Debdas woke up early, the stuffy air and the early rays of the sun breaking his sleep. He took a moment to get his bearings. He got up and did his morning ablutions. Looking out into the garden, he saw Neerja aunty walking around the perimeter in her trainers and working up a sweat. As she neared the window, he scooted inside.
He went out into the living area. Uncle was sitting in the patio, sipping a mug of coffee.
"Good morning, Debdas," he said.
"Good morning, Uncle!"
"Come, join me," he said, offering him the day's newspaper.
Uncle poured out a cup of tea as Debdas took in the day's happenings. In between studying the pages, he glanced at Aunty walking briskly.
Despite their advanced years, Aunty and Uncle were sexually active. He knew that there was nothing wrong with it but Neerja aunty was as old as his mother, Sarmistha. Uncle was much older than his wife. Debdas could not imagine his mother making those sort of noises. He had never even seen her naked. I had been a few years since she had bathed him or seen him naked.
For Debdas, any comparison with a woman was limited to that with his mother. Neerja aunty was not as thin as his mother but she was not fat either. She had a solid, motherly fullness to her. Her belly was 'healthy' with a small bump over her lower abdomen. Her bottom was plump but not obscenely so. Her thighs were healthy. As she walked away from him, Debdas was mesmerized by the rhythmic lift and fall of one buttock and then the next. Her breasts were definitely bigger than his mother's and even under the tee shirt, he could see that it sagged a bit. Farhidha madam had shown the boys real pictures of nude women of varying ages and body types. She had highlighted the changes that a woman's body underwent with motherhood and aging. Neerja aunty looked nice, he thought, much nicer than some of the other mothers. He liked her kind eyes, her soft voice and the way she took care of him.
Her moans again crossed his thoughts and he quickly glanced at Uncle who was concentrating on his crossword puzzle. He felt ashamed of having such thoughts towards Aunty right in front of Uncle. At its most basic level, it was a betrayal of trust. In a way, it was good that their passion was still alive.
Aunty finished her walk and joined them, breathing hard, collecting herself. She was all sweaty, strands of hair falling on her face. She seemed happy despite her toils. There was a glow on her face.
"Good morning, Debdas!" she called cheerily.
"Good morning, Aunty" he replied.
"Dear, why don't you get me the milk now? Get an extra glass for Debdas too," 'she told her husband.
Soon they were drinking delicious, cold milk.
"Where do you get this from Aunty?" he asked.
"From a nearby household. I go for a walk outside every day, early in the morning. I'll show you if you come with me. I start very early, but," she warned.
Debdas was game to start walking with her. It was a worthwhile way of spending time. It would give him much needed exercise.
"I am going to clean up the garden," said Uncle, folding his newspaper. "Would you like to join me, son?"
"Sure, why not?" said Debdas. He was eager to help in any way he could.
"Dear," said Neerja aunty, "why don't you start a bit later. Have breakfast first. I'll make some French toast. Are you hungry Debdas?"
"No aunty. I'll wait. You can take your time."
Aunty and Uncle went back inside taking the cups and mugs. Debdas sat alone, enjoying the stillness of the placid morning. It was not a bad thing, him coming here at the urging of Samar.
He needed to take a bath before breakfast. As he went into the corridor, he heard the noises from last night again. He froze, heart beating fast. It was coming from the master bedroom, the same as last night. In the day, the sounds were better accentuated, the moans louder.
"Ah!Ah!Ah!"
Aunty's moans wafted into the corridor and Debdas stood rooted to the spot. Aunty and Uncle were going at it again, this time right in the morning. Just minutes before Aunty had been drinking milk with him, all sweaty from her morning walk. Now she was engaged in coitus.
Debdas's mind started to imagine her naked, sweaty body. He became tumescent. Almost despite himself, he began to edge closer to the door of their bedroom. The sounds stopped and he hesitated for a second, debating whether to run to his room. It resumed again but this time the creaks of the bed were accompanied by the sounds of flesh slapping against each other.
"Ungh!Ungh!Ungh! ungh!!"
Uncle started groaning and as the sounds peaked into a crescendo, Uncle screamed a little.
"Arghh!!!"
These unnatural, yet titillating, sounds made Debdas lose his composure. It was a leap too far for him to imagine Uncle and Aunty as sexual beings with their own needs and desires. He hurried back to his room and quickly went into his bathroom.
The cold shower, cooled down his ardour and made him semi flaccid. He toweled off and came out, careful to check whether Aunty had let herself into his room or not. At the dining table, Aunty had set out a basket of French toast and some boiled eggs. She had bathed and had changed into a chudidar suit minus the dupatta. She looked radiant and full of purpose and energy.
After breakfast, Uncle led him to the garden' stool shed. They got out the equipment together; several clay pots, a large mower, extension cords, water pipes with tubings, paint cans and water cans. The garden was a sprawling one that covered the area in front of the bungalow. There was a lawn in the middle with an empty kennel in the corner. All around the property, the high brick wall ensured privacy. Between the lawn and the wall were hedges, small patches of vegetable gardens, trees, rows of potted plants and flower plots.
There was only the two of them. The usual gardener was on leave. Uncle started mowing the grass with the mechanized lawn mower, while Debdas started with something simpler. He fixed the rubber pipe to the tap and maneuvered the long, twisting pipe around the garden to water the plants. Uncle showed him how to rake the fallen leaves and pile it neatly in the corner. He did it enthusiastically under Uncle's watchful eye. After mowing the lawn, Uncle began trimming the hedges. Then they got together to paint some clay pots that had been lying in the shed for ages. They took out the pots, dusted off the cobwebs and grime and Uncle started mixing the paints. He showed Debdas how to smoothly coat the pot with red paint using a wide brush.
Debdas had fun painting the pots as they sat on the tiled driveway surrounded by paint, dirty clothes and pots. He got streaks of red on his baniyan and shorts, but he did not mind. Once he was done, he laid the painted pots out on the lawn in rows to dry. They glistened under the sun.
Neerja aunty appeared at his shoulder with a glass of cold, sweet lemonade. Their work was not done, however. Aunty wanted the narrow corridor behind the house to be cleaned. After refreshments, Debdas followed Uncle behind the garage. The back side of the house was almost hugging the brick wall. Uncle connected a high pressure hose and started spraying water to clean the dirt off the tiles. Debdas helped by removing things in the way and then placing them back once the water had dried off. Uncle then handed him a dirty cloth to wipe down the pipes, some of which had become caked with green algae.
Then he and Uncle started potting the painted clay pots with mud. A tarpaulin was laid out on the driveway and spades were taken from the shed. A sack of mud was tipped over. When all the pots had been filled, it was Debdas's job to lift them one by one and carry them over to the other side of the lawn, and lay them out in neat rows. In the middle of this, he began to feel tired. Nevertheless, he persisted, eager to not disappoint his hosts. Uncle started cleaning up the driveway, and hosing it down.
After the last pot was placed, he could feel all the pain in the world course down his limbs. The sun was straight overhead. He had lost track of time. Uncle had put away the tools and closed up the garden shed. Uncle was weary too, sweat was dripping down his brow and glistened on his bald pate. His clothes were a splendid splash of colours, from brown mud to streaks of violent red and blazing green.
Aunty got out an old bedsheet and laid out lunch for them in casseroles, like a garden picnic. They each got a plate and Aunty gave them generous helpings of rice, dal and sabji. Debdas felt like one of the laborers at a construction site. He was ravenous after expending all his energy. Aunty cleared away the food after they had done. They washed their hands at the tap. There was still one final thing left to do.
