The Brave Pedestrian

Our greatest joy in life can leave the biggest hole in our hearts, she reflected, standing before the mirror, studying the way her saree now draped around her. It looked good. To an outsider, it would look perfect. It would look as though nothing had changed. But everything had changed. Oh God, how rapidly everything had changed! Two months? No, less! Far less. Tears welled up in her eyes. She wept for herself. And then she wept for her husband. Sobbing softly, she wept for them both. Just a few weeks had elapsed since she had felt those lumps near her armpit, while soaping herself in the bathroom. Concerned, she had called her husband in. He had stepped into the wet bathroom, grinning. "So, you want me to help you soap yourself, huh? With pleasure, darling, with pleasure!" Suppressing the anxiety that was already gnawing at the pit of her stomach, she had handed him the bar of soap, and allowed him to soap her breasts, closing her eyes. It never ceased to amaze her how mu...

[Friendship, love and trust have many meanings. This is an erotic story about all those beautiful emotions.] He lay awake in bed, waiting for her to finish her kitchen winding-up chores and join him. By the time she came in and began undressing for bed, he was very nearly asleep. With drowsy eyes, he gazed at her taking off her saree. She had grown a bit plump of late, but it only made him love her more. "There is more of you to hug now than when I married you," he sighed, wrapping his arms and legs around her in the dim light of the bedlamp. "This is sheer luxury!" She reciprocated by kissing him, and then turned around, determined to fall asleep quickly. Tomorrow was another tough day ahead, and she would have to cook a full formal lunch, keeping in mind his guest. Not just the daal-chaval that she made on days when she was feeling tired. "Turn off the lights, please," she said sleepily. "Not yet," he breathed in her ear. "Let me ...

[Friendship, love and trust have many meanings. This story is about one of these meanings.] He lay awake in bed, waiting for her to finish her kitchen winding-up chores and join him. By the time she came in and began undressing for bed, he was very nearly asleep. With drowsy eyes, he gazed at her taking off her saree. She had grown a bit plump of late, but it only made him love her more. "There is more of you to hug now than when I married you," he sighed, wrapping his arms and legs around her in the dim light of the bedlamp. "This is sheer luxury!" She reciprocated by kissing him, and then turned around, determined to fall asleep quickly. Tomorrow was another tough day ahead, and she would have to cook a full formal lunch, keeping in mind his guest. Not just the daal-chaval that she made on days when she was feeling tired. "Turn off the lights, please," she said sleepily. "Not yet," he breathed in her ear. "Let me enjoy looking at...

Chapter IX: Namita’s Revenge Namita knew she was prostitute now. Worse, she knew she was a puppet in the Sub Inspector's hands. She was completely powerless, she was completely debased and she hated it. She hated Tony the pimp for his hand in it, but more than anybody else, she hated Gaitonde the policeman. This business about 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' is greatly misunderstood. One traditionally thinks of  housewives turning nasty and throwing saucepans and rolling pins. Sometimes, people think of mistresses. Rarely, if ever, does it apply to prostitutes. Also this thing about 'Behind every great man, there is a great woman'. The phrase is understood as being applicable to wives who are extremely tolerant and supportive. It's rarely about the noble and selfless deeds of a prostitute. In the case of Gaitonde, however, this second phrase was perfectly applicable. One year was too short a period for out-of-turn promotions to materialize in...

Chapter VII: FLASHBACK — How Henderson Met Namita Henderson had come into her life very recently. More precisely, he was brought into her life by Tony. Tony knew Gaitonde because the cop had nabbed him one day in the act of smooth-talking a foreign tourist, and taken him in for questioning. And because he had used third-degree methods without asking him any questions or charging him with anything specific, Tony, alias Mayank Tandel, had confessed to the murder of Deepya in Gorai village. A few discreet enquiries over with the Gorai village police  thane  had given the wily Gaitonde some very interesting information. Deepya, in his dying declaration, had said that the heavy oar had fallen on his head. Nobody had said anything about a murder, and so the police had put it down in their files as an accidental death. That night, Deepya was cremated beside Mayank's father, and his wife had wailed with her arms thrown around Mayank's mother. If anybody knew the truth, they w...