiting card asking her to visit as “We need to talk”.

Roshni got in the first taxi she could hail. “Chalo,” she said in a high pitch.

“Where madam?” the driver asked, considerably perplexed at her demeanor.

“Just zip on,” Roshni almost shouted at him. The driver, abashed, turned the meter down and pressed the accelerator harder than usual and the taxi started with a screech.

“I think you should go home now,” Savita was saying, giving her a warm smile. “You look pretty tired.”

Roshni shut her eyes tightly and clutched her ears with both hands to block out the world. It seemed to work. There were no more monologues in her head.

Had she succeeded? Or was just the tape over?