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This is a continuation of my previous attempt in writing a story. It is about Komal, an Indian housewife aged twenty-nine, whose one act of transgression leads to a process of further transformation and the next step from being a faithful wife to gradual infidelity and promiscuity even though there is some reluctance in the beginning. Her life is on the threshold of a major change, one that she fears initially but, as subsequent chapters will reveal, she'll overcome them and find fulfillment and satisfaction. And possibly, love.
Eroticism and sex are subdued in this chapter and, for those readers who seek only this nature of human behavior in these pages, the author might be excused for trying to build a story without it. These would come in adequate measure in subsequent chapters, relevant to the plot, if the story is continued. Taking up the next chapter, on the other hand, would depend on favorable responses from readers. The author believes that encouragement is mightier than the pen.
No character in the story is underage. All characters are fictitious.
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Sometime after Pawan had left and Komal had restored the bedroom to its stage of 'innocence', she got a call from Nishant, her husband.
"Must be something really important to call me back from a flight, honey. I'm headed for office right now as they want me there. It's likely that I'll be late. So, you just have dinner if I'm not in by 10.00. Ok, darling?"
As Komal switched off her mobile she was visibly upset at this turn of events. She and Pawan had quickly parted in the face of the threat of her husband's sudden return to their apartment. And now it seemed that she would have to spend hours alone, just as usual.
Thoughts of those intimate moments with the tailor returned in a flurry and she could feel the return of that tingling sensation that had consumed her then. She wished she could call him back, for she did have the tailor's number with her. But sanity prevailed, and she turned away these thoughts. She picked up the book "The Silent Wife" by Susan Harrison, one that she had begun reading the day before and quickly got engrossed in its pages.
When Nishant walked into their apartment, it would have been impossible to make out that their lovely home had witnessed the beginnings of an infidelity. Komal was very fastidious about neatness, and nothing had escaped her eyes when she had returned it to its tiptop best. He looked quizzically at the book in Komal's hands and smiled.
"Am I responsible for my wife's silence?" Nishant asked, taking a cue from the book in Komal's hands, and with a smile on his face. He seldom read books; his packed schedules didn't permit him that luxury.
Komal looked at her husband and smiled back. Her loneliness never diminished her love for the man. It was just unfulfilled needs that made her do what she did that day.
She retorted with a grin on her face.
"He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words ... any guesses whose quote this might be?"
Nishant stared blankly. He knew his wife had a literary bent of mind, was a voracious reader and to top it all, she could come out with quotes at opportune moments.
"Elbert Hubbard, in case you want to know," she said, in a matter-of-fact manner, before she walked into the kitchen. The cold food needed some warming up. She wondered if anything could eventually 'hot' up her life from the 'coldness' that covered it!
That night Nishant passed into slumber as quickly as you could drop a hat. Komal stared blankly at the ceiling as the humming sound of the AC filled the room. She thought of Pawan and the shy and inept approach he had adopted initially before his inborn 'instincts' took over. But he could kiss so ardently, so passionately and those lips on her sensitive nipples! Oh god! Komal shivered beside her snoring husband. She made up her mind to visit the tailor the next day, each nerve in her body crying out for that. The last thought before she fell asleep was that of a fleshy erection throbbing in her hands.
By afternoon the next day, Komal found herself declining two requests from her friends, who either wanted to drop in or go and watch a movie together. She found excuses to turn them down.
As Komal nibbled at her lunch, she suffered from a lack of interest in what she was doing. She was desperate to revisit the tailoring shop within the shortest possible time. Dressing as elegant as always in her saree, she was off in half an hour, and her heart beat fast.
By the time she walked into the big building that housed the tailoring shop, her heart was thumping loudly, and she imagined people passing near her could hear her heart beats.
Nearing the shop, she could make out "Mashoor Shilaii Ghar" signboard and quickened her pace. This was not only out of her urgency to meet Pawan but her guilty mind warned her to exercise caution. If any of her friends saw her at that spot they would be surprised at this visit. She had convincingly proclaimed that she would be otherwise busy that afternoon. The door to the shop seemed the farthest when she was at its nearest. Komal rushed in, the door banging shut behind her.
"Pawan ..." she started to say before she realized that there were two other ladies engaged with the tailor. He was assuring them about the quality of his fashionable stitching with a big smile on his face.
As soon as Pawan saw Komal, his face flushed. Till now, he was talking to his clients in a convincing tone, but now he started stammering. Luckily, they left quickly and Pawan was left alone with Komal. But that was just for a moment. Other clients streaked in and while this was unavoidable, these intrusions were becoming unbearable. Komal fretted and fumed, shrugging her shoulders in impatience. Till finally, at one point, there were none in the shop other than the tailor and his sophisticated client.
Komal's lips parted instantly. A deep breath escaped her as she looked at Pawan. The tailor too was almost shaking in an excitement that was impossible to hide. Komal wished she could go and shut the door and possibly would have done so. But Pawan stopped her.
"Are you mad? If you close the door to my shop during busy business hours, it will bring all the nearby shopkeepers at my doorstep. It'll be impossible to continue here after that." Pawan was the meek and mild type and he was not prepared to take a risk and jeopardize everything.
"Don't you have a room at the back? Some space where we can sit for a while?" Komal was in turmoil.
"No, but this shop has a mezzanine floor which I can enter from that small opening at the corner of the ceiling. It's a sort of store and I sometimes stitch blouses there too. But it would be impossible for you to get up there on that narrow ladder. And what if anyone comes in at that time?" Pawan was trying to wriggle out of an uncomfortable situation despite his excitement.
"Very well," Komal said, "I have brought my car and am driving it myself. You know the Mall just three blocks away from here? They have a nice parking lot surrounded by trees and hedges. I'll park my car there. You come there at 6.00 PM sharp... it would be almost sunset by then. Don't keep me waiting, Pawan."
Komal took a slip of paper from Pawan and quickly scribbled her car number. "There, that's my car number. Don't lose it. And be there in time." She stomped out of the shop.
Pawan spent the next two hours stitching busily. His mind kept thinking excitedly of Komal, recollecting their intimate moments at her flat. Would there be another opportunity?
At six, the tailor had reached the parking lot of the Mall. He took along a small jute bag, carrying a few blouses within it, just in case the purpose of his visit was questioned by anyone.
Komal had already parked the car and was waiting anxiously. She saw Pawan hurriedly walking towards the parking space. Quickly, she got out of the car and stood beside it. Her intention was to prevent the tailor from walking about aimlessly looking for her car and avoid unnecessary recognition of either of them. But the result, in the end, turned out to be just the opposite.
Unknown to either of them, the scurrying tailor was seen by the owner and landlord of the building that housed his shop. His name was Asad, a middle-aged man of 48. The burly man, sporting a Dutch beard and wearing a dark grey kurta pajama suit, had just parked his car. Just then, the door of the parked car beside his opened, and a very elegant lady in dark glasses and dressed in saree, slid out of her seat. The necessity of wearing dark glasses in the falling sunlight intrigued Asad. From the manner she was swiveling her head around she was certainly looking for someone, Asad surmised.
Asad kept the engine running in his car so that the AC would keep things comfortable inside. His curiosity had been whetted and a loss of a few minutes wouldn't end the world for him, he thought. His car had tinted glasses which kept the insides dark and secluded. In the mellowed light, he was hardly visible. He was pleasantly surprised to see Pawan sprint towards the waiting woman. Purpose? He wondered.
In this veil of secrecy Asad remained, watching this gorgeous woman and the petty tailor, who was subservient to him. He let them bask in their privacy.
A few words about Asad. This middle-aged man was a Muslim. His forefathers belonged to a sophisticated, respected and cultured clan, dealing in exotic silk, embroidery, nuts and fruits. They were rich and prosperous, belonging to the upper class, and had built a reputation for themselves and were very religious minded. But, starting from his father's time, much of this was squandered away .... fame, riches, assets and dignity. Asad's father tried some nondescript business when all was lost but met with little success. He died before he had reached fifty.
Asad became a real estate agent and promoter. His business flourished quickly in a city with bursting population and inadequate housing. He accumulated a fair degree of wealth but what was a known secret was that he was also into unfair and murky business dealings. He was unscrupulous as he was persuasive, intimidating as he was influential, husband just as much as he was a debauch.
His brother Javed was about ten years younger than him but both stayed together with their families. Asad had married very young and became a father of a son and a daughter before he was twenty. Asad's son Farooq was disinclined to join his father's business and got himself sufficiently educated to land a well-paying job in a foreign country. His daughter Fatima was married to Shamsher, no less a rouge than his father-in-law, Asad.
At this parking lot that day, Asad had kept his eyes and ears open. He could hear every word that was exchanged between Pawan and Komal.
"Pawan, I hope no one has seen you," were Komal's first words to him when he was near.
"No, Madam," he was panting for breath, "but I am scared. And I brought along a packet with blouses in it, just in case I needed an excuse if we are caught."
"That's wise. Come, let's sit in our car. It's safer." Komal had already opened the rear door. She took Pawan's hand in hers, her eyes closing once with a kissing twitch on her lips to show what she wanted.
Pawan too responded. He checked if anyone was near before placing a hand on Komal's hip and tugging her softly into him. Her breasts just squished into his chest for a second before Pawan released her. But the touch of the nipples pricked a nerve.
