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Friday, December 4, 2009
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Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Mala aunty - slow riding black beauty part 1
One day while I was cycling around the corner during a late evening I saw the dark vegetable vendor arguing with a Cop on a motorbike. As I neared the cart I could see that she was shaking her head and crying while the cop waved a warning finger. I stopped near the vegetable cart as the cop grandly drove away on his motorbike.
The woman looked up at me and asked me what I wanted.
I bought a kg of tomato and while giving her the money asked her “ didi why are you crying?’. Maybe it was the moment or the small act of kindness during a difficult time or the fact that I had called her didi, made her look up and smile at me. “What to do beta… one has to face all sorts of problems in life”
I asked, “What did the police want?”
She had wiped her tears with the help of her pallu and said, “What do they want beta…what do all men want…they all harass for money”
“How much does he want?”
She looked at me with a worried look, “ He wants 500. where will I go for that kind of money. I survive day to day basis. Nowadays it is difficult. I have to bring this vegetable from whole sale market in central bazaar. Yesterday I had to carry them in the hot sun because there was no tempo from the circle” She got back to arranging the vegetables murmuring her problems to herself.
I said, “ I will give you 500”
Her hand stopped over the brinjals and she looked up her face a mixture of surprise, relief and suspicion if there were a combination like that on a face at all.
“Why”
“What …Why didi?”
“Why are you giving it to me”
I solemnly said, ‘My mother always told me to help people in trouble.”
She wondered about it for a moment. When she saw me she say an earnest boy(well not exactly a kid, my 18th birthday was a week around the corner) on a cycle wearing nice dress and a honest face.
“Where do you live?”
I told her.
‘That big house near the shops, That is your house” Her suspicion was pronounced. I nodded. She stared for a minute and asked, “Will your mother buy my vegetables?” she asked.
I shook my head, “My mother and father is dead, I am an orphan. My grandmom takes care of me”
She softened and put her hand on her cheek wondering about this boy. I noticed her hand was smooth and clean and so was her cheek. In fact, her face had chiseled features and her skin was black, smooth and shiny. She was slim and shapely but wore her sari close not revealing much. But once I had seen her bend down to arrange the vegetables and I had seen her cleavage. The swell of her breasts were visible above her blouse. But in a reflex reaction she had pulled her pallu across covering the fabulous view.
“I do all the shopping in the house” I proclaimed. She smiled. “You are such a good boy” she said.
I took out the 500 and gave her. She took hesitantly and said, “I will pay you back through purchases of vegetables ok. My name is Mala”she said
I nodded.
,,,
So the days went on. In about a week Mala came regularly home for vegetables. I timed her arrival with that of my Grandmom going to the temple. Every day she used to keep the basket of vegetables on the doorstep and give the freshest picks. I started chatting.
I think Mala was a lonely person and liked to chat. So she did.
She was a kid when she came to the city from her village. She had come with her uncle and aunt since her parents had died of hunger. Her stay with her aunt was not very memorable. Her aunt made her work in a laundry washing clothes.
“It was backbreaking. As a young girl I used to work for 15 hours a day”. But after sometime she felt she had to run away. She did not like her Uncle. “He wanted to sell me in the Koti Bazaar. You know what that place is? It is bad. So I ran away and joined a tendu leaf factory. I worked there for many years. I used to hear many stories of molestation. But I escaped from there. Now I live in a shack in a slum with my mother’s sister. She is old and I take care of her. There were a few marriage offers but I don’t have dowry money. So I am 23 years old and already a old woman. No one troubles me. I am black and ugly so no one bothers”
“I don’t think you are ugly” I said
She looked at me her mouth open and laughed. Her teeth were clean and white. “oh you are joking saheb”
I kept quiet.
The next two days I used to pass her but not look at her. The third day she called me, “Saheb saheb…” I did not turn back.
After a couple of days she came to my house as usual and plonked the vegetable basket, “Saheb why are you angry with me?”
I said, “You laughed at me…made fun at me”
She looked aghast, “Why when…”
“When I told you…you are not ugly”
She looked at me with her hand on her cheek .That was a favourite stance. She then squatted on the floor.
“Saheb. Don’t be angry with me. You are like my brother. I don’t have anyone”
I remained silent.
“Sorry’ she said.
I nodded and got up. “Come inside for a coffee” I said and went in. I looked quickly at my watch. I had an hours time before my grandmom came in.
I went to the kitchen and made coffee. When I came back I saw Mala sitting in the verandah floor. She got up and took my cup and sipped. She looked at me, “I think I must have made lot of karma for getting a younger brother like person like you”
I sat on the floor and we had coffee. After finishing she got up. “I want to wash the cup” she said. I took it from her and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. She stepped back in a shock. “what is this?”
“Oh that is a brotherly kiss” I said. She blushed. Ok it looked like that. When black people blush you can make out in their eyes. But she was flustered and quickly gathered her basket and left.
The next two days were not that interesting. When I used to go past her vegetable cart she used to just give me a shy smile. I had to be contented with masturbating…with porn magazines and kerchiefs.
Then came the big opportunity. My grandmom decided to go to her native place in Bilaspur for a month. Initially she was worried. But I assured her that my cooking was decent enough for survival.
On the next day of her departure I stopped by the vegetable cart and said hi to Mala. She smiled shyly once again. She was getting uncomfortable with my long steady gazes into her eyes. I asked her whether she could cook for me since my grandmom had gone to her village for a family visit. Mala looked down not knowing what to do.
Since she did not reply I left from the place. I had some important work with Sarita aunty.
Next day morning the bell rang and I opened. Mala stood there. “I am not an expert cook but I can try…’ she said hesitatingly.
So I allowed her into the kitchen and briefed her. She started cooking while I sat on the stool in the kitchen and chatted with her. While she worked I noticed her body. She wore an old cotton sari and a faded blouse. Her legs were white around the corner of her foot. Most dark coloured women have a bit of white around the heel and sides of their foot. While she worked I also could make out her stomach and midriff. She had not an ounce of bulge there unlike Sarita aunty. Her stomach was literally flat and I even managed to glimpse her navel. Since her pallu carefully covered her breasts I could not make that out. She continued to chat about the vegetable business, all the time cutting the carrots on the kitchen platform into round circles.
I got up from the stool and put my hands around her. She jumped a bit. But when I held her tightly she stood still. I put my hands around her stomach and kissed the back of her neck. She murmured, “Saheb this is wrong…”
I kissed her below the nape of her neck and put my nose into her thick hair.
“My hair is dirty saheb. I have not even washed it. Please…”she whispered. Then suddenly she gripped my hand tightly and pushed me to the side. She gathered herself immediately and washed her hands and went to the door. She turned back,
“Saheb, that is why I did not like to come. I could see in your eyes. We are doing wrong. I am not married and you are also young. We are different people. I am a poor girl. All i have is my virginity. If i lose that what do i have…. and we should not do these bad things”. (CCN, 2009)
