(Part one)
Author's note: This is a pure work of fiction and all characters and events in the story are imaginary and fictitious. Although, human imagination is also influenced by external stimuli. In the case of author, someone has always served as poetical inspiration to imagine, fantasize, think and write. So, this work is dedicated to someone, heart unfold like a flower before whom. This is the first part of story, four more to come.
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It was another hectic day at University for Professor Gouthami Iyer, when she returned home all whacked, carrying usual tropical heat and dust of Chennai's busy streets over her simple mud color Saree. Her favorite color! The only reason it was so desired that mud color absorb lot of dust and smoke. For years, colors and clothes had no fashion value for her but a necessity of her colorless life. Using edge of print-less Saree pallu, she wiped beads of sweat, sporting over her pencil neck and creamy neck, on entering her small apartment.
It's been long in her excruciating hectic life that Gouthami last thought on any other value of clothes but covering her well-toned body. She was 44, but with about 44 curves over that well proportionate body. If one has to study the science of women's curves, Gouthami could have been a perfect subject and develop a new theory of curves.
He was a dusky body still firm, enduring hardship and cruelty of all weathers, like a slope of snow was so well proportionate, rich with enticing curves. Long slim neck of her was like a stately tower, where love himself imprisoned lies, to watch for glances, down there at the wonder land of her tight blouse. A simple cotton blouse that Gouthami always wear, is like a treasure chest, about to explode, if she just breathes heavily, but she rarely do.
Her C cup breast were round as full moan and heavy as a big debt on her chest. Brown nipples have long forgotten erection yet, her nipples were naturally thick as her index delicate finger. Her body would narrow and expand at her bare waist, as a tide that ebb, or tide that flow expanding to her round, big and naturally arched butts. Gouthami would mostly allow her long and thick well-oiled hairs to sport over her butts. But those long silk hairs were long deprived of any flowers, as her air and nose had forgotten the jewelry around.
Only once, about 22 years ago her narrow waist was wrapped in a silver belly chain, for her wedding night. That piece of jewelry was sold by her husband in very next week, but her waist was still the same, narrow and curvy. Her majestic thighs, never stretched to their limits, together with curvaceous calfs would form a perfect long leg- so perfect for strong shoulders! Yet, man around her would never consider her arousing mainly due to extra amount of grace and a permanent melancholy she wears over her oval face.
Coming home was not a bird's return to warm nest. A gamble addict, jobless, lousy son-in-law, Mohan is always there with complaints for poor food or lack of a child Gouthami's daughter was not able to deliver him in three years of marriage. If he is silent luckily, Gouthami would find Ramya, (her love-sick fool married daughter) crying in some corner. Ramya was so good in it; she could summon tears as one summons servants. Ramya's life was only a HD remake version of Gouthami's miserable life, except had Ramya chosen a man of her dreams- Mohan Iyengars, all against the wise advice of her mother and he turned out to be a low life dependent man.
This evening, Mohan was there at home, as Gouthami stepped inside the small living room. It was very reliving to find the house quiet and properly clean. She wanted to avoid him and go straight to her room, when Mohan's eager and remarkably pleasant voice held her feet.
"Wow...! Mother-in-law, we are going to USA!" Mohan received her with a rare joy in his voice, holding a crispy paper in his hand. "Congratulation, MIL", he waved it to her in excitement, as if he has got a ticket to heaven.
Over the years Gouthami' heart has grown icy as a fountain in the fall but here on listening what Mohan said, her expressions change at once, like leaves change color in spring. "Give it to me", Gouthami grabbed the letter in utter haste. "Mohan, I've told you so many times, don't open my mails", she roared on him.
"You did not tell us, you've applied for PhD scholarship, Mother-in law?" Mohan's eyes were glowing like blue coal, a rare glee on his hopeless face teased Gouthami.
Ignoring him, Gouthami read the scholarship offering letter and her idle hopes; she had managed to carry with her like empty shadows, turned into an embodied joy whose race is just begun. She was selected for a three year PhD program at Stanford University. Gouthami read it again, as many time as she could, to defy her best companion, bad luck. A complete sponsored scholarship, with a stipend three, times higher to what her government college was paying her in Chennai. The scholarship also had offered her a free accommodation. Gouthami was reading it over and over again and greedy Mohan was watching her face bloomed like a flower.
"You shall give us a big treat", asked Mohan with childish greed.
Gouthami run to her small room, hiding her tears from this low life man, who was already living in her home at her expense. Nothing had given an stupor in her life, like that scholarship had given and she did not want to spoil her joy, it was a rare moment on ecstasy among her ancient sorrows. Often enough, life had tossed Gouthami like a fretful stream among rocky boulders. She was only 19 when her hubby died leaving her with a three month old daughter and half a million debt. Since then, hardship, loneliness and never ending plight of everyday life are getting so well with her.
It was Ramya, her daughter, her life and only reason to live, which made her resolve hard as bronze. Gouthami studied, after death of her husband and found herself a decent job as a chemistry teacher in a girl's college of Chennai. She worked hard, offered private tuitions to earn extra money and cleared all debts of her late husband's. She built a small world of her own, in raising Ramya with all her love and little resources. But another disaster, Mohan was awaiting her, when Ramya fall badly in love with him and finally married to this good for nothing son of a rich arrogant lady.
In her small bedroom, Gouthami kept reading the scholarship letter, in which she was instructed to approach US embassy ASAP. She felt like a soft haze, like a fairy dream, is floating over wood and stream, till she falls asleep.
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Mohan was a qualified doctor from a well-respected and rich Tamil family of doctors. However, he never wanted to study medical science. Classical music was his passion and becoming a professional singer was his dream, despite his tuneless voice and contrary to the wishes of his dominating mother, Dr Vidya Iyengars. Mohan grew under the overwhelming shadow of Vidya, who was a leading gynecologist and owner of one of the biggest private hospital in Chennai. Being a single parent with an ultra-feminist tooth, Vidya had dominated entire life of his son, never letting Mohan grow in confidence and strength of will. Vidya had even compelled Mohan to drop the idea of becoming a classical Tamil singer and forced Mohan to be a doctor, a profession he was perfectly misfit for.
Not only profession but Vidya had controlled his entire life, what he eat, what he wear, what friends he make, each and everything in Mohan's life had a strong stamp of that dominating mother. This resulted in killing Mohan's entire personality. He became a doctor but could not even run his private practice, for his intense naivety to blood and wounds.
