CHAPTER 2 – The Poetry of Sex

“My husband’s clothes are in his cupboard. Do help yourself and change into something homely,” she waves her arm towards one of the rooms.
“It’s okay. I am fine.”
“We have work to do, Dil,” she almost sounds like my boss reminding me of a deadline.
“What work?”
“Help me with this mess, please,” she pleads. Her hand makes a rough sweeping motion indicating the boxes and suitcases on the floor.
A dark thought sails through my mind: Was this all an elaborate ploy?
She reads my face and says pulling up the sleeves of her churidar to reveal a scar on her wrist, “This was Dallas one year back. At the peak… no… at the depths. Six days in hospital. Rohit — that’s my husband — saw me bleeding, said, “Have a nice day,” and went for his board meeting. The cleaning lady called 911.”
“Oh… I am so sorry…”
“No need to be. Not your fault any way,” she looks at her wrist and rubs it with her thumb and says, “Shit! I am filthy…! Tell you what, Dil, I’ll take a quick shower and then we’ll have our brunch. After food we’ll fix this place, okey?”
She hurries to the bedroom. “Just be a minute,” she calls from the bedroom, “An hour-long minute, that is,” I hear her chuckle. “Make yourself at home, Dil. Have a drink, put some music or something.”
I hear the faint rustle of clothes, a wardrobe being opened and shut. Again I hear her voice calling from the bedroom: “Do you want to step into the bathroom with me, Dil? I know you’ve seen me naked.”
I don’t reply.
“I am naked now… If you don’t reply till I count to 5, I am gonna come there and get you. One…Two…Th,” she says, to which my reply is instant: “Look, Kavi, please don’t hassle me, will you,” I press my temple with the three middle fingers of my left hand.
I hear her laugh and then a door swinging behind her.

(To be continued...)